Whenever Im caught in the rain with at least an hours ride between me and my home Im reminded of this passage from Tim Krabbés The Rider: ...After the finish all the suffering turns to memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure. That is Natures payback to riders for the homage they pay her by suffering... (People) still have bodies that can walk for five days and four nights through a desert of snow, without food, but they accept praise for having taken a one-hour bicycle ride. Good for you. Instead of expressing their gratitude for the rain by getting wet, people walk around with umbrellas. Nature is an old lady with few suitors these days, and those who wish to make use of her charms she rewards passionately. Sure, Id hardly classify todays ride as a sufferfest, but the quote applies. I saw a pothole filled with water, but saw it too late to dodge it, hop it, or get light enough to mitigate the impact. Thirty seconds later I was pulling off my rear tire. Another few minutes later I was fixing the front. One hole, two flats. Thats a first for me. A few minutes later, waiting for the light at Belmont Park to turn green, someone said something, half-jokingly, about camaraderie and it being a justification of sorts for why we were out there at Mission Beach, getting our asses handed to us by rain. I dont ride for podiums (Ive never even been close to taking one). I dont ride to show off my gear or to brag about centuries or to keep myself fit. I ride for the religion of it. For the revelation that occurs when your concern that your group will abandon ship and seek shelter from the storm is met with seven roadies baring their teeth with smiles growing ear-to-ear as they shift into a climbing gear and pass every canopy, preferring Nature to shelter. I ride because seven people who were strangers just months ago circled around me as I addressed my flats, offering levers, tubes, boots and air, refusing to ride on without me. That comment about camaraderie? I was soaking wet, shivering, filthy from the road grime that sprayed off the tire of the rider in front of me. I was quiet, wondering if my rushed repair overlooked a bit of glass in the rubber that would have me flat in another half mile. But I smiled, thanking Nature for the rain, for the pothole, for the donated tube and the two spent CO2 cartridges in my jersey pocket. Camaraderie indeed.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Jul 2014 20:23:41 +0000
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