I can see this eating up weeks of my time.
When I pull off a proper 140 mile ride I’ll eat one of these.
Maybe because it’s so easy to go hard on the mountain bike that going hard on the road bike feels so good, there’s little of the joy that comes with carving a nice tight turn on singletrack while going uphill. Instead you have the suffering (I know the overuse of that word) but it’s out in the open, turning over the pedals when it would be so easy to just sit up and sip some water and softpedal to get there. I take inventory of the (few) victories, try to ignore the defeats-failing on that one! I look at my hands, my wrists, scarred and nicked from inattention. I’m locked into an imaginary pace, pushing for a reason that’s still months away but the subtle joy that sits deep inside the effort makes it all worth it.
Fading snow, an oven-like 30 minute climb and practically no one else out there. #perfect
Cutting away the extra, it doesn’t seem to end, 2 steps forward 1 step back
at least most of the time. I keep seeing the gaps as they eventually get
refilled. The trimming will never end. I kind of like that it’s a work in
progress that doesn’t seem to have a finish line. My eagerness to have a
little less and a little more open space isn’t new, just fixing it is.
Snow on Grey’s and Torrey’s in the distance.