Three rides in a row. The first was two hours of poopy legs. The second try was a mere hour – 45 minutes, then a torn sidewall and 15 minutes of walking. Third night, tonight, I hit gold – 2 hours 20 minutes of solid technical night riding, solo.

Getting home from work is a good thing. Today was a good day. I decided that I was going to put last week behind me and work hard to look ahead. It worked. The only thing on my mind when driving home from work was what route I was going to ride. I hurry up and get dressed and grab a granola bar on my way out. I check my tires (I’d been having problems getting my front to seal, it had been losing air pressure way to fast), hop on the bike, clip in. and start rolling down the street. I knew it would be a good ride when I cleared the first two lights. I roll by, watching as people sit in their cars waiting for their turn to go. I see guys with racks on their car, watching my back as I roll by. I’ve been that guy before. Envious… jealous… frustrated it isn’t me riding. Yeah, I’ve been there. Today is my turn. I keep turning the pedals over, roll through the last light of my journey, weave my way through a Sam’s club parking lot, which at times is harder than the actual trail and definitely more dangerous. Hopping the curb into the singletrack brings me great relief. Just like that, as if someone shut out the lights, I’m in another world. A world where nothing else matters but how my legs and lungs feel. I take that first descent a little slow; trying to get used to the new tread up front. It catches like new rubber should. Confidence builds.

There is a moment at the beginning of every ride where a little tension creeps into me. It’s the moment before my first climb. I worry. I worry about whether or not my knees are going to feel good or if they’re going to give me pains. I worry about how much it is going to hurt, or not hurt. A real cyclist knows within the first ten minutes how the rest of his ride will go.

I see it coming – the incline of loose rocks and short step-ups. No cheater lines here. It’s either commit or fall several feet over onto sharp limestone rocks. I always commit. After cleaning the first climb with ease, I come to realize that tonight will be an excellent night. I roll through the singletrack with hardly a thing on my mind – just the next obstacle. Eventually though, my mind starts to wander. Wander ahead to things to come and things that have passed. I’m a sucker for the Christmas season and my ride takes me through a neighborhood that seems to be as festive as I am. I laugh as I turn the pedals. Looking at the houses lit up, watching my breath as I exhale into the night. These are the rides I love.

As I continue on into my ride, I realize it is fully dark, and I should turn my headlight on. I always take about one minute to just stand there when I ride solo. Just to let the darkness and void fill in. Knowing I’m alone in the dark, in the woods, enlivens me. My first time out, I was a little scared. Now I enjoy it. It brings me a sense of peace. There are no boogie monsters in the woods. There may be a hobo or two, but nothing to be worried about.

I realize that I haven’t taken a sip of water in twenty minutes. That’s easy to do when the temps drop into the 50’s. I take a drink of my evening chilled water, feeling it go down my throat and burning my stomach. It gets me moving even quicker. On this ride, I have two real climbs. I’ve done them both countless times and know the right lines like the back of my hand. But at night things are different. Lines change and memory fades. Balance is key when climbing in Austin. There are times when you can’t keep pedaling. Sometimes you have to change lines, but have to halt first. If one can’t come to a stop and have the power to get going again, you’ll never survive here. I try to stay seated as long as possible on this climb, mainly to save my legs their energy. I know I’ll need it as I get to the top. Eventually, I’m forced to stand. Singlespeeders are unlike any other cyclists. We can stand for a long time on climbs. Standing isn’t the hard part; the back going weak is the hard part. As I throw my front wheel over the first big step, my rear wheel spins out on a rock. This is the moment I hate. I must make a quick decision. Do I unclip and push? or do I stall, change lines and power up? Doing the first brings frustration yet saves power; performing the second requires timing, power, and luck. Nine times out of ten I’ll try to stay on the bike. I love the bike. I stall, lean my body over while turning the handle bars slightly to the right and kick and pull at the same moment to produce as much power through my cranks as possible, while at the same time kicking my back wheel up to clear the small step that is approaching. Cleared. Wow, that always brings a smile to my face.

As I approach the top I start to really let loose. I get my heart rate up enough to make my chest burn, my arms tingle and my tongue is a little numb. The only way to get faster on climbs is to climb, so that’s what I do.

I eventually start my journey home. I still have plenty of trail to ride and nothing but owls, raccoons, and spiders to keep me company. Every now and then I might see some lights in the distance or pass a group of riders. They always ask how many are behind me. My reply is, “Nobody.” That gets them talking. Some people find night riding dangerous. “What if you wreck and get hurt?” they ask. “Who’s gonna help you out?” Good question. That’s one I don’t have an answer to. But it’s either riding by myself, enjoying the peacefulness of the solitude, or sitting on the couch watching T.V. I say, “I’ll take solitude for 500, Alex.”

As I approach the trailhead, I have one last climb in front of me. I hammer up it, giving it everything I have. I like to end on a good note and to me that is when I’m barely able to breath or think due to the lack of oxygen in my muscles and brain. I roll out of the woods and back into the parking lot, surprising two Sam’s Club employees on their break having a smoke. I zip up my vest, pull up my arm warmers, and roll home. My toes close to being numb, my breath hitting me as I roll through it, my exposed calves burning in the night., I feel more alive than I have in a while.

Do I ever get tired of riding? Yes, I do. And when I do I don’t ride, or ride something different. There are really only two passions in my life: my loving wife, and my bike. Passions are a positive thing – people take care of their passions. People focus on their passions. Passions give that person something back. I’m a lucky person to live in a city where I can embrace my passions. I’m a lucky person to have a wife who understands my basic needs. I lied when I said nothing really crosses my mind while I’m riding. One of the things I think most about while riding is Katie. I look forward to coming home and seeing her. She is the warmth at the end of a cold ride.

Sherpaxc

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