Big wheels keep on turning--I make it home anyhow

I did a 20 miler today to stay loose. I'm expecting my fancy panniers to come in any day now, so today may well have been my last ride without carrying a heavy load.

The route is one of my favorites. It starts at my apartment, which is right around the 1 mile marker of the Manchester Road Race. Instead of turning left to stay within Manchester, though, I head east to Route 85. From there I breeze by the outskirts of Bolton, Andover and Hebron before taking a right onto Route 94 (Hebron Ave) and then turning right again onto Manchester Road.

I'm riding up Hebron Avenue and the incline is quite steep. My speed (which averages between 15 and 18 on the flats) is down to a pathetic 5.5 miles per hour. Fatigue is getting to me. I think to reach back for my packet of Gu, only to realize that it's not in my shirt pocket, it's in my bicycle bag. Oops! Should I get off the bike? Never! I think to myself, as I begrudgingly keep pedaling, cursing to myself inside about the heavy wheels I'm riding on. Wheels are rotational weight, always moving outward. So each time I pedal to make up for speed lost on the grade, the extra weight on the wheels slows my down. And yet I need the extra strength, in theory.

I sit upright on the bike and feel for the zipper, hoping that I can reach in and grab the Gu packet. I unzip a little and reach in with my right hand. I feel something. GU packet? Nope. Cell phone, multi-tool and tire lovers. D'oh! The Gu packet recessed in the far pocket of my trunk bag. I unzipped a little more, unsure if I could reach it.

Sure enough though, I was able grab it and and tear it open with my teeth like a pro (please, indulge in my fantasy. At the very least, I know I could be a domestique). I could feel the results almost as soon as the strawberry banana flavor reached the tip of my tongue. I looked at my speedometer: 6 miles an hour, 7, 7.5. I was saved! The remaining 130 feet of my 350 foot climb felt like nothing. Not bad with such a heavy wheel set.

As fate would have it, though, it was on Manchester Road that theory turned into practice. My bike had an altercation with a dimpled, spinning spheroid on the road. As I pedaled past the driving range I saw an errant golf ball bounce towards me. Before I had time to react I heard a PING! as the ball ricocheted off the spokes.

As much as I toy with the idea of upgrading my heavy Mavic A319 wheels, these things are bombproof. I finished the remaining 5 miles of the ride without incident. I'll check the tension of the spokes before I go out on a cool down ride with Nicole this evening.

It's fun to upgrade, but I have to remind myself that I'm not trying to shave time on a race; I want a bike that will carry me and 50 pounds of camping gear for seven weeks. Every ding, every scratch on the bike, every piece of wear is kind of like a merit badge or Japanese Zero emblazoned on a P-51 Mustang fighter pilot. Takes a licking, keeps on ticking.

Just the way I like it.