121

Monday, October 11, 2004 06: 30 PM

I rarely talk about my passion for cycling here, but Saturday was a good day -- so I just have to pass along some thoughts...

121. That is the number of miles my two-wheeled steed and I grinded out on Saturday. Pedal over pedal, legs in perpetual motion until they would move no longer. From six in the morning until two in the afternoon -- it was a gruelling amount of time, but well worth it. My previous one day record on my bike was 112 miles. I have done over a hundred miles seven or eight times in the last couple of years, yet most of those were in group events where drafting certainly aided my endurance.

Saturday was different. The first 60 miles were with a group driving hard at 25+ mph most of the way, while the last 60 miles were solo. A man and his machine left to battle the wind and heat of the southern Arizona desert. In my total distance I could have biked from Tucson to Phoenix and then some. Instead I took a large, scenic loop around Tucson. My rationale was "training" -- getting ready for the Tour de Farm and the Tour de Tucson next month. But really, it was more than that. The events are just my excuses; excuses that are secondary to the experience of being alone on my bike with endless miles of possibility in front me and many hard miles behind. Cycling is just in my blood - events or not. For whatever reason I am pulled to the bike -- and it has a grip that has no signs of letting go.

The longer I bike, the more I realize that I am learning with each ride. I learn about limits, possibilities, heartbreak and accomplishment. And I learn about suffering. More and more lately, cycling to me has become about suffering -- where the real pleasure comes in the rebuilding of your mind and body, after you have torn everything down. Over a distance of 121 miles, the suffering comes as a battle between the physical and mental self. Using fuel where it can find it, the body begins the systematic process of deconstruction. First carbohydrates. Then fats and proteins. Eventually the body attempts to shut down muscles when there is nothing left -- the brain is literally, subconsciously attempting to preserve life. But there is something else between the shots of gel and sports drinks that pushes you forward -- a human element deep inside that does not let you quit. Even at mile 113, with your personal best beaten -- you pedal on, because you set the goal of 120 miles. You've come too far to stop now. So you turn the cranks. Pedal over pedal. Your mind wonders to places you rarely go -- facing the past, embracing the future and even contemplating parallel universes where little aliens ride bikes.

Ultimately, this day, you have lived through an encapsulated journey that is symbolic of something bigger - a microcosm of life. The full spectrum of emotions well up as the body fatigues, until at times you are on the verge of breaking down, tears in the corners of your eyes and simply want to quit, but you don't. You continue. Always moving forward until that moment. The moment you step off the bike -- a moment of serenity where it's just your ragged body, a swift machine that shows no signs of wear and the sound of rushing air entering and exiting your lungs.

The next day you are sore. Tired. Satisfied. And happy. Not to mention a few pounds lighter. All while filled with memories of blood racing through your heart at 196 beats per minute as you strained up a climb you had no business taking a bike up; floating through the day on the knowledge that you accomplished something you had never done before: 121. That's the joy that comes from suffering. The joy of being a cycling addict.

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