Fair-weather riding is a luxury reserved for Sunday afternoons [not today] and wide boulevards. Those who ride in foul weather – be it cold, wet, or inordinately hot – are members of a special club of riders who, on the morning of a big ride, pull back the curtain to check the weather and, upon seeing rain falling from the skies, allow a wry smile to spread across their face. This is a rider who loves the work.
When you've mentally prepared for a tough, wet, cold, nasty day, there is nothing sweeter than seeing an ominous sky, as described above. Today was one of those days; meeting up before the ride the darker clouds were building on the horizon. The mist and light drizzle came within only a few miles and the heavy rains soon followed. There is a perverse sense of gratification that while you're sitting on the front in driving rain and wind that somehow, behind you, everyone else is more miserable and in more pain. The cycling version of Schadenfreude. Alberto Contador recently said something to that end; essentially: "I know when my legs hurt, everyone else must be hurting more. So I attack then." Let me be clear, I am not trying to be mean or act as a masochist to any rider but I guess feeling tougher is an ego boost to a simple male mind. The rain did stop before the first major hill yet the roads were still soaked through (and would be until the end of the ride) and rising out of the saddle the group quickly shredded to pieces. At the top, some headed straight home while John and I soldiered on, through muddy and twisty roads, ever careful to not lose that minuscule patch of grip that lays between us and ending up in a ravine. Rain brings the limits that much further down, making it that much easier to reach them. But there's nothing better than knifing through narrow turns on narrower roads; trees and shrubs brushing your arms with their branches; letting the physics of cycling work: managing to stay upright despite the absurd angles of lean. This is the most--by far--joyful part of cycling. It's why we seek the descent to a climb and look for ancient back roads instead of characterless motorways. Perhaps a soaked Lombardia highlighted and intensified these feelings. Photos by Sirotti via steephill are here. Another long climb lay in the way of my tiring body and home but the sun was burning off the gray, peeking through the clouds before finally bursting through with the last downhill miles left. I love the work.
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