I didn’t want to do it, riding by myself.
I woke up early to convince myself it’d be fine if I got out before everyone else. Then I procrastinated for several hours. I couldn’t ride with anyone and Chris didn’t want to join.
It’s a love-hate relationship, really.
Riding solo is good if you want to go at your own speed, go wherever you want, and not have to talk to anyone. Sounds right down my alley. So why did it bother me to ride by myself?
I had three-and-a-half hours to find out.
After debating whether or not to jump on Zwift or go outside, I packed up everything I’d need (even grabbed the fanny pack), sprayed my face down with sunscreen, popped a piece of gum into my mouth, and waved Chris goodbye.
I didn’t have a set plan or route to go on and I like those. Chris dared me to ride with abandon. To just go outside and enjoy it.
“Who does that?” I wondered.
I pedaled down Prince St. and jumped on the High Line Canal Trail. I expected gobs of people on Mother’s Day. Then I reached the C470 Trail that led to Chatfield. I know my weakness is climbing so I took to Deer Creek Canyon.
It was around 9ish or so and I assumed the Deer Creek and Wadsworth intersection would be plagued with cyclists. It was surprisingly bare. Maybe people were spending the morning with their moms?
I chose to “just ride.” I didn’t stare at my watts or aim to be in a particular zone. It helped that my Garmin’s screen turns off automatically after three seconds. I had plenty of time to “just think” with whatever music that played in my right ear.
Why did I not want to ride by myself?
I think when we’re alone, there’s no one to distract us from ourselves. You have to listen to your thoughts (and mine are mostly mean). You have to suffer alone. And my thoughts don’t help with that. There’s no camaraderie when you’re pedaling up a canyon by yourself. Maybe with the others you see along the road.
I don’t find myself boring. Actually, I can entertain myself for hours. For some reason, I didn’t think that’d be the case climbing through Deer Creek Canyon. It’d been several months since I last tried that climb and my only recollection was that it was a slog. I remember doing it during the summer and how hot I’d get, how my legs were on fire, and I just wanted to be done. The whole climb, I wanted it to be over. But who doesn’t think that?
Climbing is only good for one thing: it gets you to the downhill.
I didn’t want to ride by myself in case something happened. In case I was hit by a car or crashed or got lost. I’m always worried about getting lost or hurt. With technology these days, I’m not sure why I’m so cautious about finding my way. Cars are another story. I’ve had close calls with them before and I always say to myself, “don’t hit me, don’t hit me,” when I hear one coming up the road from behind.
I’m not as adventurous as I once was. Let’s be honest.
There are so many of us who let our fears (as rational as they may be) get the better of us. I let the trepidation of getting lost, getting hit by a car, sitting alone with my thoughts almost keep me home. We can’t let the fear of the unknown or worst-case-scenario drive our lives.
Chris reminded me that I love my bike. It was the thing that brought me joy.
So I took the first step on to the porch after begrudgingly putting on my kit and stuffing my fanny pack. I pedaled on to Prince Street and it was a fantastic ride.
I ended up getting my second best time up the Deer Creek climb and I wasn’t focused on my watts or zones. I listened to my music. I looked at the sky. I wiped my sweat with my neck buff. I said “morning” to the people I passed and “hi” to the people who passed me.
I didn’t get bored like I thought I would. I didn’t get hurt or hit by a car. I realized the only thing that was getting in my way was my mind. The monkey brain that jumps to irrational conclusions and thoughts and isn’t the best thing to listen to.
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