24 miles and the incomplete joy of a tailwind
24 miles and the incomplete joy of a tailwind
I rode east on the island, into the headwind, like winding a spring, knowing that eventually the miserably slow pace, and disproportionate amount of work it required, would be rewarded with a long, sweet downwind sleigh ride.
When the road ended at a gated sandy path I turned and accelerated. Nothing ahead but eight flat, straight miles. No stop signs. No intersections. Spinning at close to 30 mph the thrum of the wheels reverberated in the frame, softening as I drifted onto the fog line.
But as the miles passed my focus shifted to the sticky heat in the absence of a breeze. And what: this is as fast as I can go, even with this tailwind? I hadn’t anticipated the downsides during the upwind grind.
As with everything else, where we choose to focus largely determines our satisfaction, even — and maybe especially — when the wind is at our backs.