"You just have to learn how
to fall down and get back up again.
You just have to keep going."
Maggie Siff
It has been quite some time since I have done a century. Since I no longer count miles or how many years I do a century outside each month of the year, it is hard to tell. Counting ended when the Big Dog site went down without warning a number of years ago. I don't remember the exact number of months that I had ridden an outside century, but it was somewhere in the realm of over twelve years. I stopped not because data was lost, but because someone fell asleep while driving and came into my lane hitting my car with their car. I was hurt. Still, when that data was lost, I realized the futility of keeping track. What does it matter? We get older. We get slower. Most of us get fewer miles. The true question is, do we still enjoy the miles? That, I suppose, is what is important.
Age has, without a doubt, affected my memory. I "think" it was November when I last did a century, but it could have been October or December. I do know I have not been outside on a bicycle all January though I have done a few trainer miles on Zwift. Mostly I have been hiking or doing Pilates or Tabata pump classes. But I decide that I want to try a century, an easy century without much climbing, but a century just to see what happens. Jon says he is interested and the die is cast.
There is a Mad Dog Century on Saturday, but I have no interest in it because it is a city course. There are only so many centuries left in these legs, and I don't want to waste them on such a course. Besides, it is supposed to rain on Saturday and may be canceled. Friday, however, appears to have little chance of rain and to be relatively warm at the start for this time of year. And since I am retired, Friday works. I decide on Dave Fleming's century course over Medora because of concerns that Medora may be flooded. I warn Jon that I will be riding conservatively and reserve the right to turn around if I am tired and think finishing will be a chore. It is an impediment, the difference in our paces, causing him to ride slower than he likes and me to ride faster than I like at times. But I mean it when I say I will be riding conservatively.
I know I will be sorry when our rides together end just as I rue the day my riding ends period. But I know the end of last year it had become a strain, the feeling that I was too slow, stealing the enjoyment of the ride and the miles from both of us. When that happens, it becomes better to ride alone, without the demands, imaginary or real. But as with other lost riding companions, it will tear my heart a bit. So many lost companions over the year though for many different reasons: Sparky....Bill.....Steve R......the other Steve R......Greg Z.....Joe C.....Steve S.....Bill P......Lynn R......and on and on and on.
I turn my back on the thought of losses just as I intend to thumb my nose at the continuing grayness of the skies. Day after day with little to no sun. Often rainy. Or snowy. Or cold. "Godchidden" comes to mind, a phrase from a poem I read once...perhaps Thomas Hardy?
As I pack to leave for the ride start, I realize I need to go back over the list in my mind to be sure I have what I need to be comfortable. All too well I remember a previous ride and riding back from today's third store stop inadequately clothed and, therefore, cold and thoroughly miserable. I decide on a rain jacket despite the fact they are not calling for rain throughout the day, a decision I will be glad of for we do get some sprinkles though never any serious rain. I don and discard a wool jersey, but do keep a wool base layer adding a regular jersey and vest. I know my hands will be warm enough with the bar mitts, but I throw in the new shoe covers my son got me for Christmas. I also pack a light extra layer in a light backpack that I will wear just in case.
Because it is winter, I throw a light on the bike as dusk falls early this time of year and head out to meet Jon at the start. We are scheduled to leave at 8:00. Despite getting behind school buses on a couple of occasions and having trouble putting on the new shoe covers, we leave at eight. The first few roads are heavily trafficked with those heading to work and I am glad I turned my blinker on for a gray light cloaks the world. Per the weather man, the sun is not supposed to shine today.
But once we are out the city, despite the occasional misting and the lack of sun, I find the beauty in the bare fields, brown and forlorn. How patient they are, imperturbable in their waiting, knowing there will, indeed, be a resurrection. There is an allure in tenacity. As they often do, lines from Adrienne Rich come to mind, when she speaks of the "humble tenacity of things."
And it is while I am thinking such silly thoughts that it happens. My front wheel leaves the road and, like a rookie, I over correct trying to regain pavement. No, I don't fall in the water filled ditch on my right side. I fall onto the pavement, tipping sideways, hitting head first. Jon was ahead but hears me and turns around asking if I am okay. And I think I am thanks to the helmet. The foam is cracked a bit, and my rib and side feel painful, though not as painful as when I broke ribs in Texas, and I know I have a bit of road rash on my knee. (I later find a bit elsewhere). But I am, indeed, blessed. I can ride. I check myself for what I know of concussions and seem to have no symptoms.
And so I decide to continue. Imagine my surprise, when shortly down the road, a bird takes a dump on me hitting my glasses, my face, and my jacket. The irony of it hits me immediately, but I desperately begin trying to find a way to clean myself. Fortunately I find a wipe and Jon has hand sanitizer. I tell him it is the first time I have used hand sanitizer on my face. Well, in all honesty, I can now say I have had a shitty day;-)
As I ride I think of my husband saying to me, shortly before he died, that while he didn't know if he could, if he is able he would take care of me. Between God and him, they did a pretty good job today, better than I deserve.
We eat and finish without a third store stop. The pace is slow and I am hurting pretty good at the end, my big concern being that the aches has extended to include my neck and shoulders. Remembering my head bouncing, I wonder if I have whip lash. Having had it once before and remembering how painful it was and how long lasting, I am frightened. Jon suggests that it might just be from riding and being on a bike so long when I have not ridden a century for awhile and he turns out to be right.
Still, I am glad to get to my car and head home even if I remember on the way home I can't take any pain killers because of possible bleeding. But I am not sorry that I rode despite the accident and getting dumped on. Life is, I suppose, just a series of getting knocked down and getting back up until, of course, one day you don't. As Ms. Siff points out, "You just have to keep going." And there is beauty out there, even in the midst of a dreary and dark winter.
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