Gusty Ride
I should have known that Saturday's cold pouring rain was a sign, but I ingnored it. Even though the weatherman said it would be "gusty" on Sunday, I vowed to ride anyway. Vows are tough sometimes.
I raced through the neighborhood on my humble new Giant OCR2, across the main intersection and was finally into my ride. Not much traffic, sweet. Crossing the first bridge over the lake and heading uphill into the wind, I had some concerns about an NGG (no granny gear) ride. Then, when I hit the open farmland, my hopes of an NGG ride were shattered. Wind. 43 mph gusts. Whoa! Actually, I alternatively grunted two different four letter words for the next 40 minutes as I wrestled my bike through the wind, in Granny Gear, on the flats.
After a bend, the wind was at my side and I soon found myself leaning into it at what felt like a 45 degree angle just to get back in my lane. Wind caught my glasses and were it not for my helmet, they would have blown right off my face. My contacts dried out just as church let out and a lot of old people in Buicks began passing very close to me. I was certain they would make it back home for Sunday dinner and find a triathlete stuck to their car door.
When I finally made it to the country store at the half-way point, I seriously considered calling my wife to come get me. I imagined the conversation: Yes, I know my two-year old is napping. Yes, I know you're five month's pregnant. Yes. Un-huh. Yes. Yes, I know. I know. OK. OK already. I said OK, will you please come get me? Suddenly, 43 mph gusts didn't seem that bad.
I chugged some Gatorade, ate a PowerBar and convinced myself that the wind would be at my back on the way home. What I soon learned, however, is that wind is fickle. VERY fickle. I rode on, into the wind, in Granny Gear, on the flats.
I raced through the neighborhood on my humble new Giant OCR2, across the main intersection and was finally into my ride. Not much traffic, sweet. Crossing the first bridge over the lake and heading uphill into the wind, I had some concerns about an NGG (no granny gear) ride. Then, when I hit the open farmland, my hopes of an NGG ride were shattered. Wind. 43 mph gusts. Whoa! Actually, I alternatively grunted two different four letter words for the next 40 minutes as I wrestled my bike through the wind, in Granny Gear, on the flats.
After a bend, the wind was at my side and I soon found myself leaning into it at what felt like a 45 degree angle just to get back in my lane. Wind caught my glasses and were it not for my helmet, they would have blown right off my face. My contacts dried out just as church let out and a lot of old people in Buicks began passing very close to me. I was certain they would make it back home for Sunday dinner and find a triathlete stuck to their car door.
When I finally made it to the country store at the half-way point, I seriously considered calling my wife to come get me. I imagined the conversation: Yes, I know my two-year old is napping. Yes, I know you're five month's pregnant. Yes. Un-huh. Yes. Yes, I know. I know. OK. OK already. I said OK, will you please come get me? Suddenly, 43 mph gusts didn't seem that bad.
I chugged some Gatorade, ate a PowerBar and convinced myself that the wind would be at my back on the way home. What I soon learned, however, is that wind is fickle. VERY fickle. I rode on, into the wind, in Granny Gear, on the flats.
posted by TriDaddy at 7:20 PM
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