I often get asked, “what do you think about” on these long rides. Surely it’s a time for great introspection and reflection, a time to let the mind free to wander, and to arise with great ideas and insights into the world? The constant pedal, pedal, pedal, the whirring of the wheels, the wind whistling past your ears all creates a trance like state, where your only thought is to stay on the wheel in front, not run into it, keep a constant cadence, and continue that forward motion. It’s like the mind becomes a void, an empty space where nothing happens. I call this my neutral mind, and for me this is what long rides are all about. During normal days my mind is a constant whir of motion: husband, kids, work, fitting in cycling, trying to justify those new wheels, that new kit… it never stops. So these long rides are a way to get my mind to finally be calm and to just breathe.
On the road to Boort we ticked over two major miles stones for me: we passed my longest ride ever with a whooohoo, and we passed over our (planned) halfway mark. I had entered uncharted waters and I had little to no idea as to how my body and mind would cope after this. I knew that it would be a slow degradation of my body, and eventually I would hit the point where the pain became less of a friend, and more of a monster that I would have to contend with. But mentally I was prepared for that. It’s never a question of comfort. You know that it’s going to hurt. But it’s just how to manage that pain that becomes the challenge.
Rolling into Boort as the sun dropped over the western plains, everything hurt, not just my feet. I collapsed onto the lawn, feet up in the air and propped on the van. The guys asked how I was doing, and I was honest with them. I was in pain. It wasn’t just the feet at this point. That forward lean position, which had been okay up to about 260km, had taken its toll on my “lady bits” and I was starting to feel like I had been punched. Not saddle sores. Just bruised. I could see the guys looking a little anxiously at each other, as this wasn’t something that they could relate to, and I’m sure they were wondering how I’d cope with this additional challenge.
Lights were mounted, fresh kit donned and sexy high vis safety (aero?) vests slipped over the top. We all saddled up and got ready to go when we realised that there were only four of us on bikes. Jacques was not in a good place, and was not ready to move yet. We had time so there was no stress. After slowly finishing his drink, he approached the bike and rolled over to join us.
Total rest time planned: 20 minutes. Taken: 40 minutes.
As the sun set and the shadows of the bikes on the road grew longer, we said goodbye to the light and started to prepare for the next half of the ride. It would now be dark for the next 10 and a half hours and we all started off very quietly. I think we were all a bit worried at that point that Jacques might be done, but figured if we didn’t say anything maybe he’d sort it out on the next section. I’d done a few early starts (including one memorable 3am ride which will not be mentioned) but the idea of riding for the next 10 or so hours in the darkness was a bit intimidating.