One year on: the reminiscing cyclist

So today is the anniversary of my second day of cycling across Canada…not so significant as the first many folk may think, but for me, day two was the real beginning of the cycling. Day one was all about settling the nerves, finding my way out of the Vancouver, calming the excitement from months of build-up and preparation.

In Canada, everyone who does the cross-country tour knows that day two can make or break you. Get through day two, and you can make it the rest of the way. Because when you’re travelling West to East, you have to tackle the unrelenting Rockies very early on. And for me personally, this was going to be the first time that I was really out in the wilds by myself – May is still technically off-season, and for all the talk I gave to everyone about feeling fine and that I’d done loads of research, I was still essentially bricking it at the prospect of meeting a bear.

Wall of mountains

When I set off from Hope that frosty morning, I remember being genuinely concerned at the gradient of the road from the offset. I’m pretty sure I averaged 5mph all morning. It was a real slog, and the ache from the previous day was setting into my legs, which were still very unused to transporting me and all my gear uphill.

And when I think back to the moment of disbelief upon seeing that summit sign – my first mountain pass conquered - where patches of snow still lingered and the temperature dropped, I still remember catching my breath, laughing with both pride and shock – day two had been completed, I had passed the test.

Further on, there were plenty more challenges to overcome – mental fatigue, running out of water and food, more mountains, flat plains of endlessly long roads, mechanical breakdowns...but even now, I still think back to that day when I used my more than cringe-worthy mantras to get me round the next bend in the road, to take the focus away from the sensation of burning muscles...

My weekends of late have all been about getting the longer running miles under my belt, and this weekend just gone was no exception. I dragged my dad (willing volunteer/victim) out to Church Stretton to run some long miles up and around the Long Mynd.

Heading into the Shropshire Wilds...

And while the hills aren’t as long and there’s no threat of bears, I was very much taken back to that day in Canada by the similar ache in my legs and the soft hail that fell like snow while we jogged over the soft plateau (not to mention the many ‘wild beasts’ that roam on the top of the Mynd…nobody wants to startle the sheep that cling to the steep sides of the valleys…) all followed by the exhilarating thrill of a final descent back towards civilisation.

Although my next challenge is on a much smaller scale in some respects, physically and mentally it presents very similar shaped obstacles to overcome. And it’ll all eventually boil down to whether my brain will push my body out of its comfort zone again. For me, it’s never been about being the fastest, it’s about the sense of accomplishment upon completion.

Where there is accomplishment....

...ice cream there shall be!