This morning as I laid in bed, I thought of the ride that I had done more than 10 times now, maybe more. It would be a simple matter of getting to the top of a hill and riding the momentum of the slope back to the bottom. This is an oversimplification of the facts but it still stands. I thought of the parts of the ride where there is only my small bicycle light that would illuminate my way. I thought of the parts of the ride where I would feel the burn in my legs from climbing steep gradients. I thought of the sections of the ride, where I would be almost falling in to an abyss of darkness with the wind pulling tears from my eyes. I could close my eyes and see all the pitfalls and problems that I would have to overcome. I could see the perils and challenges of the ride. I could see myself at the end of the ride. I didn’t like how that image made me feel. You’ve done it before, no need to do it again. I had memorized the road to the point where I knew where the hills would start. I knew were the slopes would fall. I knew where I could shift in to the big ring without having to see the road. I could see it like I was watching myself on a screen of my imagination. I could see myself looking at my ride after the fact. I could see myself uploading the photos, making captions, sharing the ride. The same ride, on the same road, doing the same loop, at the same time, what was I really sharing? That I had completed the ride? It felt like I would be sharing the same ride that I had shared before. IT would be the same ride, with the same shots, in the same locations, on the same ride. What was the point of putting myself through that if it didn’t feel like it was going to give anything new. There’s no point in getting out there. As new as this ride was, it was no longer a mystery. It was now familiar. I had started it an completed it. The only question was, what do I do now. A quick look at the map and my riding history showed that in all of my rides I had only completed a sum of twenty miles. That would be a ten mile loop out and back. Could I do forty miles? Was there a point in doing forty miles? Immediately I thought of what I would feel like after the ride. I imagined myself sitting on the stairs of my home, gasping for air unable to breath, feeling the ache and pain of my lungs and legs. It would hurt, and it would be worth it. Its to dark. I waited a little longer in bed, watching the window for the slightest hint of light. I wanted to get up. I wanted to get ready. I could be packing my bag for the trek. I could be loading my water bottles with ice. I could be searching for my keys, getting my kit ready, anything. But instead I was still in bed, nestled snuggly between a warm mink blanket and a freshly washed sheet. I was comfortable. I was scared. I just didn’t know what I was afraid of. You can always ride in the afternoon. That way you will have more light. It was at that very moment I sprang up. Standing barefoot I jumped in to action. I wasn’t going to let fear dictate what I was going to do. I know me. If there is a way to get out of a ride, when Im comfortable, Ill find it. If there is a way to put off a ride, Ill take it. If there is a way weasel out, of placing my leg over that top tube, Ill do it. But that wouldn’t happen today. No, I wouldn’t let it happen. I had doing this ride before an I wanted something different. Today I was going to do something different. If forty miles was the goal, I would reach that goal. I slipped in to my kit, loaded my water bottle and hydration pack with ice and water, strapped my cycling shoes on my feet, performed my last minute check, (Keys, wallet, cell phone) grabbed the bike and headed out the door. Before during the weekend, I had attempted this and found myself sitting on my bed, peeling my kit off of my body. I never made it out the door. Maybe it was to hot. Maybe there was not enough time. Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood. I told myself later that I didn’t get on the bike because I was nursing a small saddle sore. While there was some truth to that, it wasn’t the complete truth. I did have a saddle bite, a part of my bum where it felt like a had a saddle sore. I could have ridden with it, but I chose not to. Your health is to important. You need more time to heal. Before I did need time, not any more. I was as healed and that was enough for me. Placing my helmet my head and locking the door behind me I darted to my ‘point of no return. This was the point where I told myself I was GOING to complete the ride. It was no longer a matter of listening to my inner voice, be they reason, logic, self-doubt or other, I was going to complete this ride. I pushed the pedals so hard that I hadn’t noticed how easy the first hill on my ride had become. The bike sailed up this ascent as easily as a bowling ball flows down the lane. I hadn’t found myself out of breath. My legs were not burning. It was as if I had just walked up a quick flight of stairs. Its still to dark, you should wait for the sun. Over the second hill and down the other side, I was