On the last long ride out here, I was desperate to catch up to the pack.
Having just impaled myself on a tree, I wanted help getting the mast sized piece of timber free from my eye.
Imagine my disappointment dear reader when I reached the look off to find no one there.
Sure, it’s a short dash from the look off back to my cabin and they were impatient to finish.
But typically, Zeke and I stopped there most rides.
We’d do it either for a peak at the view, to check our bikes or to take a quick photo at the very least.
But the last time through, there was no stopping.
On my first ride back I wasn’t going to ride a long time.
Dark clouds were looming, rain was on its way.
For this ride, my focus was on keeping up my cadence. I’m working on spinning my feet more quickly, using less ‘power’ and more cardio to keep going.
But for the last seven days, I’d been spinning at work. My voice was strained and body seemed broken.
And out for a ride by myself I had to stop.
I had to stop and look around, to take it all in - the trees and the ocean and they mist as the fog rolled in.
I’m glad that I did. It’s a habit of mine.
Life gets difficult when I’m spinning in the weeds of parenting or working.
It’s at these times when normally it makes sense to just keep going that it’s most important to feel the sun on my face and pause a moment to watch it slip below the horizon.
Sometimes it’s time to spin and to grind on. Make hay when the sun shines. Get’er dun.
You might not have that much time to cover every bit of ground you want to
And even when you’re out for a quick rip, it pays to stop on the way out and take in the view.
