0500 hours. Out of bed, start breakfast.

0600 hours. Outside to raise heart-rate, mental preparation.

0630 hours. Check over bicycle, inflate tyres to 110 psi.

0700 hours. Balanced above two 12mm strips of rubber, the day begins.

When I go for a ride I like it to be worthwhile; I like to be able to feel it afterwards. Cycling is the event; lactic acid the reward.  Suffice to say the terms ‘leisurely’ and ‘bike-ride’, in my vocabulary, are seldom seen in the same vicinity.

Open road, crisp air of an early spring morning; the trip is broken into three segments.

The first 10k is invariably a sprint.

After that, perspiration prickling under pink Lycra, I ease back to maintain a steady 30kph for the next 60.

Third portion, the home straight; final 10 kilometres, again, I sprint.

Without question most regular folk would perceive this ritual as nothing short of insanity. One might begin by asking: ‘Why, when setting out for an 80 kilometre cycling excursion, would any normal person sprint the first 10?’

Valid query. Guess I’m not normal.

In fact there are several reasons for my unorthodox methods. The first, obviously, 80 kilometres is quite a distance to cover on a bicycle. Yeah. That probably only adds to the confusion. Permit me to elaborate.

As any person who is not a cyclist will assert: ‘Dude, bike riding must be such a boring sport’.

Truth be told, it can be. 80 kilometres of rural landscape, gentle proclivities with never as many declivities; cars, trucks rushing by; wind, sun beating me about the face; then there’s the insects…

Honestly, it can be downright interminable.

The aforementioned technique allows me to avoid this potential tedium by simply exchanging one sensation for another.

That is to say, I substitute boredom with pain.

Seriously, I defy anybody to claim boredom while their body is crying out in pain.

Additionally, sprinting the first 10 at around 50kph then easing back to a comparatively sluggish 30, engenders a greater feeling of bliss than one can easily imagine. This sensation dissipates, sure, but by that time adrenalin has filled my veins and taken hold of my brain, bringing with it a feeling of greatness along with the belief that I could ride all day.

Some days I do.

That initial 10k sprint, gruelling as it may be, sets me up for the next stint. 60 kilometres of grey road is a charming little endurance event and it is largely willpower that pulls me through; burning limbs and a heaving chest help take my mind off the drudgery.

Then with 70k on the odometer comes the final 10 – the final sprint.

This is done more out of obligation than desire because God knows my legs don’t want any part of it. Thing is though, any good cyclist, regardless of distance already covered, should always be seen sprinting the final leg…

So that’s what I do.

 

 

Article by Mit Reklaw

Edited by S I Klyst

Photography by N Dore-Antz