Against the Wind

I think that "Against the Wind" should be every cyclist's theme song, because there's not a ride out there when a cyclist won't tell you about, or complain about, the headwinds. It's a given. I had a couple of rides this week that have had notable headwinds, but that's not what this post is really about. Those rides sparked a memory.

Years ago, late-August of 1992 to be exact, I took a ride with Dave Pickett that will live forever in my memory. The entire ride was 300 miles over three days, with the middle day as a rest day. I could write a book on that ride, on preparation, and on how to survive when 100 miles becomes 150, but today I want to focus on just a few miles of the ride that were the most disappointing cycling miles I think I've ever experienced.

On the return day, we had ridden up many miles on US 89. I had continued on with the knowledge that we would be descending Spanish Fork canyon into Utah valley. I survived the rolling hills and even the climb to the top of the canyon firm in the hope of miles on end of quick, painless descent. What could be better? What could spark a cyclist on to greater effort than free miles? For hours on end I looked forward to this incredible downhill. It was to be what the Boy Scouts expected from a downhill ride. It was my salvation on what I had otherwise come to see as a massive death march. (Okay, the stop we were going to make at BYU to see our friends who had already started school was another highlight, but that's an entirely different story about two guys wandering around that no-shorts-allowed campus in Lycra.)

Well, we approached the backside of Spanish Fork canyon through Thistle, and climbed to the high point. I had been off the back the entire climb, since Pickett could always out-climb me. (Pickett being always the first to the top, I being the first to the bottom, and Rod Asher being the first to involuntarily leave his bike -- fall.) Now as I approached Pickett waiting for me at the top I was ready. I didn't even need to stop for breath, I was ready. Now was my time. I started down the canyon, and was blasted with a headwind so strong that my air resistance overcame the pull of gravity. I HAD TO PEDAL! NO!!

"Maybe if I pedal now the wind will die as I get lower. Yeah, that's it," was essentially the thought that got me through the first mile. Then after the second mile I thought that it at least couldn't get worse. And I now had to keep pedaling since I was the one who was to get to the bottom first. I knew that Pickett would be close behind and that if he caught me I'd never hear the end of it. Oh, the humanity! I had to work on the one section where I was to have been able to catch my breath and watch the world blur past me with incredible speed.

To shorten the rest of the misery, it turned out that I had to pedal the entire length of the canyon just to keep my pace equal to what we'd done earlier in the ride. As I mentioned earlier, this was one of the great disappointments of my cycling -- and entire -- life.

After escaping the canyon, we made another great cycling decision by stopping at a greasy-spoon-diner for a late lunch, but as I said that's one of many other stories for the book of decisions not to make on an epic bike ride.