As I’ve mentioned in my last couple of blog posts, when I have been able to ride of late, the rides have been less than stellar (both physically and mentally). I assumed that Sunday’s ride up at the MMCC trails would be filled with more back pain and more subparness. Thankfully I was wrong.
As I made my way up 127 with The Sword blasting on the Hi-Fi I couldn’t help but notice the crazy amount of cars making their way back from northern Michigan. Hundreds– if not thousands–of cars were crawling along at a snail’s pace on the usually speedy and wide open central Michigan freeway. As I motored north I made a mental note to take the back roads home and avoid that mass of slow-moving humanity, opting for a longer drive through small towns than crawling along staring at the ass end of an RV for 30 miles.
I pulled into the parking lot to see my friend Chris had also just arrived. I hadn’t planned on riding with anyone and with the way my body has been feeling of late I expected the worst when he extended the invitation to join him, of course I wasn’t going to tell him that! I figured I would just let him set the pace and see what happened.
The initial pace was fine, we cruised along the twisting and turning singletrack at a brisk pace, but one that still allowed us to chat (meaning we yelled back and forth at each other) about bike stuff, the weekend, and how short the beer lines were at a Christian rock concert he somehow ended up at the night before. Then the pace quickened a bit, it was faster than I would have been going alone but I was keeping on his wheel no problem and was thankful to have someone pushing me.
Roughly 12 miles in to the 16ish mile lap Chris started pulling away and I pushed harder and harder until I hit what I would call my full on race pace in an attempt to catch him. By the time we hit the last climb I was gasping for air and ready to give up. A short downhill allowed for some recovery but I was soon up out of the saddle trying to pull him back as we entered the last section of tight singletrack. My legs were burning, my glasses were covered with sweat and I was burning fitness matches I didn’t have for no other reason than a testosterone fueled attempt at self-satisfaction on the bike. He was always in sight, but still several bike lengths in front, there would be no catching him before the parking lot.
I rolled down the final descent and over to the cars, breathing heavily with sweat pouring from me. I wanted to curse at him for upping the pace like he did, but instead found myself thanking him. I hadn’t pushed myself like that in a good while and it felt great. AND I hadn’t noticed my back pain at all. It could have been from the two Tylenol I took in the morning, it could be that it’s getting better, or it could have just been that I was pushing too hard and moving too fast to notice or care. So when Chris said “I’m gonna do another lap or two, are you coming?” I thought for a moment but decided to not push my luck (or my back) and call it a day. It has been a great ride–one of the best in a months–but I was getting out while the getting was good. “No, thanks man. I’ll catch up with you later.”
And with that, Chris went off to do two more laps (apparently nearly shitting himself on his last lap, blaming the bad beer he drank at that concert Saturday night) and I drove home with a smile on my face and so many endorphins swimming through my brain that I missed my turn at a small town roundabout and ended up being forced onto 127 and sitting in (unheard of in these parts) bumper to bumper holiday weekend traffic for 7 miles before I could get off the highway and on the back roads again.
No photos in this post, for a change I was going too hard to snap any, and for a change I find myself looking forward to riding again soon instead of lamenting what has happened to me.
Later.