It is always the same. I get up in the morning and I can easily think of all the reasons why I shouldn’t get on the bike. The weather is to cold. The sky is to dark. I am comfortable in the bed. There isn’t enough time in the day. There are to many cars on the road. There aren’t enough lights on the street. In the morning there are always enough reasons not to get on the bike. It is easier to sit in bed and allow my imagination to entertain me as I sleep. This past Sunday was different. The early morning weather was unusually warm. I had found myself unable to fall back asleep. The black night sky smothered the few street lights that I could see from my window. The roads were barely visible. The crickets and grasshoppers were abnormally quiet. My gut told me that I should get up and get on the bike. This was the perfect time to get out there and get some good miles in. The roadways and state roads would be my playground. It was my mind that urged me to wait. On any given day of the week, these two forces were always in conflict. I could follow my gut and be reckeless, dangerous, selfish and take all sorts of risks trusting in the fact that the skills and the resources to resolve any issues would present themselves at the time. Then there was my mind, the teachers pet. The one that would use logic, caution, reason and a vision of what could be done. If my gut wanted me to ride in to the night, my mind would have me stay close to home. “Don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to. ” If I wanted to pedal in to the city and see the harbor, I would have to make sure there was nothing back home that needed completion. No phone calls, no meetings, no tasks, nothing, I would have to have everything in order before I hopped on the bike. It was this thought, this feeling, this measure that (while annoying an troublesome) kept me in line. It was on this ride that something changed. I had decided to wait for the sun to rise. Going off in to a ride on my gravel bike without the light of the sun was never a problem. I wanted to do something more. I wanted to cover more than my standard twenty some odd miles. I wanted to be able to look at my self in the mirror and see someone different. As the sun crests the horizon and the roads came to life, I jumped out on the bike and headed out. Probably over dressed with my full cycling kit, my winter covers, a helmet, and gloves, I rode the road toward the neighboring town, fully expecting to my little teachers pet to tell me where I WILL be going. I climbed the standard hills, feeling well and unchallenged. I passed the standard sights, without so much as a bite from my legs. I sped on the flats, rolled on the curves, races the traffic lights and flew on the descents. I was riding a scary, thrill filled roller coaster and my heart beat had not so much as though about moving upward. This ride had been committed to muscle memory. I knew where I would have to push and how hard. I knew how to take the corner to get the fastest time. I knew where I could relax and catch my breath. I knew how much energy I would need to expend. This was boring. Like watching a re-run of a great adventure, there was little left but to simply ride and wait for the end. “Keep Going” What? I thought. Keep going. My mind was telling me to keep going. I had planned a longer route that would take me closer to PA. This could be fun. I reset my GPS head unit to the longer route. I passed the left turn that would normally take me back home and, as my mind instructed, kept going? It was exhilarating. I had never ridding this far in to the city. The sites were different. The buildings were different. The roads were different. There was a sense that I didn’t know where I was or how long I would be on the road. I was excited. The first I had encountered was as deep as the final hill on my regular ride. It had a deep shoulder that allowed for me to hide from traffic. The trees and high grass hid the street signs, forcing me to look down at the GPS for guidance. I just knew that this ride was going to be great. The bike raced down in to the valley of the hill before almost coming to a stop. The slope of the gradient was hard. I could feel a small burn in my legs. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this sensation. At the top of the climb, the gradient eased off and allowed me to speed onward on the flats. The first thing that became apparent was that there were fewer homes and residential developments. In their place, were businesses and shopping centers spread a far as the light would take my eyes. Clean crisp buildings with well manicured lawns, clean curbs and brightly colored signage, showed how much this part of the city was dedicated to money. Had I been a little more ignorant, I would have been impressed by how this area presented itself. As it were, I felt confident that the appearance of this place was designed to do little more than separate people from the profits of their labor. I pedaled on. At my first left turn, the grass was higher than before. The flowing, balanced trees were no longer the backdrop. They were replaced with what looked like wild weeds that had overgrown in time. Had they fingers, the trees would have encompassed the road completely an pulled the asphalt in to the horizon. As it were the branches and leave had only encompassed half of the road, leaving the other half covered in swampy grass that was pushed away from the road by K-rails. The shoulder that I had enjoyed up to this point had been reduced to a space barely wide enough to fit my 28mm tires. Still I pressed on. I was out here. I was doing it. I was making it happen. I was going to make it. The further I rode the higher the hills became. I could feel my self loosing energy as I pedaled onward. It is not as one would expect where there is a point on the body that feels punctured or drained. This was more of the feeling of just feeling empty. I could sense that my legs were getting to heavy to lift. My arms and back became stiff and weak. I didn’t want to take such long labored breaths. I just didn’t want to do this anymore. My body felt fatigued and sleepy. I was wide awake, completely alert, aware and conscience of my surroundings. My energy was low. I didn’t have the confidence that I could keep pedaling. Sitting on the side of the road and just taking a nap was more appealing. This was the newest mantra. Where before my gut would tell me that I didn’t have to, now I would have to battle with the idea that I could not continue. Spinning the cranks was how I would battle this notion, and battle I did. As I climbed hill after hill, I would focus on one point, the summit and just keep my eyes trained on it. I didn’t have to pedal hard or fast, I just had to pedal. Walking up the hill was not an option. I had taken it off the table. I kept my legs moving on the descents and the flats, forcing myself to be comfortable with the speed I was able to maintain. “Keep a steady pace” “There is plenty of time” “I am not tired.” “I am not done.” “Its not over until it is over.” I had set a new standard. I could allow myself to put a foot down if I got to tired or out of breath. I would allow myself to stop and rest for a moment. I wouldn’t allow myself to walk up the hill. Walking was failure. Walking was quitting. It might be stubbornness. It might be pride. It might even be entitlement. I would not allow myself to walk. Walking was to easy. As I pedaled, I could see myself walking up the hills, taking half stride steps, making it from one mailbox to the next. In the past I had taken this and made it more than half a mile before getting back on the bike. There was even a time where I had lost a tire and had to walk the bike the ten remaining miles home. Each memory I could think of reminded me of the time where I had chosen to walk, filled me with disgust. I had failed. I had let the climb beat me in to giving up. