Mine legs have felt the glory of pedaling the Trace

I had the Battle Hymn of the Republic on repeat in my head since I tried learning the song on the piano in Jackson. The tune fit the pacing of my pedaling. How convenient. I had been told the last forty miles of the Trace would be hilly, but the hills were not as bad as the ones in southern Mississippi. The downhill descents, however, were all I had hoped for and then some. Imagine liberating mile-long downhills with only subtle curves. I felt a little bit of fear because my hands weren’t prepared to brake, but I never needed to because there were few cars and no traffic lights. The sensation of the downhills was reminiscent of roller coasters I rode as a child, but there was no defined or expected path. I could take curves wider or faster. I could speed up by making my body compact or slow down by increasing the wind resistance. What freedom!

The last bit was also a mental test. A sign outside the Nashville Bank Trust (or something to that effect) told me it was 46 F outside. My tri cycling shoes were damp, and the wind stole whatever little heat I managed to produce. I rode the end of the Trace to Highway 100 with some seriously frozen feet. I got to the Loveless Cafe and had to use my hands to physically separate my toes to put on my flip flops. My brain couldn’t convince my toes to move. The Loveless Cafe had an hour long wait for a table, so I went to Trace Bikes instead. The owner gave me handwarmers and got me coffee from the cafe. Hershey, a beautiful chocolate lab puppy that hung out at Trace Bikes, acted as my toe warmer. I’m not into the domestication of animals, but a chocolate lab is one that I would consider as a possibility. Once warm, however, I took another half hour to face the cold. A woman came in wearing full-length biking tights, a jacket, booties, the whole deal, and she was still cold and wanted to buy more clothes. (This woman is no weakling; she is a mother of four who is doing an Ironman in three weeks.) I was just wearing thin tri shorts, a t-shirt, arm warmers, and a windbreaker. I realized I’m pretty tough, or tougher than I give myself credit for.

People all along the way shook their heads when I told them I was riding solo. If I let fear limit me, then the loss is mine. I can’t accomplish things if I don’t try. Here’s to getting this, and more, done.

Preparing for last day of biking

Can you tell I’m cold?

Frigid and Loveless

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~ by jay on 17 October 2009.