Three weeks in Vancouver. Three weeks off the bike. And now behind again on the blog. The title for this entry takes on multiple meanings, which will require further explanation over the next couple of posts, but let me start with a brief overview of the multiple meanings.
First, three weeks off the bike was especially painful. I missed my bike. I missed riding. I missed the exercise. I’ll expound further, perhaps, in a post devoted exclusively to the experience of not riding, but there was something missing during the trip. Secondly, my last ride was the long Vermont ride. I still need to post that report (coming soon), but in short it was un jour sans, and I had to get off my bike after 219km. Very disappointing. Adding insult to injury, less than 48 hours later, I was on a plane to Vancouver, left to stew for three weeks without being able to turn a crank in anger. More pain. Finally, there is the return to the bike. Three rides so far this week, and the discovery that my form is nowhere near where it was when I left for Vermont. The heat on Monday (41 with the humidex) was, in fairness, strong, but even so, I felt I was bleeding gears much too quickly every time the road turned upwards and recovering them much too slowly once things levelled off. Pride, soul, and body: all wounded.
The week has improved. After a short ride on Sunday (20km), followed by dying a thousand deaths on the way out to Mississauga and back (80km—Lower Base Line), today’s ride out McNiven and back (73km) was pleasant, although I did intentionally take my foot off the gas in order to just get the distance in and not worry about the pace. I felt a bit more confident on the bike, even if I was still struggling…