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t sore. I wasn’t sick. I just quit. I quit and I started walking. Think about that, I got off the bike to walk, why, because it was easier? Its easier to walk? No, your using the same muscles. Your using the same motions. Walking is quit, and I refused to be a quitter, not here and not today. Further and further I pushed, not looking at the speed but the distance. I knew the ride was no more than fifty miles. So I started running calculations in my head. Fifty miles is two twenty-five mile rides. I had already completed, thirty-two miles. This would mean I had eighteen miles left to go. I had done eight-teen miles before. I had done that more than a few times. In my minds eye, I saw myself on my older easier route, taking those hills and fighting that terrain. I had beaten eighteen miles before. I can do it again. I pedaled on. The route called for another left turn. The new road was more open and clearly faster than what I had ridden previously. The grade on the ascents was lower making the rises that much further. This made climbing a bit easier. On my road bike, with the higher gearing and slimmer tires I could make quick work of this road. On my gravel bike, with its thicker tires and higher gears, I could climb a lot easier, but my top speed was the trade-off. I had chosen this bike because a ‘gravel’ bike was supposed to be an adventure bike. A machine that was purpose built to be a do it all bike. Here I was, ‘doing it all’. I was climbing, descending, coasting and cutting the wide corners on a bike that was supposed to be more comfortable, more stable and all in all more capable then my road bike. The road pitched up again to a high hill that turned off in to the distance. These types of hills were always demotivating because I could never see the summit. I pedaled on. As my legs screams and my lungs smothered my own voice, I could feel myself wanting to quit. I wouldn’t quit. Quitting was failing and I was not about to fail this. Part of this ride was about learning what I have. Anyone could call for help and just quit. It made sense that if you were a little uncomfortable, if you had bitten off more of a work out than you can chew, that you would call for help. After all, there was no one for miles as far as the eye could see. No police cars on patrol, no cabs that would frequent these roads, no busses or friendly neighbors that would give up part of their day to drive a stranger anywhere, I was on my own. In that moment I felt stronger than those that hadn’t completed a ride like this. I felt that I was more mature than those that would have called for help or taken an easy way out. “There is a reason it’s called work” “IF it was easy, everyone would do it.” “Work is what you do.” Motivational sayings suddenly became relevant. Its easy to quit. Its easy to stop. Its easy to give up. That is why so many people do it. They make excuses as to why they couldn’t go on. I thought back to the years I spent riding my bike in Detroit. Back then it was only nine miles. Nine miles on a completely flat road with nothing but traffic and the weather stopping me from getting where I needed to go. Nine miles in the burning heat, just to get to my Aunts home to pick up some fruit or sugar. Nine miles in the setting sun, to deliver those same snacks to my mother. Back then it wasn’t about speed or distance, it was about burning off the energy of a young teenager, and it worked. From those rides I learned that no matter what, when you are on the road, the best defense against something, anything happening on the road, was to keep the wheels spinning. They didn’t need to spin fast, they didn’t need to be fancy, they didn’t need to be aero, they just could not stop spinning. I remembered, back then I was the talk of the neighborhood. Where everyone else was only pedaling a few blocks I was covering part of the city. It was easy. All I had to do was keep the wheels spinning. It worked then. It would work now. By the time I reached the summit, the terrain started to look familiar. I had been here before on a fourty mile ride. On that ride, I had the benefit of taking multiple descents before having to make a climb to get back home. I remember looking up and seeing the road signs pointing home. Burning legs, aching back, questionable stamina and still more miles to cover, it was a wonder I made it this far. The road closed, loosing its shoulder. Traffic at the point had made itself present. I couldn’t hide in the high grass as there was no ‘safe place’ to do so. What I could do was slow down and allow the passing trucks and cars to go around me. I could slow down, but I wouldn’t stop. The final turn on this part of the road led me to the top of the final road. From here it would be a straight shot back home. I had imagined sitting in my bed, allowing my legs to rest, maybe listening to my favorite selection from my Compact Disc’s. I could see myself riding up to my front door and just collapsing on the porch. I could see it, but I wasn’t there yet. My hands slipped my gloves off and tucked them in to my jacket pockets. The cuffs of the jacket were so wet, as gentle squeeze would send a stream to the ground beneath. Truck after truck passed me as I pushed the pedals forward, and pulled them upward. This was my final trick. The only one I had left to get me home. At the fourty five mile marker, the road had finally started to fall. I was back on familiar roads with a nice wide shoulder. Fully alert, fully aware, I knew how much further I had to go, only now I didn’t have to pour so much from myself to get there. The descent from the road gave me the speed to coast. The speeds were incredible, as they would have pulled the very water from my eyes, had I not had my eye protection. For a time I was on par with the cars beside me. Speeding down the lanes, gripping the bars like a vise, I had to be in complete control. The very thought of stopping now would be a world shattering. I had come this far only to fail? At the end, I had completed the ride. I had made it the full fifty miles, that and some change made up the full ride. Now I can rest, I can rest knowing that I didn’t quit, I didn’t give up, I didn’t take the easy way out and I wasn’t beaten. Yes, it always starts the same, but the ending, is so sweet and satisfying.