Soak
I could feel cold rainwater filling my Specialized Body
Geometry clipless shoes as I cruised at a steady pace along the South Platte
River Trail. I had left anticipating a relaxing two-hour recovery ride to the
trailhead of the Mary Carter Greenway Trail, but soon discovered that fate and
circumstance had a different plan.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I approached the trailheads of the Platte and Cherry Creek
Trails near Confluence Park shortly after leaving work for the day. I soon fell
in line with a cyclist riding a full carbon Orbea time trial bike along the
trail. I rode with my hands in the drops, letting my elbows bend at a
comfortable angle to reduce fatigue. I was glad to find someone to draft behind
who was riding at a comfortable speed. I have to continually restrain myself
from making every ride into a race in order to allow my legs to recover from
harder efforts earlier in the week.
I later passed the Orbea cyclist when he nearly plowed into
a detour sign on the trail, since it seemed that I knew the trail better than
he did, though he soon caught up with me as I continued to soft-pedal my way
south.
Only about thirty minutes into my ride, I heard a loud rush
of air. It took a second for me to realize that it was my bike that was making
the noise as the handling of my bike quickly went soft. The tube in my front
tire had blown out, forcing me to put a hold on my current expedition. I
quickly put on my brakes and rolled to the side of the path, taking out my
headphones in time for me to hear the Orbea cyclist ask if I had everything I
needed.
“Yeah, I’ve got my kit with me,” I said as he nodded and
clipped back in, riding off down the trail.
I attempted to determine what caused my tire to suddenly
lose air but was initially unsuccessful. I flipped my bike over and detached my
front wheel, inspecting the tire for any signs of damage. After not being able
to find any pieces of glass or thorns embedded in the tire, I unzipped my
saddlebag and grabbed a yellow plastic tire lever, quickly unseating the bead
of the tire from the rim of my Fulcrum 7 Racing wheels. After pulling out the
deflated tube, I realized that the rim had cut the stem of the tube nearly in
half, rendering the tube unsalvageable.
I promptly installed a new tube, filling it up with a 16
ounce CO2 pump. I realized that I would be out of luck if I were to
get another flat, but I decided to continued riding. I rode quickly along the
riverside trail, easing my body into corners, my hands resting lightly in the
drops as I traversed several bridges crisscrossing over the Platte River. Well
before I reached my halfway point, it began to rain. I had initially dismissed
the few droplets of water that spattered the lenses of my sunglasses an hour
out from the city, but I soon realized that it was going to be a cold and wet
ride home.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I stood at the intersection of Colfax and 14th,
wearing my cycling kit and tennis shoes, eagerly anticipating the last leg of
the 70-plus mile race from Golden to Denver: six circuits through downtown
Denver that would produce the overall winner of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge.
Earlier that morning, I had ridden to Golden to watch the start of the stage,
catching a glimpse of Tour de France rider Levi Leiphiemer backstage during an
interview before the race began. Thousands of people lined the streets of city,
angling their bodies for a better view. I watched as the brightly painted Mavic
pace car whizzed by, followed closely by a parade of team cars and police
escorts. I heard someone yell, “There they are!” I tip toed a few more inches
into the street to see the first five riders in the distance, lined up and
hammering big gears in a paceline. I watched in amazement as they quickly
turned into a colorful blur, their tires only three feet from me as they
traveled at over thirty miles an hour.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I unsuccessfully attempted to spit wet sand out of my mouth
as I rode, my tires spraying rainwater up my back and into my face, completely
soaking my cycling kit and layering on a fair amount of small road debris and
gravel on my calves, back, and thighs. I was at least thankful that I had worn
my Giordana cycling cap, which helped to drain rainwater to either side of my
helmet, rather than dripping behind my sunglasses. Water beaded on my arms and
ran down my legs as I pedaled. I could feel the sharp staccato of rainwater splattering
against my shoes as I watched my skin begin to turn a faint pink against the
cold air of the afternoon. It was getting colder, but I kept pushing,
continuously turning my pedals.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Two minutes and thirty seconds to gap!” the SUV in the
front of the riders had announced.
