Just Go

LAW I. Every object perseveres in its state of rest, or of uniform motion in a right line, except insofar as it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed thereon.

— Isaac Newton, Principia, The Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy

It was a typical Monday afternoon. The morning content meeting turned into midday to-dos, and I was GSD – gettin’ shit done. Feeling good about my day as I moved from one thing to another. What’s next? Ah, right. Graham and I had made plans to ride later in the afternoon. If the heavens didn’t open up. If nothing came up at work. If, if, IF. The ifs were mine. Sometimes I am the ruler of the land of If. In my world, work collides with riding on an almost daily basis. Newton’s inertia can be pretty effective for productivity, and we all know how you can get that ball rolling downhill and start ticking things off your list like an efficiency expert hell bent on another perfect score. But Sir Isaac’s contemporary, James Howell, would like a word. All work and no play… he’d begin, while hustling around the house, getting his riding gear together…makes Jack a dull boy.

Peering outside at a couple of my moisture markers – the presence (or not) of heavy rain drops splashing on the patio table. The place where water pools in a corner of the driveway when the rain is gaining force. The markers checked out. No rain yet. A glance at my watch showed 4º C. Cool, not cold. However, anyone who’s lived in a coastal environment knows that four degrees and humid with a bit of wind feels a lot colder than -5 when it’s dry and still.

I head outside to check on my bike. Tweak the tire pressure, thumb check the chain for residual lube. I wasn’t outside for more than five minutes, but the bone chill that had been slowly building all day as I sat mostly still at my desk in my not-quite-warm-enough office became activated. Like a sleeper cell intent on undermining the governing body responsible for my actions. Doubt crept in.

It is a familiar feeling during shoulder season. The doldrums of late winter combine with conditions that aren’t bad, per se, but could get downright nasty if the low-pressure cell making its way over from the Island decides this is the place and deposits another 10mm of Neptune’s finest quicker than you can say I should have brought a proper rain jacket. Add to that a tendency lately to pay too much attention to the news, a history major’s take on what that news signifies, a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder, and a grouchy shoulder, and I’m a walking cocktail of excuses for skipping a ride, especially on marginal days. I know I should get outside and move. I know it’ll be great once I do. That knowledge doesn’t always translate into the decision to just go.

We can all relate to these feelings. And I should know better than to let them take root, but that doesn’t mean I always win the battle. It is these times when having a plan and a friend or two to make you stick to it will help you fight through the doubt and get out there. When left to struggle through it alone, my win percentage drops. I’m ok with not winning every battle, but I also know I’ll lose the war if I wave the white flag too often.

One leg straddling each side of the ‘let’s go riding’ fence, I make a phone call. This is the wrong mindset – or maybe it’s the right one, but in general, making a wavering, indecisive call without knowing the outcome you want is not the domain of someone trying to master their circumstances. On the other hand, the person on the other end of the line may help knock you out of your state of inertia and get your ass on a bike. In a way, they’re your safety net. On Monday, my safety net was called Graham.

The text came whistling in just as I was calling from my perch on top of the fence.

“Yo – we were just out on our ocean swim”.

Dude’s been swimming in the ocean with his partner every day since last summer. No matter how cold I thought it was out there while I was fiddling with a pressure gauge – call it five minutes outside in jeans and a flannel - he had just crawled soaking wet out of the Pacific, toweled off, and walked inside ready to conquer – with a smile on his face.

There was no way Graham wasn’t going riding – with or without me.

With that text hanging in the air as I was making the call, the phone rang a second time, and Graham picked up. “Hey, what do you think?” he asked. “Well,” I said, “I was going to call and complain about how cold it felt outside, but you just got out of the ocean, so I can’t use that anymore!”

We checked the radar. Light green turned to blue right in our zone. If anything, a little snow would be better than rain. “We don’t have to make it a long one,” Graham offered. “Let’s go check out Yellow 15, I think you’ll like it”.

My desire to avoid discomfort was overcome by my aversion to the aspersions future me would cast upon my present self for being pathetic.

“Let’s do it”, I said.

By the time we had loaded bikes on the truck and were on the way to the trail, my mindset had shifted almost entirely. No longer was I dreading that first few minutes of frigid pedaling, or wondering whether we’d get showered by one of the fast-moving squalls that had been peppering the area. As Graham’s cheerful chatter tore down my inert desk-ridden attitude, all I could think of was the prospect of discovering a new trail, and enjoying the early season dirt.

The rest of the story is familiar. The ride went great, we laughed, we whooped, I swore under my breath during one truly terrible hike-a-bike up a soft, steep access road, and by the end I was sweaty, happy, and my lower legs were covered in damp loam. I felt how my dog looked, panting slightly, stupid grin plastered on my face.

Graham pulled a couple of cold beers out of his bag, and we walked 30 metres away from the truck to a small sliver of sunshine. With views of Davis Bay and Halfmoon Bay stretched out beneath us, sun setting lazily in the distance, I could only shake my head while realizing that, yet again, a well-timed ride in good company had rescued what would otherwise have been a pretty ordinary Monday.