The Bud of Desperation

When my wife, Asako, had to go to the doctor in the afternoon with an allergic reaction to kemushi (hairy caterpillars that can leave a nasty rash) my planned afternoon 30k maintenance ride with 650m of vertical ascent quickly transformed into hide and seek with my kids. This is no reflection on how much I love playing with my children but with already over 24 hours off the bike, plans to leave the mountains the next day, and the weather becoming more unstable, a bud of desperation took hold. “Tomorrow, I need to ride”, I heard in my head as I counted to 30 again with children giggling under the desk in the next room.

This time of year I flip my normal summer routine of waking up at 5am in favor of mid-afternoon to sap what little is left of summer warmth. Further in a blitz of optimistic bag packing in Yokohama, I left out my insulated booties that cover my thin, vented cycling shoes but tossed in my winter cycling gloves as a hypocritical precaution. “I won’t be needing these.” I thought, as I imagined warm fall afternoons gliding through the fields and forests of Nagano.

With plans to return to Yokohama before lunch in place, I knew it would be an early morning departure if I wanted to get any real distance in. My thus far favorite cycling route in all of Japan is a mere 60k spectacular loop with over a 1000m of vertical ascent, mountain views, a convenience store at 40k to re-fuel, and farmland on the return. As far as a “guy with other responsibilities” ride goes it is just about perfect. I only get to do this ride in August and October as vacations in Karuizawa and weather allows. I had ridden it 2 out of the four days thanks to a bit of rain and some well spent time with friends keeping me off the bike. The remaining hours to come would be my last chance at it in 2008. The bud of desperation sprouted.

My dog, Biko, knows whether to get up with me in the morning based on the equipment I lay out the night before. If I only put out a t-shirt, running shorts and shoes with my heart rate monitor, Biko knows to get up and get excited. If my cycling helmet is out she doesn’t even budge when the alarm goes off. Sleeping dogs slept as I quickly hurried into a few layers of cycling clothes, filled my water bottle and put some granola into my blood stream. Even though my other rides this week had been at the warmest part of the day, I took notice that the temperature was down to 6 or 7′ C  when we woke up. Cool but not cold enough to really warrant the booties or so I mused.

I opened the door and was stunned by something wrong. Frost was on the plants and the thermometer read “-1″. Even with my feet still warm from the bed clothes, from past experience I knew what my toes would feel like in 15min without those booties. It didn’t matter, the bud of desperation had blossomed and I was going to ride.

It was a gorgeous morning, yes my feet froze, and I relished long climbs to try and work some heat into my toes. The road I have been milking is 7k from home when it climbs off into the forest for 30k of desolate ridge riding until a screaming 12k descent at 50kph plus – top speed today was 65kph. The high woodlands along the desolate ridge were as still as well-water and my steady breathing seemed to echo off the trees. Clearing my throat from the dry chilly air I scared a Nihon Kamoshika (Japanese mountain deer) that was resting not 5m beyond my left shoulder. It took off running with such effort and speed that I felt baldy for it. If it only knew how little danger it was really in.

After skirting the alpine pastures where the stockyard grazes their cows in warmer weather, the cold but thrilling decent past the fish farms, horse stables and rice fields, and rolling hills through commercial vegetable fields, I was home with a few routine highlights that included fantastic views and a warm canned coffee from the convenience store as a peace offering to my sorry feet. It was a routine ride, with all the events and un-eventfulness.

I could wax poetic about the steady sustained effort of long mountain climbs or the sweeping S turns through the forest across the ridge or the stoke of the downhill descents when everything feels right. The interesting thing, however, isn’t the hype but more so the motivation that started at least as early as the day before counting to 30 pretending to search for two small people whose location I knew before I opened my eyes.

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