Two and a half minutes later, the peloton passed, including riders such as team Radio Shack’s Levi Leiphiemer, BMC’s George Hincapie, and Leōpard Trek’s Fränk and Andy Schleck. It was incredible to see so many cycling greats racing in the streets of my new home town. Full carbon European frames and three thousand dollar wheelsets glinted in the afternoon sunlight as fifty thousand spectators cheered for the pro cyclists. It was the third 5-mile circuit through the city, and the gap between the breakaway group and the peloton was shrinking drastically.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I often imagine that I’m riding in a race while I’m out on
my bike. I sometimes have the opportunity to slip into a paceline with
strangers for a short amount of time during my long weekend rides. I love
getting low and aero as I crouch with my hands in the drops, drafting closely
behind the rider in front of me. I still have yet to ride in a race, a fact
that continues to bother me, especially since I wasn’t able to ride for the
months of June and July this year, causing me to miss nearly all of this year’s
major cycling races. But this realization drives me to continue pushing myself
on the bike, putting in more miles and beating personal records as I prepare
for next year.
The trees and grass lining the trail ahead seem to pop in
fluorescent green color from the rain, reminding me of how refreshing cycling
is for my soul. I ride under an overpass, narrowly missing a line of people
finding shelter from the rain. I smile to myself as I realize that I am one of
the few people out in this weather, completely unsheltered and underdressed,
but loving every minute of it.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“One minute and fifteen seconds to gap!” the SUV announced.
The ground trembled as the cyclists passed, leaving a strong
gust of wind in their wake. I anxiously watched, awaiting the final results of
the race. I had been following the previous five stages of the race as best I
could without a television. Each stage required a great amount of endurance,
speed, and technical aptitude from the cyclists. Stage 3 consisted of 131.1
miles and 9,746 feet of vertical climb between Gunnison and Aspen. The
last stage totaled only 70 miles, ascending Lookout Mountain and coming to a
finish in Denver, but I later learned that the cyclists were able to finish
this stage of the race within a mere two and a half hours.
I had crossed Colfax to watch the finish as the fifth pass
through the downtown circuit was being completed. I attempted to elbow my way
to the front of the roadside barriers that lined the final stretch of the
course, but I was only able catch a glimpse of a few riders sprinting their way
to the finish. I later heard that Levi had been the overall winner of the USA
Pro Cycling Challenge, with four other American racers placing in the next four
top spots. I watched as George Hincapie slowly rolled along the asphalt on
Broadway near the course finish line atop his custom BMC bike, tossing a sweat
soaked glove to his cheering fans.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I crossed a small pedestrian bridge over Cherry Creek,
dropping onto 15th Street along with several other vehicles. I
increased my pace as I followed closely behind traffic, once getting hit in the
face with a piece of gravel that an SUV in front of me had kicked up. Though
the rain had almost completely stopped, the roads were still completely soaked,
causing my bike to don another later of road grime while I rode through the
city. Slick manhole covers caused my rear wheel to slide out sideways as I
crossed them, making me momentarily rethink my route through the city. I rode
through several red lights, summoning up what energy I had left in my legs to
power up the short hill on 17th, squeezing in between moving traffic
and cars parked alongside the street.
I arrived at my apartment complex, lumbering into the warm
hallway soaking wet. I leaned my bike against the wall in my kitchen and took a
long, hot shower, washing the dirt and grime from my legs. Though my day had
not necessarily gone as I had planned, it couldn’t have been much better. I
love the rain (though not necessarily biking in it) because it refreshes
everything it touches. Everything is brighter and healthier after a rain storm,
and I love that it reminds me of what God is like.
I have recently developed a habit of just stopping and
taking in the sights and sounds around me at random times throughout my day. I imagine
that I’m taking a deep breath with my soul as I soak in the moment. It could be
at a symphony, during a walk through the neighborhood, during a good
conversation with a close friend, while looking at the stars on a cool and
clear night, or during a bike ride. Every time I do this I’m reminded of Him. A
symphony is beautiful, elegant, and complex. A good, deep, and soul-searching
conversation is uplifting and revealing. A walk is peaceful and calming. The
stars are awe-inspiring and impossible to wrap your mind around. And a bike
ride is exhilarating, challenging, and refreshing. I’ve come to truly
appreciate every waking moment that He has given me, and it gets easier and
easier and I grow older. My life certainly doesn’t become any less difficult,
nor do my circumstances become any easier, but I know that with Him, He will
always provide, and always with the best in mind. Soaking in everything in life
is one of the best things I can do with what He has given me.
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