The push. It’s that feeling of a hand on the small of your back, the gentle surge forward, that moment when you can allow your legs to ease up. The push can mean a lot of things but can generally be reduced to two simple messages which are greatly dependent on the day you’re having and the group you’re with.
The evening rides with friends, fight night, you know the one. No one’s gonna give you a free ride. That push meant pick it up, get out of my way, take your pull. Don’t get teary over it that’s just how we roll. Cycling has a tough edge to it, always has. Our sport is full of legends of tough men and women pushing through adversity to achieve greatness, they wouldn’t be legends had they not. These are the people that pushed, pushed the envelope, pushed their competition, even if just to play mind games; think you’re strong, I’m pushing you, think again. Yeah, our sport is tough but legends weren’t made from the weak.
Sunday morning. The ride starts, or warms up with coffees on a porch, a map on the table and a lengthy discussion of which direction the wind is coming from. What road hasn’t been ridden yet this year and a couple bullshit stories about how terrible everybody’s legs feel. The pace is comfortable, but you know the distance is going to go into triple digits. This is the gentler side of our sport, the one where there are no attitudes, only a good hefty dose of camaraderie and a strong draft. Don’t get me wrong, these rides aren’t walks in the park, this isn’t the crochet club, there will be dark moments, when a hand on the small of your back means something else entirely than ‘hurry up’. Instead, it sends the message that it’s okay, I got ya on this one, just a couple more pedal strokes and we got this thing. That’s the noble side of our sport.