Before diving into my latest ride, let's rewind for a moment. Jumping back to five weeks before my ride, an ordinary morning took a turn. While pulling on a pair of socks, a sudden, sharp pain had me frozen mid-lean, sock in hand. I cried out for help, but the blender's noise in the kitchen masked my calls. Eventually, Devon heard and rushed in. A quick dose of leftover meds took the edge off, but it was clear: this wasn't good. Hours later, still in pain, I shuffled to the ER, fearing the trip was in jeopardy.
Upon arriving at the ER, I had to fight for an MRI, despite my severe pain and back issues. Reluctantly, they agreed. The results were grim: four bulging discs and a torn annular ring. The attending doctor, not a back specialist, advised me to see a spinal surgeon. It was a crushing moment—all the training and planning seemingly unraveling. But I refused to surrender, and kept a positive attitude. With no specialists available, I took matters into my own hands. And now, here I am, back on my bike.
My back injury set the stage for my next ride, highlighting the significance of persevering with a positive attitude through tough times.
These rides, much like planning a sailing trip, demand a keen eye on the wind and rain. My sailing background came in handy, understanding the weather is second nature. So, seeing a break in the wind forecast, I chose that day for the ride, despite the looming rain. The wind would be at my side, not against me—not to bad, as future forecasts weren't so forgiving. But here's the hitch: torrential rain loomed, about an inch and a half in the forecast, weather rain warnings, and the decision to ride the shortest, fastest route, the highway!
Undeterred and craving the challenge, I prepped to leave Foggia. Just as I set my bike outside, fate played a trick—the door slammed shut, leaving keys and phone inside. Bummer! With no other choice, I sought help from a nearby cafĂ©. Forty-five minutes later, and with some luck, I was back inside, geared up, and out the door in a light sprinkle. Twenty minutes in, the sky unleashed. And so, the day truly began..
As the day wore on, my rain booties transformed into mini-aquariums, while my deli gloves turned into tube's of water. The rain pounded so loudly on my helmet and hood it was like hail on a tin roof, and my glasses were like a wet shower door. Standing water, sometimes four inches deep, had me swerving into the lane while the spray would chill my feet to the bone. Thank goodness for my bike computer and rear radar, keeping me aware on that busy highway as my rear view mirror, covered in road spray, was useless.
Normally, I dread speeding semi-trucks, but misery made me a fan of their turbo boost! Each whoosh propelled me 5-10 km/h faster for about 100 meters. Now, I couldn’t wait to be overtaken! Yet, as the day dragged on, I only managed one pit stop, a cozy grocery store oasis.
Too soaked and tired to do much, I grabbed a banana and stared out the window, contemplating my legs turning to jelly. Realizing I needed to hit the road or who knows what, I scarfed down the banana, added a candy bar for good measure. As I geared up to leave, a thought hit me: what if someone offered me a lift to Termoli? Tempting, but I knew I’d have to decline. This ride was my challenge, even with numb feet and hands. It's all about testing my limits.
The last 10 kilometers felt like a lifetime; my bum practically formed a union with my saddle from the nonstop abuse. Pitstops along the guardrail for when nature called were godsend. Those brief moments off the saddle were a savior.
Back at the apartment, even a hot shower couldn’t get the circulation back in my toes. But a trip to the grocery store, a gin with a lemon twist in hand and pride in my accomplishment put a smile on my face. Slightly masochistic? Maybe a “CYCLOPATH”. But that's the thrill of bicycle touring – embracing the crazy and that’s why a “still” love cycling.
Since snapping pics in the rain was a no-go, I'm sharing a very short throwback video of Devon braving a rainy ride, sick with a cold and all. It's raw and real, more than words could capture. Before you watch, do me a favor – look up the Italian word 'vaffanculo'.
Now that I'm getting the hang of the comments section, and now being able to respond—share your comments and thoughts below.
Jim