Patience

The mountain does not wait for your form to return.

It’s been about a month since I’ve last been on the bike; I can’t recall the last time I went for such a dry spell. The reasons don’t matter; life and work have been hectic, I moved, the bikes were just out of order and inaccessible enough to make it easy to find an excuse not to kit up and head out onto the roads. And, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t really want to ride.

It happens every so often, this strange desire not to ride. It’s different from the usual one where you don’t really want to go out on any particular day; this is has more to do with burnout than laziness. I’ve learned to wait it out; the desire always comes back, organically and strongly. And come back it did, although it did take a bit longer than I expected.

With coming back to the bike after a while off always looms a long shadow of dread. My legs are soft; I feel it in every step I take. Running up the stairs, my body doesn’t feel as springy and I know that springiness will translate to lethargy on the bike. Out on the bike, I labor with the gradient; the ease with which I once scaled the local climbs hangs in my memory like a dream whose details vanish the more you try to call them into focussed thought.

To prepare myself mentally for the first ride back, I did what every sensible person does: I poured myself a beer, tidied up the bike room, and set about meticulously cleaning my bikes in order to preemptively remove any opportunity for those being an excuse. The bike itself needs to be in perfect working order lest my mind should fixate on the slightest malfunction or noise and descend into a Millarcopter-inducing fit of rage.

Patience will be my mantra for the coming months, patience. I will not push myself too much, I will let the joy of the ride envelop me. Within a few weeks, a shadow of something resembling strength will take shape in my muscles, and it will spur me on to ride more. Eventually, the power will return and the memories of this drought will take their place in the catacombs of my mind.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

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universo says:

Dec 13 2016 at 12:06 pm

You and me both. It will be rainy this evening and that is my reason for starting back this evening.
ChrisO says:

Dec 13 2016 at 12:44 pm

As I get older I fear that if I stop for long it will be too hard to start again.
universo says:

Dec 13 2016 at 1:34 pm

@ChrisO

As I get older I fear that if I stop for long it will be too hard to start again.

Exactly. And as I am old enough, I've found myself canceling this evening rain ride to be with family at home for holiday LEGO nite. Although the makeup Thursday ride duration will dip into the 30's before it is done – that will work.
1860 says:

Dec 13 2016 at 1:40 pm

I am experiencing the same since my winter bike being out for about a month due a troubling experience with a truing stand, and the very slow journey to the realization, that I just can't true a wheel...

Finally, I have been able to turn this into a mini rule #12 experience.... "I never liked those wheels anyways, they aren't worth bringing to the LBS to get fixed. This bike has way too much Shimano on it anyways, what I need is a new set of wheels and a nice Campag set to throw my Group-san off-kilter!", hopefully will be able to get back in very slow and slightly heavy action soon..
KlamSoss says:

Dec 13 2016 at 2:02 pm

These short days darken. Relocating darkens. Social and romantic discontent darkens. The impending death of a loyal companion darkens.

Depression is a lot like The Man With The Hammer, for some of us. You can do a lot to stave it off. You can go months without being smashed. You can train yourself into form to avoid being smashed. You can do all of these things, but he and his Hammer will always lurk nearby; and so too does the darkness of depression. When the time comes, the darkness WILL fall, just like The Hammer.

I had a bike a while back, but it wasn't until I needed an outlet three years ago after a terrible breakup that I fell in love with riding. Seeking The Man With The Hammer became a way of life. Feeling the blow of that Hammer became therapeutic for me, as the pain of utter exhaustion was nearly the only thing that could drown the pain of depression for me. Riding was like cranking a dynamo, feeding the light bulb that was, and is my life. The more and harder I rode, the brighter things got. I met friends. I developed new goals; new dreams. I pedaled through the darkness that comes before the dawn and rode my way into the glorious (if occasionally rainy) day that has been the last 2 years.

And then came the sunset. A sunset as beautiful as could ever be imagined. Painted on the background of a long-needed move, an escape, really, from living somewhere I did not like. The sunset, A masterpiece, highlighted with the vibrant rays of a beautiful but fleeting romance... a romance as brilliant and fleeting as the pinks, purples, azures and oranges that spill across the sky as the sun sinks towards the western horizon. And tinged with the dark knowledge that my best friend and most loyal partner is being consumed by cancer.

The sun's last rays fade, like that romance has and like Buddy's life soon will, leaving the cold reality of life shrouded in darkness.

It is night. A dog can never be replaced. A woman may never be forgotten. What was, may never again be. But I know the way towards the light is on the bike. I know that Rule #6 can work in reverse.

So yes, 'Patience' will be the mantra for the coming months. I too, will experience a shadow of something resembling strength begin to take shape in my muscles and in my heart, and it will spur me on to ride more. And yes, eventually, the power will return and the memories of this darkness will take their place in the catacombs of my mind as a new day dawns.
Oli says:

Dec 13 2016 at 4:41 pm

Kia kaha, @KlamSoss
Alec says:

Dec 13 2016 at 6:01 pm

@KlamSoss

I really enjoyed that
ubermonkey says:

Dec 13 2016 at 6:04 pm

@KlamSoss

I see you, "Klam Soss." Raising a non-ABI beverage to Buddy tonight, all the way down here in Houston.
jim says:

Dec 13 2016 at 6:51 pm

@ChrisO

For over thirty years, I have always feared that when spring came, I wouldn't be waiting for that first warm day, to go for that first long ride, where even thou you dressed light, your still a little too warm, you can feel summer is just around the corner. Thankfully, it hasn't happened yet.
Owen says:

Dec 13 2016 at 6:57 pm

Too Fat To Climb. A fate worse than death. Which reminds me I need to stop cramming down the calories and get out in the rain. If I see a lanky Dutchman huffing and puffing so much the better.