Exposure
The rolling thunder from the south should have been my first clue. Bellowing storm fronts are a rare site in the Central Oregon skies and are always a clear sign that the conditions are going to be dramatic. Notwithstanding, I clipped into my pedals and headed down the hill. After all, the skies to the north were an inviting blue and my weather app promised things would be clearing up within the hour.
I headed east on Alfalfa Market, to my left, warm clouds back-lit with a sapphire canvas, to my right, greys and blacks with long strings of prairie rain columns smearing the skyline. My road seem to bisect the patterns and I wasn't too worried just yet. I turned north, the first of four intersections I had planned on for my quick, squared-shaped route today. With Wildflower only a week away, I didn't need stay out for too long. A few miles later and I turned back west and quickly lose site of those bright reflections off the airy cumuli-nimbus flotilla.
The edges of my thin wind jacket flitted against the redoubled headwind as I pointed my aero-bars back toward the way I came. I had an option to extend my route, but by now, I'd come to my senses and remembered what thunder signified. I needed to get back quickly.
Keeping my head low and grinding against my pedals, the stiff, cooling winds now brought spiteful precipitation. Miniaturized pieces of hail ricocheted off my vented helmet and stung my exposed thighs, yet I kept moving forward. I accepted that I was about to get wet and that the half hour I spent getting my pretty racing bike spick and spotless would have to be repeated. Then I noticed something. Though I felt the cold, the rain, the elements easily seeping through my socks and down my jersey, I kinda didn't mind. I'm working closer to mastering the ability to drive a wedge between how I feel, and how I feel about how I feel, and I think I may have just passed a milestone.
Over the last two weeks, I've been experimenting with a fringe breathing technique that promises boosted immunity, enhanced blood alkalinity, and, most poignantly at the present, resistance to cold. Paired with a few rounds of this breathing in the morning, I've been taking cold showers after my workouts in an attempt to shock and stimulate my nervous and circulatory systems, effectively improving my body's ability to regulate temperature, among other things. While the short term effects of starting my day with an invigorating rush of cold water have powered me through many mornings of shredding emails by the dozen at the office, I didn't suspect the benefits of cold resistance would be realized or needed so soon.
I turned back onto Alfalfa Market, a road that just two days ago was baking under 80 degree rays, to get to shelter as soon as I could. The headwind turned to a crosswind and home was only five miles away. Despite the torrent, I was able to relax, listen to my breathing, and allow my legs to track their well worn grooves over carbon cranks, pushing me to safety and "common sense." Getting closer to town, I rode past a scrum of rugby players, far from deterred, grappling for control of their ball, rain and hail no doubt a selling point among their fold.
My bike computer, that fancy little gadget that some smart people created with a large operating budget and labs full of gee-wiz testing equipment, started to fail me, my power numbers reading 0 every few seconds despite my constant pushing. The sinew and bands of muscle fiber firing at my mind's command, forged by untold millennia of adaptation and rooted in the blueprints of the Master Architect, were limited only by my decision to stop or continue.
Fresh rain water coalesced on my red lenses, but I could at least make out the biggest pot holes and keep my 25mm tires on a safe line. An Expedition arched grit-filled spray onto my calves and traffic began to pick up the closer to our abode on Awbrey Butte I got. With two miles left, my dexterity began to fail, though several miles later than I would have expected. My toes, trapped in cold moist socks, could only feel pain. But I was happy. I choose to make myself vulnerable to the earth and felt more human on the other side.
Dripping and speckled with grime, I peeled myself out of my kit and welcomed my shower. This time, it'd be a hot one.
I headed east on Alfalfa Market, to my left, warm clouds back-lit with a sapphire canvas, to my right, greys and blacks with long strings of prairie rain columns smearing the skyline. My road seem to bisect the patterns and I wasn't too worried just yet. I turned north, the first of four intersections I had planned on for my quick, squared-shaped route today. With Wildflower only a week away, I didn't need stay out for too long. A few miles later and I turned back west and quickly lose site of those bright reflections off the airy cumuli-nimbus flotilla.
The edges of my thin wind jacket flitted against the redoubled headwind as I pointed my aero-bars back toward the way I came. I had an option to extend my route, but by now, I'd come to my senses and remembered what thunder signified. I needed to get back quickly.
Keeping my head low and grinding against my pedals, the stiff, cooling winds now brought spiteful precipitation. Miniaturized pieces of hail ricocheted off my vented helmet and stung my exposed thighs, yet I kept moving forward. I accepted that I was about to get wet and that the half hour I spent getting my pretty racing bike spick and spotless would have to be repeated. Then I noticed something. Though I felt the cold, the rain, the elements easily seeping through my socks and down my jersey, I kinda didn't mind. I'm working closer to mastering the ability to drive a wedge between how I feel, and how I feel about how I feel, and I think I may have just passed a milestone.
* * *
Over the last two weeks, I've been experimenting with a fringe breathing technique that promises boosted immunity, enhanced blood alkalinity, and, most poignantly at the present, resistance to cold. Paired with a few rounds of this breathing in the morning, I've been taking cold showers after my workouts in an attempt to shock and stimulate my nervous and circulatory systems, effectively improving my body's ability to regulate temperature, among other things. While the short term effects of starting my day with an invigorating rush of cold water have powered me through many mornings of shredding emails by the dozen at the office, I didn't suspect the benefits of cold resistance would be realized or needed so soon.
* * *
I turned back onto Alfalfa Market, a road that just two days ago was baking under 80 degree rays, to get to shelter as soon as I could. The headwind turned to a crosswind and home was only five miles away. Despite the torrent, I was able to relax, listen to my breathing, and allow my legs to track their well worn grooves over carbon cranks, pushing me to safety and "common sense." Getting closer to town, I rode past a scrum of rugby players, far from deterred, grappling for control of their ball, rain and hail no doubt a selling point among their fold.
My bike computer, that fancy little gadget that some smart people created with a large operating budget and labs full of gee-wiz testing equipment, started to fail me, my power numbers reading 0 every few seconds despite my constant pushing. The sinew and bands of muscle fiber firing at my mind's command, forged by untold millennia of adaptation and rooted in the blueprints of the Master Architect, were limited only by my decision to stop or continue.
Fresh rain water coalesced on my red lenses, but I could at least make out the biggest pot holes and keep my 25mm tires on a safe line. An Expedition arched grit-filled spray onto my calves and traffic began to pick up the closer to our abode on Awbrey Butte I got. With two miles left, my dexterity began to fail, though several miles later than I would have expected. My toes, trapped in cold moist socks, could only feel pain. But I was happy. I choose to make myself vulnerable to the earth and felt more human on the other side.
Dripping and speckled with grime, I peeled myself out of my kit and welcomed my shower. This time, it'd be a hot one.
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