Waiting

It happens more often than I'd care to admit, especially in the fall and spring, when the peak of the day is the best time to ride and mornings are not yet amenable to a dawn spin (too cold, too icy, too dark) -- I end up waiting for my ride time.

In the summer, early rides spare me the anxiety of waiting. I can sneak out of the house while others are asleep, and arrive home just as they are rubbing the sleep from their eyes. There is no inconvenience, no competition for time, and no trade-offs. My devotion to cycling is as inconsequential to them as it can be. I am just a few noises in the drowsy morning, a couple of hours of quiet, and then more rattling and steps as I return home. I am barely noticeable.

During the times of the year when sunlight and temperatures are most bearable at the peak of the day, competition for time slots becomes keener, and my riding is the subject of negotiations that often begin mid-week, with blanket pronouncements about my intentions to get in 1-2 rides over the weekend, blatant interpretations that the weather forecast supports my plans, clear hints that riding is part of the weekend plans, and so on. In order to be strategic, I initially have to perform some quiet reconnaissance of the field of battle, usually by inquiring about the planned and/or required activities of the upcoming weekend. Once having surveyed the terrain ahead, I can begin to plot where and when I will strike, and the games begin.

All this said, my family is remarkably supportive of my cycling, as I think they know it is my primary passion as an individual. Given the amounts of time I spend on homework, evenings out, my own career, their activities, and in the inevitable downtime parenting brings (waiting, watching, and worrying), I am grateful that my escapades are as integrated as they are.

Waiting for that magic, negotiated spot in the day can be fraught with anxiety. Clouds scud across the sun, threatening to blot out the warming sun and bring along a punishing, cold wind. Temperature fluctuations become worrisome, as dressing for these mixed seasons can be tricky at best, and unpredictable temperatures make the job a bit more difficult. The hours tick by, and you fret about whether your ride window will remain open, the air will be warm, the sky sunny, and the ride long enough.

It is the season of waiting -- waiting to begin the negotiations, waiting for the weather, waiting for the right days to emerge, waiting for the right hours to be set aside, waiting. But once the road and tires meet, the waiting is over. It was worth the wait.