There’s a famous line; how does it go? Something about mice, men, and best laid plans? There are times when even the hardest among us–those who in order to evade the mind-numbing sensation bestowed by another session on the rollers may think nothing of a ride in sub-zero conditions as snow lightly falls–must admit that we have been defeated. And beyond simply acknowledging our defeat, we must learn to, above all, accept it. There is of course a fine line patrolled by one’s own integrity between giving in and giving up. A proper hardman will not be intimidated by rain coming down sideways, by the strong winds that seem to change direction with every turn he makes, by a technical time trial run in hurricane-like conditions, or any other brand of foul weather for that matter. No, a rider of such fortitude will meet challenges such as these head on. And as he returns from his conquest, soaked to the bone, snot caked below his nostrils, embrocated legs streaked with grit, the uninitiated may cast their gaze upon him and wonder what would possess a man to willingly submit himself to this.
In our minds, this is always the desired outcome. Our ability to endure, to persevere, to suffer, to carry on in spite of conditions conspiring against us makes us transcendent figures in the scheme of routine human existence. Yet sometimes circumstances make surrender impossible to avoid.
Usually undeterred by even the worst, I convince myself that 45-degrees, wind, dense rain, and an inhospitable riding environment is nothing I have not experienced before. It is my job to travel the country, after all, and I have become accustomed to improvising in order to maintain my training schedule. Add to that a rain cape, water-resistant gloves and shoe covers, and time to burn and it should be a walk in the park. But as I begin my journey and realize that nothing but urban roads with unending streams of traffic happy to soil me with sprays of road soot are the only sure things that await me, I sigh reluctantly, turn my machine around, and despairingly pedal back towards the hotel. I have been defeated. And though not ideal, I suppose there could be worse things than missing a two-hour endurance ride on a rest week at the tail end of October. A strong cup of coffee and a good book helps me overcome my surrender. The day has not been lost.
