Getting on With It, Bike Culture

I was reminded tonight that in much of what we do, there’s a threshold past which discomfort can be shattered.

I was tired after work and almost called off my ride. Changing into my kit my body already felt heavy, but I looked out the window at the darkening sky carrying its threat of rain over the mountains, finished dressing and pushed my bike out the door. Without thinking I chose a big gear and my cadence was slow and weary, but it picked up pace as I neared the trailhead, and the pace stuck. My shock locked out and all of my effort going into turning over the crank, over roots and rock, spinning my pedals while in the air over bumps and hitting traction again on landing. I was blinded to the forest around me, my vision a single point ahead on the trail, my fingers not covering the brakes. I had an awareness of my legs and the rate of my heart beat, but the riding was pure flow. Unconscious motion.

I thought that maybe my pace was influenced by listening to Slayer on my drive home from work but my processing is rarely that simple. I thought maybe it was because of things that happened at work, or because of our imminent move from the Bow Valley, or maybe the pressures of building a house on a shoestring and diminishing budget and the threat of leaving a career job, the knowledge of leaving friends and a level of comfort few would ever leave.

Or maybe it’s the increasing discontent in Canmore that seems to be bubbling through the ground. People rallying against the awareness that their precious little mountain town isn’t anymore, and as experienced by previous generations, knowing that our community has thinned and splintered and will never be what it once was. That’s a lot for people to come to terms with.

That’s a lot for me to come to terms with.

I pushed myself tonight, and although it was short it was probably my hardest ride of the season. Whatever I was dealing with, I chose to rip the bandage off, complete with scab and scar tissue and let the wound bleed in the woods. Beyond the threshold of discomfort.

A lot of time we just sit around and complain. This time I choose to get on with it.