After a joyous 30-minute descent, we were treated to the tailgate of a truck in a dirt parking lot.
... the thing you might not be thinking, unless I point it out, is that to get a 30-minute descent on a bike, you have to have climbed a really long way. The road up the hill was at least ten miles. Ten up ten down.
Anwayy, it's the work of getting up to the top that we were being rewarded for at the bottom.
The tailgate had a few open boxes of energy bars, drinks and glucose gels to refuel our depleted muscles and some large water containers for us to fill our bottles. This was one of many stops we'd experience that day.*
An hour later, we were about 20 miles past half way and my right leg was starting to seize up. Not in a painful way, just like the lube of the muscle fibers wasn't sufficient and I should do something to get it back to normal. Like stop the incessant peddling for a few minutes.
At the next rest stop, I laid down on the grass and closed my eyes. I heard my dad talking to some other riders at the picnic table.
"Everything all right with your son?" one asked.
"I guess so, but he's probably a little tired." - my dad replied.
"Geesuz! We just road 120 miles and we have 80 more to go." - I thought quietly to myself as my leg muscles re-absorbed the stuff they needed to work again.
That day in October, we road 200 miles around the southern part of the central, Californian coast. There were beautiful views and lots of great weather. We road from dark before sunrise to dark after. In all, it took us 14.5 hours. You can do the math for our speed if you want. I never did care how fast I went.
The fun conclusion is, that, after most of COVID-2020 being void from most outdoor activity, I got in a ride. Today, fifteen minutes felt like enough. Who knows if I'll ever ride 200 miles in a day again. It doesn't matter. I'm back on the bike.
* It turns out, the rest stops on a 100 mile ride are much better than a 200.
... the thing you might not be thinking, unless I point it out, is that to get a 30-minute descent on a bike, you have to have climbed a really long way. The road up the hill was at least ten miles. Ten up ten down.
Anwayy, it's the work of getting up to the top that we were being rewarded for at the bottom.
The tailgate had a few open boxes of energy bars, drinks and glucose gels to refuel our depleted muscles and some large water containers for us to fill our bottles. This was one of many stops we'd experience that day.*
An hour later, we were about 20 miles past half way and my right leg was starting to seize up. Not in a painful way, just like the lube of the muscle fibers wasn't sufficient and I should do something to get it back to normal. Like stop the incessant peddling for a few minutes.
At the next rest stop, I laid down on the grass and closed my eyes. I heard my dad talking to some other riders at the picnic table.
"Everything all right with your son?" one asked.
"I guess so, but he's probably a little tired." - my dad replied.
"Geesuz! We just road 120 miles and we have 80 more to go." - I thought quietly to myself as my leg muscles re-absorbed the stuff they needed to work again.
That day in October, we road 200 miles around the southern part of the central, Californian coast. There were beautiful views and lots of great weather. We road from dark before sunrise to dark after. In all, it took us 14.5 hours. You can do the math for our speed if you want. I never did care how fast I went.
The fun conclusion is, that, after most of COVID-2020 being void from most outdoor activity, I got in a ride. Today, fifteen minutes felt like enough. Who knows if I'll ever ride 200 miles in a day again. It doesn't matter. I'm back on the bike.
* It turns out, the rest stops on a 100 mile ride are much better than a 200.
but not here. Not now.
Was that a hook? Lol.
I will provide it to you in a more organized manner.
But one thing that I want to point out that this post made me realize comes from this snippet:
After a joyous 30-minute descent, we were treated to the tailgate of a truck in a dirt parking lot.
... the thing you might not be thinking, unless I point it out, is that to get a 30-minute descent on a bike, you have to have climbed a really long way. The road up the hill was at least ten miles. Ten up ten down.
It depends on what you're writing. Let me generalize here by splitting between non-fiction and fiction. In non-fiction, the awe comes from that moment where you reveal what the 30 minute descent meant. It meant an even longer climb.
In fiction the joy doesn't come from saying that. It comes from showing it in the story. And the joy is watching it play out. I know
I remember Brandon writing on I think on Writestreak that he was a guy who liked to hurry and up and get down to business. While other people pontificate on whether to buy the book or not he has it in the Kindle and he's reading. If you have that mindset that of course you'd rather have the joyous reveal quickly in the nonfiction manner rather than the slow show of the fiction way.