I often ride solo, taking relatively short rides out here on rural Oregon roads. It’s great, and I definitely enjoy the solitude of the experience of just myself, the bike, the scenery, and the more-than-occasional suffering that accompanies the many hills around forest glen road.
Sometimes through this solitary riding, I end up getting an inflated sense of my own skill as a rider. Looking back toward a challenging hill that I just “crushed” offers the sense that, maybe, with a little more training, I could be a racer, too. I used to race the bike, albeit in the context of triathlons. But my last competition was more than 10 years ago, and I haven’t exactly kept myself dedicated to the process and planning that goes with competition.
Today I was granted some perspective (read humility), in the course of a ride with my friend David Pilz, who rides for the local team Gentle Lovers (gotta love that name). Anyway, let’s just say at one point it probably appeared to a casual observer (and myself) that I was on a tarmac treadmill, while I’m pretty sure DP’s bike sprouted wings and elevated up the hill on Eaden Rd.