It’s the ride you’ll do the most. The hardest ride you’ll ever do, too. You’ll do it so often that it should be easy, but it never is. Its frequency is such that it really should morph into all the other rides of its ilk, therefore negating the actual nexus of this necessary, evil ride. But it never does, it’s always stuck out there on its own, no matter what the duration between it and the next one is, could be months, could be only a week, but it’ll never leave, like that mate who stays for a couple of nights yet really should be paying rent after the first month, or at least offering a 20 for some food. This is the modus operandi of the First Ride Back.
As you get older, the FRB becomes more regular, unlike yourself. Jesus, my latest FRB really shouldn’t have qualified for its status at all, but such is the fickle nature of fitness at an ‘advanced’ age that just six days off the bike is enough to send one into panic, that the hard earned fitness is somehow leaving the body at a rate many times faster than it was acquired. Even with a pretty solid few months of riding under the belt, the effects of six days off, caused by an errant finger meeting a spinning disc rotor, sounded a death knell to me. A couple of opportunities came and went, adding to the mental mire as well as the (mainly perceived) physical one. Jumping back into the Tuesday night jaunt brought the daunt. Begging for hostilities to secede always falls on deaf ears, and plea bargaining for no hills is as well received as a stripper at Sunday school.
I recall reading an article by recently retired Baden Cooke some years ago where he spoke of his own FRB, an annual rather than weekly or monthly occurrence for him. Unlike mere mortals, he would no doubt have a pretty good base to draw upon, and even after a month or two off the bike (and probably partying hard as Cookie was known to do), he would still have the kind of condition most of us could only dream of. Yet he suffered the same mental and physical barriers as a normal rider does, but with a distinctly different approach, namely a 300km ‘hell ride’ from which he’d return some seven hours later with a sense that his season was now ready to start. A 50km jaunt with a couple of efforts thrown in seems almost laughable by comparison, but mirth never seems to enter the equation until the bike is racked and the celebratory beer is poured.
By the conclusion of the FRB, everything always seems much better, no matter how badly you’ve suffered, how far out the ass you were, what portion of your lungs you’ve coughed up. Just when you think you could take no more, the surVival instincts kick in and wring one, two, three last droplets of the Essence of V from within, and gives pride a swift kick up the ass for good measure. The next day you are renewed, and can’t wait to do it again.
Just not any longer than a week away, ok?
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After a long lay off the FRB I always tell myself take it easy, just have a spin, stay on the small ring. On that FRB always ends up heading home sur la plaque and souplese that it takes me ages to get back to the FRB form.
@Teocalli
News reels ? Is it 1954 and nobody told me ?
This morning one of the guys in our racing team was asked why he wasn't riding this weekend (hence the vague connection in my mind with First Rides Back).
Forget weddings, family emergencies and saddle sores. He has to train his falcon for hunting season.
Top that.
Not FRB but FSRB for me. After a few spins out over the holidays I went out on Sunday with my regular training buddy for what was definitely the first SERIOUS ride back of this year, for me anyway. Not that long, not that hilly and not that hard - relatively, but on a breakfast of a buttered muffin and an espresso it put me squarely in the back of the pain cave. While I was working my socks off my buddy just seemed to be coping with that bit less effort leaving me chewing on the bar tape. Times were well off PBs, there were literally no positives to take away from it, but that turned it into the perfect kick up the arse I needed to get my training going. There will now follow many evenings taking myself to increasingly dark places so that I can come back stronger. It's going to hurt, and I'm smiling about it.
@Marcus
yeah, went for a longer ride yesterday due to a late start at work & figured I could get away with avoiding the worst of it by leaving at 5.30 & getting home by 10.30. Was already 30 degrees when I set out & had hit 41 by the time I'd ticked off 100k & arrived back in the city at the office.
Consumed something like 7 litres of water during the rest of the day & my piss was still brighter than the maillot jaune...
Most disappointing thing about today was that anything over 46.1 would have been our hottest day on record, didn't event get close (peaked at about 44 at 3pm).
@Buck Rogers I've said this before in a reply to one of your Book of Faces posts, but for some reason I've got Johnny Cash singing Ring of Fire in my mind. This is a worrying pattern!!!
@ChrisO That's class, right there!
The great thing about doing a lot of cross riding in the winter is that when I do the FRB on a road bike, I feel really darn strong, which is nice. Pedaling in mud and riding knobbies makes rolling on smooth tires on smooth tarmac a breeze.
It's amazing how quickly the doubt rolls in though, and yep, a ride you've done hundreds of times seem monumental.
I thought purchasing a trainer would mean the FRB would be less of a FRB......
Not so much. While it does feel like I'm pedaling into the wind solo on the trainer, for what inevitably feels like a mind numbing eternity, there is just no replacement for sitting atop my steed, speeding across the rolling blacktop with my mates.
The length of time leading up to FRB, merely determines if I'm desperately sucking wheel or actually up front, laying down some V....
@ChrisO 1954 was a great year.