If you ever met me in person, you would be struck by what a nice person I am. You would be flattered by the way I seem interested in the things you have to say. You would be amused by my interesting anecdotes. You would be impressed by the way I emphasize similarities between our points of view, while politely—yet openly and honestly—discussing our differences fairly and openly. You would tell your friends later what a thoughtful, friendly, intelligent (for I am very, very intelligent), and entertaining person I am. You would look forward to the next time we met.
And yet, I can get cranky.
If I don’t get out on a ride fairly often—three days off my bike is the outer limit—I stop being fun to be around. I stop chuckling at your stupid jokes, I no longer pretend that what you have to say is relevant, interesting, or important. I start saying the cutting things that occur to me. If you met me when I was cranky, you would think less of yourself by the end of our conversation. Much, much less.
By last Saturday, I had been off the bike for four days. Suffice it to say that I was no longer very nice. Further suffice it to say that I am capable of shooting flesh-burning laser beams out of my eyes, and was getting confused about whether it was really morally objectionable to use these lasers.
My wife (who has a permanent exemption from my crankiness, because I am [very, very] intelligent) understood what was going on, and made the following suggestion, in spite of the fact that we had both been working on unpacking boxes every waking moment since we have moved into our house:
“Why don’t you go on a little ride? It will help you get your balance back.”
In case I have not mentioned this before, my wife has a heart of gold.
One Hour
“Remember, though,” my wife caveated (yes, I just turned “caveat” into a verb). “There’s a neighborhood party at 6:00. It’s 5:30 now, so I don’t expect you to be there for the start. But I’ll have the kids with me and will need some help, so just go riding for an hour, OK?
“No problem,” I tell my wife as I suited up. “I’ll just ride up American Fork Canyon for 30 minutes, then turn around.”
Memory Does Not Serve
My house is a mildly rolling four miles from the mouth of American Fork Canyon, which is part of the Alpine Loop, my favorite road ride in the world. I was a little disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to do the whole loop, because it’s been close to three years since I’ve done this ride. Still, I figured just riding up to Tibble Fork Reservoir would be a nice little ride.
The thing is, though, either I’m in much worse shape than when I last did this ride (probable) or I didn’t remember how much of a climb it is from the mouth of American Fork Canyon to Tibble Fork. Regardless, by the time 30 minutes had elapsed, I hadn’t reached the turnoff to Tibble. “That’s OK,” I told myself. “With this being all uphill, I’ll be able to blast home in twenty minutes or less.”
So then I got to the Tibble Fork turnoff. Time to turn around.
“I don’t feel like turning around,” I said, aloud, to the squirrel roadkill I was passing.
“So keep going,” the squirrel carcass said.
Who am I to argue with a talking dead squirrel? Besides, I’d just go until Pine Hollow, and then turn around. I’d be a little late, but I knew my wife would understand.
I am Not Afraid
Every time I climb the American Fork side of the Alpine Loop, I puzzle over the question: which way is more difficult to ride the Alpine Loop: climbing the American Fork side (which is a more gradual climb, but never lets up), or the Provo Canyon side (which is blood-spurting-out-of-your-ears-steep for the first 2.3 miles, and then has easy intervals in between each steep pitch)? It’s not an easy question, and is, I expect, subjective: do you prefer long, steady climbs or short, steep climbs? For myself, I think the American Fork side is more difficult. Which is not to say I prefer the Provo Canyon side, because I like difficult.
And then, before I knew it, I was at Pine Hollow. Time to turn around.
And that’s when a thought occurred to me: If I turned around now, would it be because I needed to get home, or because I didn’t have the strength to go on? Was I just making an excuse, when the reality was that I simply no longer had the cycling chops to keep climbing?
Defiantly, I kept going. I’d prove to all and sundry that I could keep going. I’d ride at full intensity to the turnoff where you go right to go to Timpooneke campground or go left to continue to the Alpine Loop summit.
After all, my wife knew better than to expect me home in just one hour. Or an hour and fifteen minutes, for that matter.
Scientific Inquiry
I shifted into third gear, stood up on my pedals, and rode as hard as I could to the Timpooneke turnoff. I was interested to discover, upon reaching that turnoff that:
- There were patches of snow on the ground. I was only a few miles from the summit. I wondered if there would be a lot of snow up there, or if the Ridge Trail would be rideable. That would be very useful information for mountain biking next week.
- I still had gas in the tank. In fact, I felt great. Really, it would be a crime to turn around and go downhill when I’m climbing so strong. And turning around when I was so close to the summit? That would just be weak.
And after all, my wife and I have been married for almost eighteen years now. She knows me well enough that she’d understand that I couldn’t turn around, not now. Not this close to the top.
Big Finish
There’s a steep hairpin turn that signals you’re one mile from the summit of the Alpine loop. I always take that final mile at sprint speed, giving it all I’ve got. Through the pain of that effort, I kept thinking one simple thought: “It’s good to be home.” I circled once in the summit parking lot and then rode back home as fast as I dared. And while it had taken me an hour and a half to make it to the top of the Alpine Loop, it took only half an hour to get home.
I showered at top speed and hustled over to the party…where my wife was just leaving—the twins had been a pain, and my wife had had enough.
I was preparing to explain myself, how I just wanted to keep riding so bad, and that I need to train for my upcoming races, and how I’ve been doing nothing but working (knowing full well that my excuses were pretty lame), when my wife asked, “So, good ride?”
“Awesome.”
“Cool. Tell me about it later. Right now, though, let’s get the kids home.”
In case I have not mentioned this before, my wife has a heart of gold.
