Why Do I Ride? Part Deux. A Memory Of A Christmas Ride

I was out riding my bike today (obviously), and got to thinking about my first post (a whole week ago!). In it, I said that I don't quite know what motivates me to go out and ride my bike. And I realized something. To some extent, that wasn't quite accurate. See, I've ridden many, many miles. And there's something that comes with all those hours in the saddle: memories. I remember a lot of rides, for everything they are, and everything they aren't. And among them, there's one particular moment on one ride that I remember the most clearly. Till now, it's one that I've kept to myself, simply because of how stunning it was. But I'd like to share it now. I'll try to describe it as well as I can, but sadly, this was one of those things that you just had to be there to enjoy.

Every year, a group that I ride with does a Christmas ride. They leave town the day after Christmas, and drive to the hotel that will serve as their starting/stopping point. Each year, this ride is a 4 day event, spanning a few hundred miles. 2 years ago was my first time on one of these rides. We pack a change of clothes, a few jerseys and bibs, and any little luxuries we can fit into a saddle bag, and we ride. It's a pre-planned course, where we ride from one town to another, and then spend the night in a hotel. Then the next day, we repeat the process, till we complete a big loop, and end up where we started. Then we all pile in the cars, and drive back. To say that it's epic is an understatement. But I digress.

As I said, 2 years ago was my first time. So naturally, I was excited. Until we woke up on the first morning, and I checked the weather report. 27 degrees outside. And I was about to ride my bike for 63 miles. Oh well, I remember thinking. Might as well get this party started. We all threw on all the gear we had, and delayed as long as we could. But that was only for half an hour. Naturally it warmed up on the way, fortunately, but it was still a cold start to the day. In fact, during this first day, one of the guys on the ride, Gimi (like "Jimmy," but with a "g") almost got taken out by a deer, as we descended a hill at nearly 40 MPH. But that's not the memory I wanted to tell you about.

It was on our 3rd day. After that day, we'd just have one more. The only problem was, this would be our longest day. Roughly 80 miles, with over 6000 feet of climbing along the way. Have any of you ever driven along Highway 1, between Carmel and Ragged Point? If not, you need to go. You're on an older, 2 lane highway that runs right along the coast. For my fellow San Diegans, it's like Sunset Cliffs Blvd, except it runs for 70 freaking miles.

Now, on this day, there was rain predicted for the entire duration of our ride. If the first day was cold, then this day was bound to be cold and wet. But we had to get it done. As we rolled out of the grocery store, having all drunk our coffee, we soon left Carmel and headed south. Fortunately, we got lucky, and the rain had stopped just before we left. As we rolled on, we soon found ourselves surrounded by towering forests several stories tall. It was crisp, and cool, and we had the wind at our backs.

As we continued along, the sun peeked over a small, grass covered mountain to our left, causing me to look through the thinning trees in that direction. As I looked, I saw the sun catching the dew on a nearby field, glinting like diamonds. The field was no more than a few dozen feet from us, and on the far side of it, a little over 100 feet, was the most stereotypical, most basic, and most beautiful log house with a white picket fence that I'd ever seen. And between that house and us, standing in the field, cautiously and curiously watching us roll by, was a herd of deer.

It's extremely hard to convey that entire moment. The whole thing lasted just a couple of seconds before it was all swallowed by the surrounding forest. But all I can say is, it was a perfect moment in time. And it's moments like that that motivate me to ride, when all else fails.

To complete the story, we stayed dry the whole day. About 20 miles into that stage, we stopped to eat at a little breakfast house. No sooner had we sat down, than it started raining again. And it rained the whole time we ate. But come time to pay our bills and leave, the rain stopped. For the rest of the day, we chased that storm cell, while we in turn were chased by another one. We neither caught it, nor were we caught. But that day is, in my mind, the most beautiful day I'd spent on a bike.