Meltdown on the Mountain

The goal for Saturday was to ride five times up Bald Peak, five different ways, three of those on gravel. But we only made it up four.  

Not because of Mike crashing or his bloody wounds wrapped in arm warmers.  Not because of the extra long and wide load of machinery that came barreling down the hill at us, nearly sideswiping riders.  Not even because of my whiny attitude over nothing but my own suckitude.  But because I had a stupid cramp that wouldn't go away for over an hour.

I was pissed at myself and my body and pretty much the whole human race.  But really it's my own fault for creating a ride called Bald Peak for Hardasses, and giving myself credit for being a hardass before I even rode it.

Luckily, I lived to ride another day.  And that day was Sunday.  An aimless ride that started at a civil hour through rolling country hills with no particular schedule or goal or destination except for fun.  I'd forgotten about this kind of exploratory adventure, deciding at each turn which way to turn.

This is one of those times when bike rides mirror life.  You take it all so seriously and second guess yourself and convince yourself that you are unworthy, but it's all happening in your head and nowhere else.  Sometimes it's best to just let go of the big goals and the cadence and the grams and just coast.