looking ahead

a while back I wrote about carving curves, about the joy and exhilaration that comes with such activity.
big mountain has a few curves, and four big switchbacks in the last two point something miles to the top. on the way up they provide relief, and oftentimes alternating headwinds and tailwinds with each change of direction.
on the way down, though, they provide opportunities for curve carving.
as I moved into the first one this morning, I thought about those possibly conflicting bits of advice: keep your eye on the ball, and look where you want to go.
so I kept my eyes on the road, and focused on that point, out in the distance, of where I wanted to be as I moved through the turn.
and I curved, carved, ended up exactly where I wanted to be.
the next switchback worked the same way.
but then on the third, I suddenly found myself moving too quickly, unable to brake enough, and moving so far into the lane that I crossed the double yellow line into the oncoming lane.
what happened?
I don't know, but it was such a different experience from the first two, scaring me a bit, reminding me that I'm not quite there yet. (you know, that infamous there, that place we'll all be when we can do everything as the experts do.)
did I shift my gaze too far down, too close, instead of looking further out? was I overconfident in my ability? I am not sure.
but for the rest of my descent I focused on that constantly moving spot in the distance where I eventually wanted to be.
peripheral vision kicks in and helps me scan for road debris, potholes, cracks in the surface, but my eyes stay softly focused down, down ahead, where I will momentarily be, always stretching just a bit further to my next future.

I hear wise words in the back of my brain, don't sweat the small stuff, don't focus on the details, keep your eye on your goal, don't be distracted by what are actually insignificant things along your path.

just keep looking ahead, stretching your way into your goal, your next position, your next best version of yourself, and carve your pathway there gently, with strength and wisdom and oh yes, just a bit of faith.

carving curves

you know how I feel about swooping.
and every good swoop has a bend to it . . . a gentle curve, a tighter turn, a switchback, an S curve.
and I like flying downhill around them: leaning into the curve, watching my speed, balancing my weight against the forces of gravity and its opposite.
what I like best is knowing my comfort zone, my limitations, just how fast I can go.
I know these things, and then I push them, just a bit.

I know I crashed a year ago. but it wasn't the result of a high-speed risk-taking maneuver. it was because of a weed.

and I am not reckless: I swoop with cautious abandon.

but I can't not do it: the thrill is too great.

today was a recovery ride day, and thank goodness the weather was absolutely perfect, because there were no thrilling swoops, no tight corners, no fun carving. my top speed was a whopping 26, my slowest about 10, and the most entertainment I had was dodging the plentiful potholes.
it was still a glorious ride, the sun shining and the temperature in the low 60's.
my legs spun round and round, I held back so that my heartrate stayed low (ish), and I just envisioned myself swooping.
tomorrow.
tomorrow I'll swoop.
because a good, curving swoop makes up for cold weather, suffocatingly hot weather, even questionable company. a good, downhill curve adds flavor and excitement to a ride, and can counterbalance preoccupation, grumpiness, exhaustion.
a great, curving swoop is possibly even better than chocolate.

and carving a perfect curve on the way downhill is one of the best things you can experience on a bike. it might have something to do with how hard you worked to get to the top, but it also has everything to do with the rush of wind in your face, your perfectly balanced form, and the knowledge that you have defied gravity for even a brief span of time.

yep, possibly better than chocolate.
possibly tied with a fat slice of warm apple pie.
and I'll have to let you know if it's better than a huge slice of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting . . .

tomorrow.