The Commute
I pause, drawing a slow breath in the misty air. I peer at my driveway, starkly uninviting in the monochromatic pre-dawn. If I push my pedal down, I'm committed, there's no turning back. My SUV beckons to me from its cozy parking spot. "I'm warm. I'm comfortable. I've got tunes. I can stop at Starbucks, and still get you into work faster! It's going to rain today and you'll be glad you drove!"
Shaking my head slowly, I gather my resolve. My legs still ache from yesterday's hard ride. I need some recovery time on the bike.... to exercise, but not push too hard. I need the quiet time to process all the things going on at work. I might feel tired now, but I know that even if I'm riding in the rain on my way home, it'll beat being trapped in a traffic jam. And once I'm riding, I'll probably enjoy it. I always do. The temptation passes into nothingness. I push off, gliding down the curve of my driveway into the journey ahead, clicking quietly into the morning.
24 miles to go.
I have the blessing of a hill to climb that starts when my driveway ends. I learn how I'm going to feel on this ride. Sometimes the hill invites a playful dance to the top. Sometimes it's a painful slog, telling me not to bother contesting a sprint that day. Today my legs complain a bit, perhaps annoyed at the extra weight of my backpack. But the pressure is welcome in its own way - a bit of stretch will be good. But just a bit. I need to recover.
I crest the hill, savoring the quiet. The narrow road winds and dips through damp forest. A tight corner. I lean hard, glide down a short drop, slide up a quick rise. I settle low into the handlebars, hands tight, body relaxed. The road drops down. Hands off brakes, I hold my line and pick up speed. I blast into the flats, my eyes tearing up as the chilly air rips at me. Banking up and right into the next turn, I'm settling in to the bike, slipping into my habits. I drop into an easy gear and start pedaling faster. This lazy spot by the river is made for leg-speed drills... 100rpm, 120rpm, 140rpm... get the feet moving, heart rate up, early ride warm-ups, waking up and warming my body.
Over the next several miles I savor familiar sights and sounds. The bridge over the river. The red light at route 2, already starting to trap a little bit of traffic in its snare. The grocery store, the sandwich shop, the coffee shops, the pizza place, the bike store, the flower store, the train depot, the homes of friends, the library, the big playground, the toy store, ... all these places that have become my kids' hometown. The bike connects me to this place. I can almost taste it. I slide through the waking town, reaching Monument Square. Making an inside joke shared with absent comrades, I take a full loop around the double traffic circle, feeling the earth's pull through the tight turns. I am humbled for a moment, sending my respects to the many soldiers who have died over the ages and are commemorated in this birthplace of the American revolution. I vector out of the circle to the east, towards the rising sun. I slow down, feeling the road but not pushing my pace. I breathe. Recovery ride today.
3 miles down. 21 miles to go.
Not too many cars this time of day, and plenty of room. The asphalt flies away under me as I cruise the side of the highway. I begin to think about a few things going on at work, exploring options as I spin the pedals. I arrive in the next town, surprised at how quickly I got there I dip through the downtown area, and hop onto the bike path. In the early morning, the bike path is almost empty, which makes it faster and straighter than the roads. Some days, I will do high-intensity workouts on the path, maxing out my power output for 3-5 minute intervals. This morning, though, I'm riding quietly and relishing the surprising wealth of nature the path explores. The scent of fresh greenery, the feel of the woods on both sides. Rabbits. Squirrels. Sparrows. Hawks. Cranes. As I pass through the Great Meadows preserve, the sun pops out above the forest. Warmth floods through my body, and I smile all over. I'm heading into the city, but it's like exploring in the backcountry.
Too soon, I'm at the end of the bike path, seeing cars lined up in the roads ahead.
19 miles down. 5 miles to go.
My mood shifts. The calm, casual, polite rider vanishes, replaced by a cyclist that considers anything moving a potential threat. I'm no longer out to enjoy the morning - I'm out to get through the traffic. Priority one: arrive at work, unscathed. I merge slowly into the traffic, moving to the front of the line at the red light.
All background processing stops, full energy diverted to ears, eyes, balance, road sense, and pure instinct. I eyeball the yellow lights and pedestrian signals, waiting for the green flag. My heart rate climbs. Priority one: arrive at work, unscathed. Priority two: speed. Become one with the traffic - move with it, through it, around it... not against it, or despite it. The lights shift, and without thought, I'm OFF like a rocket. With a laugh and a mental shrug, I hit the 'lap start' button my cycle computer. So much for recovery. I sprint hard into the left turn, putting distance between me and those metal beasts just starting to ease off the line. The race is on.
