A Study in Saturdays

We ride.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday marks the hardest ride I have ever done.

Saturdays come now with a regularity like raindrops, heavy drumbeats drips of trepidation, laden with unspoken fears. Every Saturday I leave the house before dawn. To ride, ride, and ride until I transcend time itself. I ride until the demons are burned away by the light of a lactic acid endorphin haze that carries me beyond my own body. I ride until my soul stretches thin across the mountain slopes, subsumed by spotless sunshine.

A 50 mile leg of just us, the road and the sky.

I ride and the mountains rise to meet me.

I ride and the ocean crashes upon my face.

I ride. And still I ride on.

There is something Transcendent in all of this. Beneath sun-dappled branches we quietly climb, slowly, like any animal in the woods. There is only the moment, the rich smell of loam, the sharpened cry of a bird. Then like scattering doves we leap across a hill crest to take flight down the far slopes. With wings gathering speed we might even rise to touch the sky. Always this grounded flight, rising and falling in communion with the land, with ourselves, our peers, our Creator.

The Pacific, somewhere near Fort Ross.

Afterwards? Is there ever an afterwards? Afterwards I stumble home in the dark to try to remember what I even am.

Are Death Riders even human anymore? As we transcend our own physicalities, as our minds retreat, overwhelmed by the sheer effort of what we drive our bodies to do, can we even say who, what we become?




Always on a Saturday. This last one I remember like a dream. Sonoma Wine Country, with my Team. A beautiful beginning - miles of rolling vines and rich wineries to behold. And as I reflect, I can easily say that this was one of the most beautiful rides I've ever known. The views of ocean cliffs carved by crashing waves, of rolling hills covered in verdant trees, the smell of grapes and the spray of salt all served to mitigate the difficulty we faced. It was a ride worthy of taking my measure and I am glad to have accomplished it.

Then I recall the hills. Sheer hills, wrapped in tortured, rutted strips of asphalt expelled by a phlegmatic sadist. We rode up slopes that left me no choice but to stand and keep pressing my feet forward, lest my front wheel rise back to topple me to the ground. Never a place to stop. No way to rest.

An entry to the vaulted temple of nature.

The turn of the pedals, so slow, so silent. Just the push along the bare contour of the land, through the temple of trees and dancing motes of dust disturbed by our passing. My computer pulses as it shuts itself off, as I climb too slowly for it to register. Pulses again, on. Off. Pattering rain, a rhythm: Breath, Heartbeats, Pedal stroke, Pulse, Breath, Heartbeats, Pedal stroke, Pulse. Where does the machine end, where do I begin? Where do I end, where does the sky begin? In the moment, there is no demarcation.

There comes a time when you can no longer afford to think. You must simply know how to react. You must stand a safe distance outside your body and command it to continue, because if you dwell there for even a moment you will lose heart and give up, perish beneath the gripping pressure of it all.

At different times we were all left gasping.

I think this then is a critical piece of my training. To know the signals of my body well enough, to feel the desire to leap at the gate and temper it, to know that I am capable of more and mete out less in order to sustain under pressure. To transcend myself, survive, succeed.

Most of my Team finished this ride. None were unfazed. This ride was a beast and we took pride in our accomplishment, staggering together and hugging one another in the foggy haze of arms, laughter and post-ride delirium.

Now? Only 36 days remain. I am counting in days. Each morning waking, marking the calendar, one less empty square left to prepare for what is coming. One more dripping drumbeat of doubt. Will I be ready? My Achilles tendon still aches, already aware of what is coming. Can I go on? Must I? I shudder, my body staggers before the blow even falls. Transcend. I must transcend.

The Sun will rise as still I ride on.

That's me on the right, still riding on.