some guy on a bike

Everybody has a mountain.  You know, something that they feel like they need to conquer.  I try and set up my mountains one at a time.  Today I was able to actually climb one.  This personal Mount Everest was a place called Pixley Knob.  On several rides around southern Indiana in the past, I had not been able to climb Pixley without bailing out after about 50 feet or so.  I made no excuses every time I failed. I just wasn’t ready.  For me, Pixley Knob represented a threshold I needed to cross before I could feel confident on a bike.  Some cyclists just fly right up it.  It was just more of a challenge for me.  A scary little piece of real estate that stood in the way of my feeling like I could really ride.

Well, today, the Bling climbed it without walking. My friend Linda said that my nickname should be Bling because of the cross I wear whenever I ride.  I am not sure the nickname will stick, but as I prepared to climb Pixley, I decided I needed to do it right and plant a “flag” once I made it to the top.  And I thought it appropriate to put my current designated nickname on it.

In order to make this work, I had to build up to it.  I consulted folks who had been up it successfully.  I drove up it in a car, remembering how it was to give up and walk it in the past.  I ensured I had several miles of riding behind me this season before I attempted it (1,000 +).  I rode up to it a few weeks ago, to once more get an “up close and personal” feel about it.  Finally, I developed a strategy on how I was going to take the hill, what gear I would be in, when I would stand (I would start out sitting), when I would sit back down, how I would breathe, what day of the week to attempt it, and what time of day to best do it without traffic.  And then I decided: I was ready.

Google Earth doesn’t really do the place justice, but it is fun to play with.

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Today at work in the lunchroom, glancing down at the newspaper tossed on the table, I read the headline:  Pat Summitt diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s.  So on the ride tonight, my thoughts turned to my mom, who is now in a nursing home suffering from the same disease.  Some days, she seems to recognize faces and people more than others.

It was hot tonight, mid-90s, high humidity, windy, and when I started riding at 5:30, still quite sunny.  Darkness is coming earlier, and as I rolled out of Silver Creek in the heat, I was thinking about how the season is changing…I tried to guess how long it would be until this time of evening would be in darkness, instead of the sun beaming down as it was now.  But my brain wouldn’t allow too much computation and figuring in that regard.  I wanted very much to get into the ride.

I started out with the rest of the Slowspokes, a small group of us, as we took off down 31 past the Essroc cement works, toward Weber, and the beautiful Southern Indiana countryside that lay beyond.

Google Earth view of ride.

With swirling thoughts of work, Pat Summit, my mom, a good friend, and my own recent health trials, I quickly lost myself in a smooth cadence.  The night before was a killer tempo and pace, and I had designs on some kind of recovery ride.  Something that would give me a little peace, put my thoughts at ease.  Sometime around Brick Church I realized my pace was a little more than the rest of the group, but then I saw one lone rider approach me, and I welcomed the company.  I don’t know the guy’s name, but we rode along, sometimes making small talk, but mostly, just riding, dealing with the wind, the heat, the constantly changing environment, proximity to each other, gravel, broken pavement, cars or other hazards, situational awareness, etc.  You know, the typical cycling stuff.

Sometimes, the wind was punishing. At various points, the route changes, and the headwind became a taskmaster.  Other times, when out of the wind in a little pocket, it was electraglide: just your body, your bike and the hypnotizing movement, all the hay fields and the corn in their splendor, zooming by in a delicious swirl.  The visuals, the sounds, the smells, and not much else.  This is the way I like it, I told myself.  This is why I ride.