The machine that cuts a path through the darkness.
Reality is always an unpleasant surprise; no one wants to see ourselves the way others see us, and that’s for good reason, too: depression would be much more widespread problem if each of us realized what a pain in the ass we are. Speaking of unpleasant realities, after recently reviewing videos of myself speaking, I have deduced that I have the face for radio, the hand gesticulations for both Mime and Cheerleading (neither for which I have an ambition), and the voice for print. That leaves me with the Internet.
A long commute to work in darkness is a surreal experience. The early hour leaves the road vacant, and the rider is confined to the small cone of light beyond which exists only blackness. The mind settles into the vampire state of wandering a being alert all at once. Thoughts of the day’s work will lay somewhere on the periphery; not front of mind, yet inexorably nearer with every stroke of the pedals. The rain and cold amplify the effect.
Strange thoughts are thought in this state, not unlike those you might have just as you catch yourself falling asleep. The first paragraph of this article is a fine example of such a thought. For this, I ask your forgiveness.
The commute presents its own challenge, new obstacles to overcome. The wet winter commute sandwiches the workday like two soggy slices of bread. One finds very quickly that it is not the cold, the dark or the wet that is unpleasant; it is the sodden kit hanging in a locker all day not getting fresher that is unpleasant.
This morning looked dry from the bedroom window, a terrible place from which to judge the weather. Rain was in the forecast (this is Seattle and January, after all), so I slipped into my Gabba jersey as easily as James Bond slips into a dinner jacket. I stepped outside and noted that it would be nice if the weather stayed dry for the ride in so the kit might be more pleasant when dressing for the evening’s ride home.
I should know better than to think such thoughts; the rain was summoned immediately by the Nine Gods to remind me that the Glory of Rule #9 is not chosen at the rider’s convenience or whim. Fool.
Riding with a backpack is a nuisance. As Velominati, we have refined our position and learned to control the bike through micro-movements and immeasurable shifts of body weight. The gear-loaded backpack is a sledgehammer to our china cup of balance. Our position feels off, the bike handles differently, and we are heavier by two kilos at least. This, along with every other reason you can think of why backpacks suck, is more than enough to encourage one to avoid the climbs, especially the steep ones.
But there is a beauty behind the nuisance: climbing with a heavy load is like training in a fat suit. Seek out the hardest climbs and the next time you ride without a pack, you will feel as though you were given wings. Instant morale.
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@Al__S
*shudders*
I've got the Nederaap set up as a genuine commuter but for a commute that doubles as a training ride, anything short of genuine road bike is something I cannot abide.
@Chris
Its funny, a day at the office can be good or bad, but depending on whether it was exothermic or endothermic (meaning whether the day left me with energy to burn off) is what seems to have the biggest impact on whether I want to crush it or not. After a day that's left me drained, a mellow ride home is the best way to feel human again - and after a day that's left you rarin', the crushing ride is the best remedy to be a pleasant companion back at the house.
Fucking story of my life; not on trains, but on planes. JAYSUS.
@frank
Sat around on a plane in sweaty, steamin' kit?! Fuck Frank, that's taking commuting a bit far. Leave the bike at home on the days you've got to fly for business.
If on the other hand you're talking about the fat slugs elbowing you on the plane, I was out of order with that one. While I'm officially a fat shite, I'm going to have to be a lot more tolerant of the cunts.
@frank
This is so true, sometimes I've go to take myself off to the garage to knock out a quick 2 x 20 to ensure that I'm not going to be a grumpy turd for the evening.
You need to raise your seat up dude.
Never mind the weather, look at that bike. The saddle is up in the clouds and the bars are slammed down as far as possible. You are either 21 years old or a danged contortionist, but probably both. even the pros have less vertical distance between saddle and bars.
(west country accent): that @Dave, he be new around these parts.
@davidlhill
oo arrrr, reet true thar art.
@Dave
Waaallllll..............we know he ain't 21.
@Al__S
I'm going to agree with you and disagree with Frank on this one. Form follows function for working machines. I just moved to WA for work and don't have a car for the first few months, and I doubt my office mate would appreciate used kit hanging out next to her desk all day. I went out and bought myself a Giant Escape -- 700x32 tires, fenders, a rack, a bell, the works. It even has a triple for when I'm hauling groceries home in the panniers. Must weigh 30 pounds without any cargo.
Sure, it violates plenty of rules. But I look at it this way: I'd rather have a machine that fills a need than shoehorn a machine into a role for which it wasn't built. One thing is for sure, though, it will be better than any backpack or fat suit when I get back on the #1 come spring. I'll feel like Superman.