It has occurred to me from time to time that cyclists are often in search of an intangible quantity: THE GREAT RIDE. It would be easy to say, for example:
sunny day = great ride
[Not that a sunny day wouldn’t be welcome after 10 days of murk, wet snow and rain] Curiously enough, the best days on the bike don’t always fall into such a simple formula. They’re hard to account for with any formula, but they still come with some degree of regularity.
We know it when we find it, or when it finds us: because of OR in spite of our choices. Trying to squeeze-in a ride in the midst of a day that’s gone from busy to borderline melodramatic seems nearly pointless, for example. But those are some of the rides that are most satisfying. Sometimes I look at how windy it is and try – sometimes successfully – to talk myself out of a painful bit of training. But even those rides bring a perverse kind of satisfaction.
Some rides stand out as being especially memorable or meaningful. But at it’s essence, a great ride begins every time we get on the bike.