I have the road to myself for the first flew blocks. This is key, as there are massive potholes on the right. I scream through the middle of the lanes, shifting into my fastest gears. The road smooths out; I drift right without slowing. I'm not looking at my cycle computer but I know I'm doing about 28mph. The cars behind begin to catch up. I look at the lights ahead and know they will be green for a while, so I duck back into traffic into an open spot and grab the draft of a minivan, passing a few non-moving cyclists on the right as I move like a car.
In this city, the rules of the road for cyclists vanish. Cars are out to kill you. Buses see you as a target. Other cyclists are unpredictable and dangerous. Pedestrians are moving land mines. Traffic laws are guidelines to be interpreted in ways that maximize your survival. Stop signs and traffic lights provide you probabilities for vehicular behavior, nothing more. Speed is your friend. If you move as fast as the cars, you can be one with them when you need. Caution is your friend too. Everyone and everything is a threat. Be able and be prepared to follow the lights, to stop on a dime, to jump the curb, to counter-turn ninety degrees while holding 20mph.
We clear the two lights and then traffic slows as they anticipate another light turning red. I slide right, into the bike lane. I know this light's pattern, and it's not for me. I pass the cars, shoot radar at the cross streets, and blast ahead. On the right, a yellow bus spewing diesel fumes starts to pull out of a stop. I glance over my shoulder to confirm the road is still clear, shift up, and take the left lane to sprint past the bus before the game of bus hopscotch can begin. The bus gains on me, but then has to make another stop, and I leave it behind for good.
I see a garbage truck ahead, ambling along at a brisk pace, leaking little wads of wet goo out of the back. I consider bridging up, but I've learned that lesson before: never draft a trash truck. You have to breathe to ride. Thankfully it turns off into a side street.
I slow and gulp in fresh air. The sheer energy and joy of city riding hits me a in a burst. I laugh out loud, but have no time to soak it in. Traffic is tight ahead, cars piled up in long lines to get through a nasty intersection. I weave through the vehicles, ducking and dodging my way to the front, swearing quietly at the huge pickups and the lousy drivers who can't fit into their lane. I eyeball the pedestrian walk signals, slowing to where I am barely moving, inching forward... the light is about to shift. I swing my weight and am off before I have to put a foot down.
Pedal, brake, duck, spin, weave, dodge, pass, jump, slow, launch, coast. Swing left, shadow a bus, slow for a light, gone again. Every nerve on fire, every muscle ready to tense. A left turn across traffic is coming... I move across the road, slowing to time the leap into hyperspace, and then launch with the green - hard left, over the crest, around the car that has inexplicably pulled over to stop on the side of the intersection, past the gaggle of pedestrians who can't decide if they are going to jaywalk, and back into the relative calmness of an empty bike lane. Relax, breathe, push, alert.
I check my city score... I am one and two so far this morning. One close call, requiring last minute intervention to emerge untouched. In the city commute, these are not common, but they are also not that unusual... you wear loud clothes and blinking lights, you are vigilant, you ride aggressively or defensively as needed, you do all you can to have a safety baseline... but the close calls happen, you deal with them, and you move on. No time to get wigged out. Ahead of me I see another cyclist in a racing kit - a chance to increase my silly commuting race score to three if I can pass him. You only get points for passing people who look like they should be faster than you, and this guy, unlike those folks in the yellow jackets or on townie bikes, qualifies. I spin the gear faster, get low into the handlebars, and duck in behind a passing taxi. In seconds that guy is in my wake. One and three!
Comfortably past him, I slow; the coming section of road is safer at sub-20 speeds. The space between the traffic on the left and the parked cars on the right is minimal, which ups the odds of getting doored or running into an oblivious ped. I glide through the gaps, hands hovering over brakes, standing on the pedals, every sense on high, radars up, prepared to stop, duck, or jump. I get to the next light with no incidents, then hit the gas to make it over the next hill before the cars can get in the way. The road climbs a bit. I launch, passing a dozen people on bikes and scoring another point on a shaved-leg rider with a US Postal jersey. I speed with the cool breeze through the next six blocks of traffic keeping an eye out for the inevitable vehicle turning in front of me with no warning... but there are no more close calls this morning.
I turn into the block that takes me to work, hitting the "lap end" button as I pass the fire hydrant. I take my traditional post-commute lap around the quiet block, cooling down and breathing before getting off the bike. The journey flashes through my head, from the city race course, through the woods, back to the little hometown... all connected by the magic of these two wheels. I am exhausted, elated, energized and gloriously alive. It's going to be a great day.
I slow to a stop and check my city lap time. Damn. 20 seconds slower than my personal best. Ah well. There's always tomorrow. I'll probably need to recover again.