zipping past the traffic light with the right of way. The road was too dark to capture an image. I knew where I was. I knew where I was going. I pressed on the pedals, hearing the wind between my ears and my headphones. I could only think of all the reasons to stop. 1) It was to dark 2) No one knew I was out 3) The ride was stupid, no one would care 4) It would be safer in the afternoon 5) The traffic would heavy 6) I didn’t know if there was enough water to make the trip. On an on, over and over, I came up with all the reasons why I should just turn around and go home. There were a lot. I pedaled on. I pedaled to the ‘point of no return’ and waited for the thoughts to stop. They had always stopped here in the past. They would be like a screaming crowd that just came to an abrupt hault. Between the wind and ‘Kelly Rowland’ I waited, spinned the cranks, watching the road. When I passed the ‘point’ they didn’t stop. They didn’t get quieter, they didn’t dim. They didn’t even lower in volume. They just continued. Reason after reason, I couldn’t think of anything else other than, I need to go back home. I pedaled on, trying to focus on the dim streetlights infront of me. I was already out. I was in the midst of the ride. I was in the streets. I was out of the house. I was already past the ‘point’ and I was going to finish. The ride was more a fight between wills. The one side of me that didn’t want to quit, verses the other side of me that wanted to go home. I tried every trick I could think of to keep myself moving. I counted street signs. I looked for bad yards, I took stupid images with my gopro. All provided only a temporary relief from the other side. This is stupid, its been done before. I felt like I was watching a re-run of an old movie. I knew what was going to happen. I knew when the traffic lights were going to change. I knew when the cars would happen out of their driveway. I knew when the lights from the shops would flicker. I even knew when the security guard would make their rounds to be closer to the main road. I had done this before. This had been done. When I reached the next town, I snapped a quick image of the city plaque. ‘Historic Bel Air’, this is where I would normally make a right hand turn and head toward the mall. Taking a route through the residential areas was a downhill slope. I would end up right behind the mall. I pressed forward. The other side changed their attack. Vale Road is the rematch that you need. Vale Road is quicker. You can get home faster if you take Vale Road You don’t have to do the forty miles if you take Vale Road. Vale Road was a faster route. I had failed on this road before as I had to get off the bike and walk it up to the other side of the hill. In my twisted imagination, walking the bike part way up a hill is failure. I was smarter than I was back then. I was stronger, faster and maybe a little lighter. But Vale road was not the goal. I didn’t want a short cut. I didn’t want to get home faster. I wanted my forty miles. I wanted to reach my goal. That was the point of this ride and that is what I was going to do. As I passed the Vale Road sign, the sun made an appearance over the horizon. The sky lit up from a deep black to a tinder array of red orange, blue and yellow. The day was waking. The morning was starting, and I was already ten miles in to my ride. From here I didn’t know what to think. I was on new roads. The surroundings were new. The cars were new, the buildings were new, even the trees and grass were new. Had I been a ship I would have been in different waters, with my only safety being my bicycle head unit. As I pedaled on, I didn’t see anything that would let me know how far I was from home. Aside from the large print out on my display, I was completely in the dark. I pedaled on. Rolling my 28mm tires over the farm fresh asphalt, it exciting and alarming to see how well I was able to negotiate the hills. Over one set, down in to another set, riding the road banks and slipping in to the side, the bike handled more like a surf board, then a Human Powered machine. By the time I reached my Turn around point, I was not only coasting, I was flying. The elevation for all its turns and twists had placed me well above sea level. The only way home now was down. I pressed my chin to the stem, sucked in my gut allowing space for my knees and tucked my elbows in to my sides. I was as aero as I could get without moving a muscle. Out of the unknown and in to the known, I found myself on the backside of my normal route. I was enjoying this part of the ride. Every mall movement of the bars, the bike would dart. I was dodging the small imperfections in the road with the accuracy of a sniper. When I finally arrived home, I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t sore. I wasn’t winded. I was proud of myself. I had set a goal and I achieved it. Forty miles completed and in the books. It was worth it. After the fighting and suffering was doing, I could sit down looking at the bike while drinking a nice ‘flavorful’ drink, and tell myself, ‘ It was worth it.’