Velophoria Incident Report

Yesterday, it was 44 degrees and sunny enough to blind me, so I embarked with great anticipation on my first true (outdoor) “long ride” of the year. I was expecting pure Velophoria all the way, but to my surprise, about an hour in, I was sluggish, uninspired, and contemplating cutting down the length of the ride.

So, I’m leaning on my top tube by the side of the road, chomping on raisins and almonds, feeling the sun on my back, trying to make up my mind how much further to go. Over the rise comes a rider out of his saddle, and the colors of his jersey are familiar. A moment later I place them: the Kissena Cycling Club in New York City. Only one dude I know of around here flies the blue and orange of the Empire State: No One Line, who I’ve been lucky enough to have in my neighborhood for the duration of this school year. Is it him? The rider shouts a friendly, generic, “Hey” to me, which alone speaks in his favor; most cyclists will simply lift a hand, at best, or just ignore you. I check his bike: A brand-new, matte-black Spooky Skeletor, a truly sinister whip. It’s NOL, all right. I shout his name, and he hits the brakes, does a double-take, and yells, “What are YOU doing here?” – as if he didn’t know. There follows much hail-fellow-well-met.

We were headed in opposite directions, but that just seemed silly. My route puzzlement clearly answered by his fortuitous appearance, I glommed on to the opportunity to ride with a friend through the knife-like February wind, as a way of brightening the day. And brighten, it did. We chattered away like magpies, about everything from bikes (natch) to woman mathematicians (his partner is a hard-rockin’ example) to novel-writing.

If I could dream up a perfect ride partner, it would be one who was in far better shape than me, inspiring me to hammer up a few hills I wasn’t at all planning to hammer up – and then, too, a delightful conversationalist with a broad-ranging zest for life, so when we’re back in February Base mode, we reel in the miles unnoticed (except for the perfect New England scenery; NOL comes most recently from the Big City, so the contrast ‘round here leaves him agreeably gobsmacked at times).

I guess I was dreaming yesterday, because before I knew it, it was an hour later, and I was just hitting my stride. We parted ways with promises to be in touch, and I finished out the last of my 2:30 with a little left in the tank, and some extra gratitude on top of that for friends, and the marvelous and mysterious forces that nudge us across each others’ paths.

Velophoria, indeed.

Velophoria Incident Report -- Finally

30 miles around the Holyokes with Jacob this a.m., a bona fide, honest-to-goodness, real summer day, with blue skies, sun, rolling farm land, mountains...

I am whole again.

Health issues continue to prevent me from riding as long or hard as I feel I can, but I'll tell you what: I'm branding this a Velophoria Incident. It's been far too long since the last one, and a beautiful morning spent on two wheels with a good friend more than qualifies.

Velophoria Incident Report, Jan. '09

I've felt like a landlocked sailor for the past couple of weeks.

It's been at least that long since I've been able to ride outside, what with the holiday travel and the nasty weather in Massachusetts. I've been like some ancient salt forced to live in Kansas or Nebraska. Broad vistas of pleasant seas and sunny skies fill his dreams at night. Daily he wakes to an unremitting funk. Nothing terribly wrong. Just not quite... right.

Friel warned me about it. Carmicheal warned me about it. Even I warned me about it: Roller burnout. And it's only January!

This morning, though I slept poorly last night and the temps were in the teens when I awoke, I was determined to get out for a ride before work. It might have been my last chance for the week, since we're expecting a messy winter storm tonight.

Despite the ill tidings and exhaustion, despite the time away from the road, I had a lovely ride.

The small mountains near our home hovered on the horizon, the farm fields stretched away on all sides in an eternity of frozen white silence. It was sere, icy, forbidding -- in other words, beautiful. I had sun (or at least brightness) for most of the hour and a half I was out there. And best of all, the iPod, on Shuffle mode, kept dishing up the very best of the deep recesses of my music collection, stuff I love and hadn't heard for a while. Sometimes it seems my iPod is determined to bore me; even on Shuffle, it seems to go through the same old tunes and artists. Not today; today was sing-along day. Good tunes always get me moving on the bike.

True, two-plus weeks off the road have taken much of the oomph out of my legs. The "same old" hills brought rude awakenings. But I got a good workout in (right on target for my periodized plan), got fresh, icy air on my face, got genuine daylight in my eyes, and covered some ground. Best of all, no significant knee issues today. I rode like I wanted to.

Once home, face flush, warmed from the inside by a steaming flagon of hot chocolate, I felt rich, new, ready for the day.

Velophoria is why I ride. It only happens once in a while, and I can't plan it. I am grateful when it catches me. I'm grateful today.