Enjoyment

It's not gay, no one is making eye contact

I rode for three hours, a little more actually, the most I've ridden in months and I got to some thinking. Do creationists really believe the world was made by a magic person in the sky? Is Sky the most powerful cycling team in the history of sports? Are sports really that enjoyable? Are prostate orgasms really that intense?


I've been struggling with riding my bike recently. I don't even know why. I want to ride my bike, but I wake up in the morning, and, don't feel like it. I just don't. I'm in Queensland, on the Gold Coast, the best place for cycling in Australia (big call, I'm making it, have you ever ridden here? Haters gonna hate), and I look out the window, and couldn't give a shit.

Nah, I'll ride later

Even when I do get out, I'm so unfit, it's horrible. Ridding your bike as quickly and as easily as you like is only a viable option once you're fit. I came crashing down to this reality a few weeks ago but still don't have the motivation to get out.
I'm stuck in this fit cyclist mentality: I want to do three hours with some climbing but when I get out there I'm in the gutter and struggling after an hour and a half. Maybe I'll just ride around on the flats for two hours and pump out some power: nope.

Maybe I just need to ride my bike for fun, maybe I just need to enjoy going out for a ride and forget about being fit.

You know, getting fit.

Today was a great example of that. Although I'm not that good a climber (in the grand scheme of things, I smash almost all Peloton riders up a hill), I really like climbing. Riding up hills are the real test of your cycling fitness. It takes more than just being skinny, as time trialling takes more than just being powerful. But I find it the most pure form of testing your cycling scruples.

You've earned it!

So anyway, today I hit the Springbrook. The Hors Category climb behind the Gold Coast that shits all over everything south of Coolangatta (which is all of NSW). It goes to 1010m (it doesn't quite start at sea level) over 20km. It's fairly tame at an average gradient of 4 or 5% for 8km, before fucking you in the face like a Space Marine with a massive hammer. After the 8km mark, it ramps up to an average of 7% but there are a few sections ranging between 15-25%, with one section ramping all the way up to 30.7 fucking percent. That's not even a lie. I won't hide behind my awesomeness, but I did consider giving up at that point. It was porn star hard, believe.

Shit son

As I neared the top, by neared, I also mean: hoped it was only one more corner to the top; it got cold. My garmin tells me the start was 24 degrees and the KOM was 10. I can vouch for 10 degrees as the road was steaming and my breath was visible. And despite your beliefs to the contrary, I am not a moron, because I brought arm warmers and a vest for the descent. The top is cold and the descent takes spot on 30 minutes.

Anyway I forgot a bit, I drove to the foot of the mountains because if I had ridden all the way there from home, I wouldn't have made it, it wouldn't have been as enjoyable and I wouldn't have done the extra half rep. This links back with me being a fit cyclist stuck in an unfit cyclist's body.
So as I near the top, a four wheel drive is just leaving and the guy in the passenger seat gives me a thumbs up. And it dawned on me, fuck yeah, I made it. That man's gesture had a profound effect on me. This guy that doesn't even know me, thinks I'm alright because I climbed the Springbrook. It warmed my sense of pride in humanity.

I took some photos at the top, put some warm gear on, descended all the way to the bottom and finally saw some other cyclists. They all gave friendly head nods except when I hit the bottom. There was a Budget Forklifts guy with a bored, annoyed look on his face. I turned around and shed my extra gear, spinning away. After three or so minutes I heard a drivetrain behind me and this guy was coming up in his big ring without much effort. He rode past me and didn't even look at me. He continued on putting more and more road between us. By the time I got to the second wooden bridge he had turned around and he still had that sheepish self hatred look on his face. It occurred to me that I don't want validation from someone so defeated. It hit home again, how cycling needs to make me happy, even if it hurts. Big ring hill reps aren't the reason I ride a bike, they are a by product of wanting to be the fastest. And sometimes the pleasure of riding a bike doesn't just come from just riding it, it comes from being the fastest, the strongest.

Hey, hey Phil. Phil. Hey, Phil. Phil. Phillipe. Hey. Hey Phil. Chill out man.

Something that plagued me a bit was: what does it mean to give up? When is the appropriate time to quit? I know from working over the years that to win a war, you have to pick your battles. Sometimes you just have to surrender, sometimes you just have to give up in order to get ahead. But where do you draw the line? How hard do you push yourself before you quit? If you have to quit, does that mean your goals are out of reach?

People quit all the time on bunch rides. Turning early, taking a short cut. Always. But is it weakness or a tactic? It's hard to question somebody's motives when you don't have a common goal, do they even care? But are you better for pushing on? So many questions, so little time.

Finally, I keep telling you guys, but honestly: if you want an amazing cycling holiday, some variety; come to the Gold Coast.

At 1010m high, life is pretty distant.