A month ago I went out for a 100 mile bicycle ride. I’m no stranger to riding that distance, having participated in organised rides of anywhere from 50 to 150 miles for more than twelve years, but this was the first time I attempted that distance without the support of an organised event. Events provide both the psychological support of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of other cyclists riding the same route, and the practical support of rest stops with water and snacks.
I designed the route so that after 60 miles, I would be just 10 miles from home. This was so that if, at that point, the full 100 was looking unrealistic, I could cut it short. I had done 60 miles on my own before, so I knew what that was like, but never even 70. So I would be faced with a choice between a big further effort of 40 miles, and a lesser but still substantial effort of 10 miles. I didn’t want to make it too easy to give up.
East from New Costessey to Acle, north to Stalham, curve to the west by North Walsham and Aylsham, then south-west to Alderford and the route split.
The ride did not go especially well. I wasn’t feeling very energetic on that day, and I wasn’t very fast. By the time I reached Aylsham I was all but decided to take the 10 mile route when I got to Alderford. I could hardly imagine doing anything else. But I also knew that was just my feelings of fatigue in the moment talking, not the “I” that had voluntarily taken on this task.
At Alderford I stopped and leaned my bike against a road sign. It was mid-afternoon on a beautiful day for cycling: little wind, sunny, but not too hot. I considered which way to go. Then I drank some water and considered some more. Then I ate another cereal bar and considered some more. And without there being an identifiable moment of decision, I got on my bike and did the remaining 40 miles.
The physicality of decision.
A month ago I went out for a 100 mile bicycle ride. I’m no stranger to riding that distance, having participated in organised rides of anywhere from 50 to 150 miles for more than twelve years, but this was the first time I attempted that distance without the support of an organised event. Events provide both the psychological support of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of other cyclists riding the same route, and the practical support of rest stops with water and snacks.
I designed the route so that after 60 miles, I would be just 10 miles from home. This was so that if, at that point, the full 100 was looking unrealistic, I could cut it short. I had done 60 miles on my own before, so I knew what that was like, but never even 70. So I would be faced with a choice between a big further effort of 40 miles, and a lesser but still substantial effort of 10 miles. I didn’t want to make it too easy to give up.
East from New Costessey to Acle, north to Stalham, curve to the west by North Walsham and Aylsham, then south-west to Alderford and the route split.
The ride did not go especially well. I wasn’t feeling very energetic on that day, and I wasn’t very fast. By the time I reached Aylsham I was all but decided to take the 10 mile route when I got to Alderford. I could hardly imagine doing anything else. But I also knew that was just my feelings of fatigue in the moment talking, not the “I” that had voluntarily taken on this task.
At Alderford I stopped and leaned my bike against a road sign. It was mid-afternoon on a beautiful day for cycling: little wind, sunny, but not too hot. I considered which way to go. Then I drank some water and considered some more. Then I ate another cereal bar and considered some more. And without there being an identifiable moment of decision, I got on my bike and did the remaining 40 miles.