The alarm went off at 5:30. Feet hit the floor. Eyes stiff. My room, like outside, quiet, dark. The question: “back to sleep?” No. The proposed compromise: “Another thirty minutes. You need it. You worked late last night.” Some other time.
Hadn’t ridden outside in a while. Bike check. Flicked lights on downstairs. Wheeled the bike against the counter, where there is space to look, to work. Wiped everything that could be wiped. Tightened screws. Tri-flowed the rest. Brakes weren’t touching the wheel. Pumped up the tires. Bowl of Crispix. Sat wide-eyed, crunching. Another bowl. Half a carton of pineapple-orange juice to wash it down. Two packs of fruit snacks. Mental checklist: do I have everything? Gu’s. Bike top, shorts. Running shoes. Bike shoes. Socks. Helmet. Sunglasses – wait, don’t need sunglasses. Too early. Co2. Inhaler. Tire levers. Phone. Wallet. Ready. No. Water. I forgot water. Filled the camelback with water, the bottle with electrolyte replacer. Ready.
Drove to Walter E. Long Park. The truck’s manners poor this morning – loud as ever as I went through neighborhoods where people were probably sleeping and dreaming about anything but what they would actually be doing in a few hours. I drove without directions because I knew the way from Couples. I smiled for the first time of the day. Couples. Fifteen seconds.
Made good time. Beat the google maps prediction of how long it would take. I am fast even in my car, I tell myself. I am fast.
I parked behind Kevin’s white Integra. Exchanged silent nods. Got ready. I ran off to piss in the bushes, then pissed in the bushes. Kellen arrived after I did, parked. Ten minutes later, cars locked, helmets on, cleats clicked in, we rolled. Wind in the face. Sun still not up, but not dark either.
Mile fifteen into the fifty-six we’re supposed to ride. Gone by quickly. Legs felt like they’d ran eighteen miles forty-eight hours ago – which makes as much sense as saying they were tired but they weren’t tired, which they were. Second in the pace-line. Didn’t need to look at the speedometer to know we were moving. Fast. Past the country Cormac McCarthy wrote about. The old country. Barbed wire fences. Cattle and horses and grass. Dogs with no fences or leashes that bark and chase anything that moves. The cars in the gravel driveways are newer, for sure, and the houses have satellite dishes, but the quiet is still the same. The isolation still palpable, though diminished. And we rode.
We rode and for a brief moment we rode in the morning fog. We rode bravely, trusting the road extended further than we could see. The mist begged us for spiritual reflection, for deep thoughts -- as if by removing all the distractions that trees and houses provide and leaving you nothing but a short strip of road and your thoughts you will find something you didn't even know you were looking for. The fog lifted eventually and there was road ahead, though rough and cracked, there was road. And so we rode. Picking up the pace and slowing it down without a word, as if we had agreed on it all beforehand.
Kevin crashed around mile forty. He was behind me. I was behind Kellen. I turned to hear him scream and see him go over the handle bars and land in a grass ravine. Kellen and I stopped. It could have been worse, we both say at some point. A bruise on the hip, surrounded by scratches. His white jersey covered with a green streak of grass on the back, like he'd had a day behind a porous offensive line. His bike the worse for wear. Possible crack in the carbon frame. We talked about what happened. How he was feeling. No cars stopped. One honked. He said he was ok. And so we rode.
We got back to where we started. The cars still there. “Why did I get up early to ride in a circle?” I thought as I dismounted. Unlocked the cars. Threw the bikes in, the running shoes on. Always a good feeling getting out of bike shoes. Locked the cars. Started running. Kevin ran like a gazelle and I thought bad things about him and how easy he made it look. Kellen ran behind me and to people passing by we must have looked insane. Three shirtless men all chasing one another. The legs weren’t there, but they were, and so I ran and Kevin ran faster and we got back to the cars and slapped fives and said “nice job” or something generic and we talked about his frame and what he was going to do. Kellen arrived a minute later and went on a small loop through the park. Kevin joined him. My shoes were already off. I wasn’t about to put them back on.
They ran and I got my bike out of the car and put it in the bed and changed out of my shorts and top. Not even 10:30 yet. Another early morning ride to take its place among the others.
"Why do I wake up early and ride in a circle?"
I thought about that for a minute or two as I drove off. Then I plugged my iPod into my stereo and listened to Bruce Springsteen's "Lonely Day." What a great song.
