I bought a bicycle a little over a month ago, to replace running as my primary form of exercise. I've reached that point where running makes my knees ache for days afterward. Ah, the joys of one's middle years. But, I digress...
Making the time to ride regularly -- because to do otherwise would mean all the money I spent had been wasted -- has not been easy. As a night owl who loves to read late into the night (or into the morning), I am never eager to drag myself out of bed at 6 AM. One recent morning, I nearly lost the struggle, but I managed to cajole myself out of the warmth of my bed and into the early morning chill. "No one can make you do this," I told myself. "No one but you." Indeed. A lot like writing. Funny that.
This past Saturday, I was on the trail around midday. The weather was gorgeous -- perfect temperature, perfect humidity, bright and sunny -- so it was no surprise that about 5,000 other people were also on the trail. (That's one benefit of riding at 6 AM -- few people with whom to share the road.) At several points, groups created obstacles for a rider like me: riding fast, trying to improve on previous times and burn more calories. In rapid succession over the course of about a half mile, there were three different spots where families -- nay, entire villages -- had congregated across the entire trail for one reason or another, requiring me to slow down and call out to them so they would move. By the third time, my irritation must have been evident, judging by the looks I got as I rode through.
Ordinarily, I'm a very patient rider and enjoy sharing the trail with the other folks using it. This day was a bit different, however, because I was bleeding and in a bit of pain as I dealt with these blockages. "Bleeding?" you say. Indeed.
Just before encountering these three groups, I ran into -- almost literally -- a man who had chosen a bad spot to turn his bicycle built for two. As I came out of a bicycle tunnel and around a curve that was partly obscured by small trees, I suddenly saw the aforementioned bicycle perpendicular to the trail, blocking it completely. The man turning it had no time to do anything, and his passenger was in no position to help. I slammed on both brakes, and all seemed like it would be well when my back tire slipped on a patch of sand, the front wheel locked up, and down in a heap I went.
The man clearly felt bad, commenting that it was all his fault and that he didn't know what to say. And really, what was there to say? Likewise for me, what could I say? It's not like he maliciously waited to ambush me -- though he probably could have turned a little farther down the trail, at the end of a straight section that would have allowed other riders time to adjust, but let's not split hairs. I was angry and frustrated for a moment, but I swallowed it and just got back up on my bike, brushing gravel out of the cuts on one palm and one knee as I did so. I looked briefly at the man, then just took a deep breath and shrugged. Getting angry wouldn't have solved anything or helped anyone.
I rode off and didn't look back. I considered cutting the ride short and heading home at a convenient turn-out point that was coming up. But, I was only about two-thirds of the way through my planned ride, and again I realized that no one could make me finish the ride but myself. So, finish it I did, bloody cuts and all.
I might have vented my frustration with one very brief, shouted expletive once I was a goodly distance away from the man and his passenger. I am only human, after all. But I finished the ride despite the crash, and that made all the difference. That and the Advil...
