Solitary Refinement

There are times during the year when the urge to fly free on my bike leaves me, and I want to endure the unrelenting grind of hard, isolated training. For some reason that I can't quite grasp, there are times when I just want to insulate myself from normal aspects of riding and go out alone with my bike into the realm of pure and solitary effort -- repetitive climbs, speed drills, repeats, and sprints. It's as if I crave a brainless time of muscle and effort in order to purge myself of any residual stress normal cycling can't whisk away on its own. It also results in noticeable improvement of basic dimensions of solid riding.

Most rides involve thinking out a route, following landmarks, dealing with busy roads with potholes and debris, and chatting with others on the ride. All of these things are typically quite pleasant, or, in the case of potholes and traffic, are tolerable. Scenery and speed more than compensate for any distractions or stress from the surroundings. The freedom of the bike is its own reward.

During repetitive training, I usually find a closed route of about 2-3 miles of hills, and ride up and down the same set a dozen times or more. Gearing increases as I go or, if I'm doing sprints, I try to stretch the sprints until my muscles are literally blazing with fatigue. In the silence that mainly accompanies these rides -- on lonely roads at odd hours -- my only companion is my breathing and the occasional mechanical sound of the bike changing gears, the soft purr of tires on pavement, and the ambiance of surroundings.

In this isolation, cycling becomes mentally undemanding. I don't have to think about gearing choices, varying terrain, pacelines, traffic, or route. Each repeat is the same as the previous one, with perhaps a single change of gear or cadence that, once inserted, requires no further attention or thought. This zen-like quality of empty focus is perhaps what I crave. In fact, the feeling of clarity is most akin to what I've felt when I've tried meditation -- shedding worldly concerns and finding the essential. On these special rides, the normal world of cycling is set aside, and the pure essences of rider, bike, and slope meld for an hour or two, with a clear mind and active body generating unpolluted thought and effort.

Best of all, after these times, the desire to fly free returns acutely, and I've gained a refined climbing style, new bursts on sprints, or extended endurance on long stretches. And I can rest assured that the werewolf-like desire for isolated training will return, unheeded, to make me better yet again.