Me and the Donkey
My current Form on the Bike
I’ve been riding up the Town Woods Rd hill at the beginning of my rides for 47 years and each time up feels different.
There was a time, maybe 14 years ago when I could keep it in the big ring and dance all the way up to the top by the little farm that has a couple of goats and a donkey. My pulse rate would be somewhere around 147 or so, as I sat back down in the saddle and took mental notes of just how good or bad my legs and lungs felt at the time. This might tell me what the rest of the ride was going to be like.
Would I go long and hard looking for hills? Would I put Joshua Town into the plan? Or would I feel good enough to take on Mt. Archer this day?
Today, I’m happy to maintain any kind of tempo in the small (compact) ring. I still get out of the saddle at the beginning, sitting down around the first turn, then standing up again near the top, as I look over at my buddy, the donkey.
No more heartrate monitor or computer, I go entirely by feel these days and most times it doesn’t feel good.
Now it is just a matter of just how bad is it? Can I breathe ok? Is my heart pounding? Has my gut complained, and are my legs even in the conversation? Have I gone just slowly enough that nothing hurts and my mind is allowed to wander off to problems of the day or races long ago? Will the neighing of the goats, (the donkey is silent) near the top, bring me back to the ugly truth that today is going to really suck?
Am I just going to ride the 7 mile loop around the lake today, or am I going to be adventurous and head inland to rolling hills and farm country? How much time do I have? Have I just finished an eleven hour day, and will I have to back on the road driving the semi at 4am?
When not drifting off mentally, I pay more attention to the scenery, the wild life, new houses and landscaping, which tends to keep me riding within myself. Slow is the word that comes to mind, and with less pain, allowing me to observe the ice flow in the rivers, or the whistling sound of 18 wheelers rolling by while riding over the CT River Bridge.
I’ve got the mileage all figured for a variety of loops ridden over the years but the time to complete them has been adjusted substantially to account for the drop in speed, another reason I ride without a computer. (I really don’t want to know just how long the rides are taking me).
The days of hammering out the 38 mile ride up to the East Haddam Bridge and back down to Saybrook and home in less than 2 hours is a thing of the past. I am grateful just to be able to complete that ride these days, while saving some strength to do house work later that afternoon.
I still look down to see which cog I’m in on certain sections of the ride, while trying to maintain decent form and cadence. There are fleeting moments, when I can still jam up a short rise, or maintain a good rhythm, through some turns, but they come at a price.
There was a time early last summer while trying to get fit enough to finish my birthday ride, that I actually had to start carrying some food in my pockets. I was setting out on a 50 miler, going very slowly for the first 20, when I realized I would have to stop at a friend’s house for some bike snacks, if I was going to get home that day.
Group rides, are pretty much out of the question no matter what the level. I did try a couple of them last summer, and only because I knew all the short cuts, was I able to catch back on and actually get some muscle memory awakened with regards to that long lost term “speed work.”
So that is pretty much where it is for me these days on the bike.
It’s late January now, and I am still riding up Town Woods, flashing back to younger days and saying hello to my silent friend at the top of the hill, who always gives me a curious look. He is wondering why I don’t smell like him, like I did that one time a few years ago, when I delivered some trees to a miniature donkey farm in Stafford Springs. On that day, I got to pet and walk among a herd of these wonderfully cute animals.
Once home, I put on several layers of cycling clothing and began my slog up Town Wood Rd and for the first time my pal the donkey, began braying like a crazed lonesome soul. His buddies, the horse, the goats, and the sheep were as startled as I at this strange outpour, like I was his long lost friend.
The smell from the miniature donkey farm still permeated through my cycling layers enough to set this little guy off, even though he was at least 25 yards away. He has gone silent once again, but still gives me a glance, wondering if it ever really happened.
Time to pay that donkey farm another visit.
Bill Humphreys
“Bike Guy”