In Praise Of Tailwind
The exhilarating rush of a tailwind, the one that gives you a little push and makes you think that you are stronger than you are; killing miles with a couple pedal strokes. Oblivious to the help, you kid yourself that your fuelling was perfect and that you maximized your sleep, but you know that's not really true. You didn’t really do anything right. The beer and burgers from the night before does count as carbo loading but not in a necessarily helpful way. It’s all smoke and mirrors. You lucked out this morning; coddled in a supportive breeze. That doesn't stop you dreaming of a tailwind on an infinite loop, switching with your every turn, guiding you along. The healing hand through your hungover haze. The trepidation crawling through the back of your mind is the ying to the rider's yang. A great ruffler of feathers, the one we don't like to mention; the evil twin - headwind.
In west Essex you know if you head east, you'll generally have a prevailing wind behind you, but if you have to go back west, then you should probably expect the worst. The headwind is there. Omnipresent. Ready to block your efforts. All those power crushed miles will be ripped right out of you, leaving just a jellified version of what was once your legs and potentially your soul. Not at first though, your muscles will feel tight and strong but an hour in and that little quiver will start; the beginning of the end. Soon, after a few more miles will be the part where your legs become an abstract thought, just a concept and not actually a physical thing.
Some devils are visible. You may see a pothole from a few metres away or the fully laden clouds up above that will soon reign in on your parade, but you will not know when the invisible enemy will strike next. Will it be the change in navigation, the exposed ridgeline at the top of a climb? There are clues, the rustling of leaves, the sway of wheat - a fluttering flag. With fortune your next turn might lean you into a tailwind; but don't be a fool. Take time to appreciate the breeze, but don't take it as your ticket to ride. Pace yourself into the stream because the next turn you take may just lead you right back into the eternal conflict. Duck that head down deep, fingers crossed for some hedgerows, not open fields and always be ready to embrace the suck.
At least in Essex you have hope (apart from The Dengie. There is no hope there). As you ride further afield, perhaps into the desolate Fens you are destined to be entrenched in long straight avenues. With no cover, it won't be long before you will be actively duking it out with a ferocious and impenetrable gust. Sometimes if you are lucky you might dip below sea level and cruise alongside a high bank for cover. But how do you fight this headwind? What's your battle plan? How are you gonna make it through to the other side? Personally when it gets real bad I turn my headphones up to 11.
You whip your helmet into the wind, working different angles that will cut through this blockade. Shift your hands, duck your shoulders. Channel your inner Dowsett. That twenty clicks of a straight away that you've charted on your route where you've gambled on hitting some higher numbers is gonna go straight down the crap shoot if you don't change your attitude. Don't fight this wind, don't fight the Fens - feel the Fens. If you pit all your might against it you will burn yourself out. Feel it and let it flow around you, turtle down and set an even rhythm. The one of least resistance, the one where you know you are destined to make it there; just not on your own schedule. Now ease up, and count the lines in the middle of the road.
As in life. Pray for tailwinds, expect headwinds.