I checked the weather forecast again, to confirm the wind speed and direction. So far April has looked a lot like March; cold and windy. The wind’s been ferocious for several days now and on the High Plains, the wind doesn’t blow, it sucks. I wrote a poem about it around this time last year, must be an April thing; “Wind on the High Planes.” The forecast shows the wind to be fairly steady out of the west at 15-18 mph, with the temperature getting to eighty degrees for the first time this season.
So I formulated a plan, as I put Double Cross, (the gravel bike) into the work stand to fix the flat tire I limped home on last ride. The running gear is full of dirt and crud, so I clean and lubricate it too. As I worked on Double Cross, I noticed all of the green shoots springing up around the yard in the dead brownness – “Wow, it’s Spring.” The cottage is small but it’s surrounded by a big yard. An hour to mow and even longer to do all the edging with the weed-eater. And it needs to be done at least once a week, sometimes more often, in the height of the growing season, ugh.
The only good thing about it, is how good the beer tastes when it’s done. I’d prefer xeriscaping – no maintenance, rock, gravel and weeds. Vickie out-voted me though; she likes her tidy green lawn. I think it takes her back to her childhood when her and her cheerleader buddies would run, twist, flip, spin, somersault, laugh, play and cavort about in their little wool skirts on the soft, green lawn between the two big Spruce trees.
I head out of town on Gun Club Road, right into the headwind and it punishes me, sucking all of my energy and I’m just getting started. I shift down and spin the pedals trying not to think about it too much but it sounds like a freight train as it whooshes past my ears. Like sticking your head out the car window at 30 mph or so. The internal dialogue gets an early start as I labor down the road, barely getting the speedo to double digits.
The Ego begins the dialogue: “WTF are we doing here? Are we crazy? We could be sitting comfortably in an Adirondack chair on the lee side of the cottage enjoying the sunshine on this beautiful spring day.”
The Higher Self responds: “It’s about discipline, Dude! We’ll be rewarded for our efforts later, when we’re flying down the road on the wind, like an Eagle or a Falcon.”
“Part of me suspects that I’m a loser, and the other part of me thinks I’m God Almighty.” ― John Lennon
I reckon because there’s nothing else to do when I’m struggling into a stiff headwind, uphill on soft gravel; I watch the interplay of these two. The Ego and the Higher self. Imagine Eddie Haskell and Wally Cleaver from “Leave it to Beaver.”
Eddie: “We’re not designed for this, Wally. We have no aerodynamics. We’re much better suited to be riding a lawn chair.”
Wally: “No pain, no gain, Eddie. Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
Eddie: “We’re going to be seared with some scars, Wally; if we take one of those Grizzly Bear sized tumbleweeds that are flying about, broadside. We should probably turn back while we still can.
Wally: “C’mon Eddie, no risk, no reward. Only a few more miles of pain and we’ll be on the gravy train.”
Sometimes the wind drowns them out or the effort to climb a hill requires my complete focus but they’re always there in the background with their judgements. Finally I get to the crossroads where we all turn south. There’s no one to notice except a lone heifer in the pasture, with a pompadour.
Eddie: “Does that cow have a Pompadour?”
Wally: “It looks more like a Ducktail.”
Eddie: “No, it’s a Pompadour.”
The wind’s broadside now, the pedaling is much easier but control becomes the problem. The fast smooth track between the gravel and sand dunes on the road, is often only a foot or two wide. The 20 mph wind makes the bike difficult to control and hold my line. Eddy’s right, I’m not very aerodynamic. In cycling circles, I’m what they call a Clydesdale. I’m shaped a lot more like a Fullback or a Defensive End than a Cyclist.
Eddie: “Hey, what if we flare out the latissimus dorsi and rotate the hips a bit. Maybe we can perform a downwind tack.”
Wally: “You talk too much Eddie, we’re trying to concentrate here. We’re Cyclists, not Sailors.”
Then the turn back to the east; sailing down the road at twenty mph and that’s before we start pedaling. We shift up to the biggest gear and keep spinning it up – 25 mph, then 30 mph.
Wally: What d’ya think now Eddie? Worth it, right?
Eddie: Meh, I’d still rather be stretched out in the Adirondack chair enjoying a cold one.
Eddie, Wally and I were back at the Cottage by 11:00. Time for a beer – breakfast of Champions and Clydesdales. Time to kick back in the Lawn Chair and ponder Lawn Care.
As a parting shot, check out String Cheese, performing Restless Wind, a quarter century ago. Colorado Gravel, Colorado Beer and a Colorado Band all in the same post. It doesn't get any better'n that!