Three zeros

On Friday evening, history was made. It may not have mattered to anyone but myself. The cows sure didn't seem to care. Caroline at least willingly snapped a few photos before starting to shiver in the chilly twilight air. But I was quite happy to surpass the milestone of of 1,000 hours of pedaling this year. Never before had I tallied a thousand hours of total training in a single year, and strangely, for the first year since I bought my first road bike when I was 13, I don't think I rode on skinny tires once. Mountain bikes have completely taken over. And earlier in the day, I gradumutated (for the last time, I swear), to boot! Then I did some math and realized that there are not even 9,000 hours in a year. How did all that fit into a single year?

After a weekend of relatively balmy temperatures, I awoke this morning to low clouds and sub-freezing temperatures. I grabbed my Horsethief and headed into the foothills for what may have been the last ride on my favorite trails. The lower sections were skating rinks, but a bit higher, the snow and ice disappeared, and the muck from the weekend was replaced by high-friction, ice cemented gravel.

Soon the snow began to fall, and into the clouds I rode. It was completely still and entirely silent, save the grinding of my tires in the dirt, the strained chattering of my chain, and the thumping of my heart as it labored to keep my muscles going. And I had the trails completely to myself.

The spectacular views routinely offered by the summit were completely absent. The contrast of scorched tree trunks draped in mist was enough to preoccupy my thoughts as I strapped on my pads. Then without further delay, I launched into the fog and relished one last run back down into the canyon. I'm really going to miss this ride.