Most serious recreational cyclists are gluttons for punishment in some way or another. Whether it's the heavy lactic acid burn of a good hill climb or bombing a rocky downhill knowing there's a 50 percent chance you'll eat it hard enough to draw blood, on road or off road, pain is an integral part of the sport. We hold hallowed the "hard men." Those who will ride come hell or high water. Those who crash and get back up and immediately charge on. It's a carefully nurtured and cultivated mindset. No whining, no quitting, no mercy. What is it though that makes these qualities so sought after? Why do some riders push the envelope. Why is it that some choose to brave foul weather for a training session rather than surrender to their turbo trainer cave? Why do some riders push on through a race when they are broken, battered, bruised, and without a chance in hell of winning in that condition? Why do cyclists choose to ride the more difficult route? Why do crazy people train for and compete in events like Trans-Iowa, a 310 to 340 mile race on the worst gravel and minimum maintenance roads in Iowa?
The reason being a "hardman" (or "hardwoman" for that matter) is so revered, is that cycling is really about the journey, not the destination. Not all journeys are exciting. Not all journeys are trying and filled with adversity. All journeys have a story, but not all stories are worth telling. I commute to work every day, but 95% of the time, it's an uneventful ride with nothing exciting to talk about afterwards. However, when I go out on a 50 mile bikepacking trip on my fat bike, riding well into the night, there's always a story or two to tell afterwards. Even my commute can get a little interesting if the weather turns on me. Tonight I was testing out a new light setup on my way home. I was blasting down the rail trail just completely lost in all the sensations that come with riding in a downpour at night. The raindrops and the water droplets flying off my front wheel put on a sort of hypnotic light show in the 1480 lumens of light blasting out of the front of my rig. The droplets from my front wheel cut slicing arcs through the diagonal streams of water pouring from the sky. Every now and then a drop would catch the edge of the front of my light and explode in a liquid shower of sparks. The rain felt amazing on my face, cool and refreshing against my hot skin. "Why don't I do this more often?" I thought, and then the crack of thunder reminded me that when it rains here, it tends to storm. I fortunately know the difference between hard and stupid, and quickly headed towards home. It was a much more interesting and entertaining ride home then heading home right after work while it's still light out in nice weather.
So in the end, I feel it is not really the quality of being able to endure that is valuable in and of itself. It is valuable because it allows one to achieve what they may not have otherwise and experience things both internal and external that they never could otherwise. Even experiences like complete failure are valuable. If I never try to push myself past my limits, how will I know where they are? Coming off of a recovery week I guess I might be feeling a little gung ho before this weekend's long ride. I'm psyching myself up I guess. This weekend I think I'm going to try to squeeze in some sort of insanely long road ride. Trans Iowa isn't for quite a few months and registration doesn't even open until next month, but it's never too early for base training.
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