It doesn’t always feel great

After my near-existential pep talk to myself yesterday, naturally I don’t go out on the bike. I did get other stuff done, stuff I’ve been putting off (It’s remarkable how prevaricating over one thing you don’t want to do will get your priorities straight) but I didn’t go out.

I told myself it was because it was too windy, and I wasn’t entirely wrong - hearing the wind shriek around the flat, and then having difficulty remaining upright as we walked down Middle Street towards the front, with the wind threatening to flatten us, made me think I’d made a wise choice.

Regardless, last night I told myself I was going to have no excuse this morning. So when the alarm went off and I slapped it quiet, wondering if I’d really slept for eight hours, I quickly dismissed the naysaying part of me and went out before I persuaded myself otherwise.

The first inkling that this was going to be a tough ride happened when I hit the first street, and felt a gust that was much stronger than normal. By the time I got to the seafront though, that’s when I knew I was in trouble. Whitecaps were surging past each other in an effort to reach the shore, jostling for position as I sat at the lights waiting to cross, then seeing the green man and wondering if I should. I got across, turned right… and rode into a wall of wind.

It’s a bit embarrassing at first, pedalling and not really going anywhere. I knew I was moving, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like the usual easy flow, or even the kind of progress I’d expect to make if it was, well, windy. This felt like I was being forcibly barred - like I just turned up at some club and was getting the strongarm from a bouncer. I looked down at the Cateye, my speedo, and saw I was struggling to make 9.5mph - and then I caught a lace in my pedals.

I knew this was going to take my momentum and make life even harder, but I stopped before I fell over, relaced the shoe and started again. This time I topped out at 8.5mph, as the wind seized the opportunity to push me back a few feet. I gritted my teeth, told myself it would be so much better coming back, and aimed for Hove.

So it went for the next ten minutes, which were alternately agonising, painful, exhausting and just plain frustrating. The various bikers who whipped past me in the opposite direction - benefiting from the very same wind that was pummelling me - all had a look of “Why are you doing this?” on their faces. I couldn’t exactly explain, apart from my masochistic desire to complete something close to 30 minutes of riding or 5 miles of distance. More than once I could have been heard muttering under my breath “Oh come on,” or similar, as I had a conversation with the elements that only God would have taken an interest in.

Every now and again - for all of two, three seconds - the wind would abate, and I’d take advantage of it to surge forward… getting close to 10mph on more than one occasion. Then I’d be slapped back again, with the edge of Hove Lawns seeming further and further away.

By measuring my progress by my relative speed to an exhausted looking jogger, I managed to keep my spirits up however, and finally turned the corner for the last hundred metres or so. Only to have that last hundred metres rammed down my gullet as a reminder that I wasn’t getting off that easy. The landmark I cycle to - a small set of benches that are currently fenced off - never seemed so far away, but with my mouth dry and legs complaining I made it.

Only to find a man sitting in the shelter of that structure, with a bike, tripod and large SLR camera, taking photos of the see. Hullo.

After a good swigging of water, I saddled back up, knowing the return journey would be easy… and it was, almost as if God himself had decided that yeah, you’ve been tested enough. Here’s a helping hand. I believe I’ve said before that with the wind at your back it feels as though there’s no wind at all - just speed - and that was what I got, zipping along the seafront in half the time, almost all of it in close-to-top gear.

Back through the Laines with the wind at my back. My streak of indolence may have ended, but jesus, what a way to get back in the saddle.