I got a call from my buddy Nate Wells the other day wanting to talk about buddy stuff. I always enjoy getting a call from my buddy Nate. We enjoy the same things, have a lot in common, and we both can never sit still.
I guess you could say I got Nate into cross country skiing, he got me into road biking, and we both got each other into mountain biking. and so through the course of our buddy conversation Nate wanted to know if I was going to do any of upcoming Wisconsin Series road races. Now this means one of two things; Nate is itching to get back into competitive riding or Nate has been riding for the last four weeks and wants to kick his buddies ass. My hunch is that it is the latter.
And so I knew it was time to get busy training. Friday I went on my first 2+ hour ride and payed for it. Saturday I decided to kayak the Eau Claire river. The trip was relaxing when I wasn’t in the mild class 3 rapids with 45 degree water temps all while in a 13 ft kayak. In the end I was able to stay dry and enjoyed more than my previous trip (see previous post).
Monday came and along with it came another 80 degree day. I couldn’t handle being in the office anymore knowing that Nate would be riding while I sat on my butt. So I hammered out another 40 miles in 2 1/2 hours. You don’t get too many perfect days in the spring were the sun is warm and the wind is fairly calm.
When you ride in the middle of the pack, training takes on a whole new meaning. I train to become better but the more I train the more I want to be the best in the next race. For the pros, I have a hunch that they train so that they can stay the best. A 2+ hour ride is tough for a guy who always finds himself in the middle! I sometimes lose sight of why I’m on my bike. I lose a bit of perspective when my drive to be better becomes my sole motivation.
During the 82nd mile that I was logging in on my bike over the weekend, I found myself out on CTY Rd. I approaching a bit of history in my life. On my right side was my families farm. I mean, its not in the family anymore (it was sold some years ago), but I still consider it our families farm.
It is dwelling where my family roots in America began. It is where my Grandmother was born and raised. It was where my Grandfather, whom I never met, helped his in laws with the chores, it is where my mother learned how to milk cows and throw hay. My training, my passion to become better, brought me back to my roots.
And as the 82nd mile came and left, I was peddling my training back into perspective. I train not to become the greatest. I because there is an unexplainable passion that is deep within me. Its the same passion that brought my family to a farm nestled beneath the rolling hills on CTY Rd. I. Its the same passion that brought my grandparents together nearly a hundred years ago. And its the same passion that still tells me it is our farm!