It´s never just a ride

I came around the bend and started another uphill climb. At the top there is a Spanish resort currently under control of a Swiss cycling vacations organization, sponsored by an American bike company. I hope the UN is proud. As I got to the top of this ascent and the entrance to the resort, a rider decked out in his red and white pulled out about 40 yards ahead of me to begin his ride.

And the race was on.

It wasn´t looking good for me. The guy was 6´1", about 175 pounds, and had just started; his fresh Swiss-German legs spinning, enjoying the morning air and this thing that we call "sun" (which I have heard can be a rarity in Switzerland). My legs were burning from just finishing another climb, were a good 35 miles into the ride, and while not tired, were also not as young as they once were (like when I was 12).

Swiss-German wheeled down the descent ahead of me, and we came to the next climb. He stood. I sat. The gap began to decrease. Up and up and up until we came to another descent, where he took off down the hill and I chased. Up again, and down. Up and down. Each descent he pulled away a little less. Each ascent I gained a little more.

Until we crested another hill, and this time I was right on his tail.

Down another descent, and this time he wasn´t going to have enough space to keep his lead.

I moved in for the kill, and got ready to spin my little self right pass him. I pressed my left gear change, and my legs tightened up preparing to spin my way away. "click! Thhhhhhhwick...SMACK." Pedal tension slackens, muscles release in the initial confusion of an effort that is supposed to come and doesn´t, and the chain comes off the bottom ring. Swiss-German pedals away around the bend.

I leaped off the bike and threw it up on to the stone wall protector along the right side of the road. Almost accidently threw it off the cliff.

And that would have been bad.

I repositioned the chain, spun the pedals to align it, and flip my bike back. Swiss-German was out of sight, but the race was not over.

Up to the top of the climb. Another fast descent, taking the corners slightly faster than I dare to, because this is not just a cruise around the bay anymore. This is for real. So, up again, and down, and up again. A car passes, I put my head down, and spin spin spin. Up and up, around a bend,

And there he is.

Hah.

Up and up, legs spinning, pedals doing a turn and a half every second, and he´s mine. I look at him and smile as he looks at me befuddled, and we take a descent. Swiss-German comes up besides me and says, "Something something something, this is in Swiss-German." Probably about how his 175 pounds are going to go faster down the hill than my 125 any day.

Or maybe something about how he was going to need a heck of a descent to really drop me this time, and unfortunately, this wasn´t going to be it. If I were him, that´s what I´d be talking about.

We come around the bottom and go back up again to the top of the last climb. And once again the pirate of the caribbean drops Swiss-German climbing up the coast of the mediterranean. The road flattens, then angles downward, and my legs spin out, trying to give me every advantage going down. Swiss-German fights his own way to the top and comes back again.

It´s ok though.

I´ve already officially defeated him.

If you ask me.

He pulls up next to me and says, "Something something I´m still speaking in Swiss-German and as it turns out no, Brit did not pick up the language in the past 15 minutes." But it was probably something about how he wasn´t really trying and that if he was he would have taken me. Or maybe he had a hard workout yesterday. Or maybe he was just out for the views. Or maybe some other justification that egotistical cyclists bust out when...when...when they just flat out get beaten up a hill not once but every time over every hill over the past 12 miles. It´s ok. I know. I too am an egotistical cyclist, and all of us have been beaten up hills.

But all´s love in the world of the wheel. He speeds past me, careful to point out glass at the side of the road as we twist and turn and descend. I watch him go, then turn to the side and blow snot out of my nose. At the bottom I make a right and go into town.