A glorious tailwind pushes us across the last 30-something miles for the day. We pass Four Corners Monument screaming down a wonderful descent, cross a river, and start a gentle uphill grade that will last the rest of the day. Even a gentle uphill grade is a delight when there’s a wind at my back. In fact, I think a gentle uphill grade with a tailwind might be my favorite riding condition. I get to find a nice steady rhythm in the pedals, which falls into harmony with a good healthy heart rate. I feel like I’m putting in a healthy workload, and get to enjoy the beauty around me. My head’s up, the scent of the desert is pouring through my nostrils, the sounds around me are sweet. I’m making solid progress across the pavement.
Life is good.
Hozho.
Mr. Consistency seems as unaffected by this glorious tailwind as he was by the evil crosswind. I’m off and running down the road with the wind at my back, while Dave clicks along at what seems the exact pace he sets no matter what’s happening around him.
It’s not that Dave is taking it easy with the tailwind; he’s working hard and ready for the day to be over. While I’d been there in that exact place a few miles back when the wind was messing with me, I’m now feeling great and would be happy to ride another 50 miles today with this great tailwind. While the tailwind pours new life into me, it’s doing nothing at all for Dave.
The effect wind has on me is more mental than physical. From a physical perspective, I should be able to set my gears so I’m putting out the physical effort I want to put out, and go whatever speed that gives me. When I’m fighting the wind, it’s a slower speed; when the wind is helping me, it’s a faster speed. It shouldn’t be that big a deal.
But it is.
Somewhere deep down inside, I feel cheated by a headwind. I feel I’m not making the forward progress I should be making for the effort I’m putting in. On top of this, the constant gale screaming in my ears irritates me, making it difficult to find the joy in the ride.
A tailwind, on the other hand, is one of the most beautiful experiences you can have on a bike. There’s no wind in my ears, so I hear everything around me. The chain purrs sweetly as it pulls the gears under the coaxing of my legs. The soft hiss of my tires on the smooth hard pavement, the sound of little critters scurrying in the desert around me as I pass. Smells aren’t as big a deal out here in the dry desert, but even the smells are more accessible in a tailwind, since I’m moving through air at a slower relative speed, and the smells linger around my face long enough to register and enjoy them.
Relative progress, speed, sights, smells, sounds. It all goes together to create a gestalt for the ride that’s pure sweetness, and I never want it to end.
Hozho.
After gliding through 30 miles of this sweet gestalt, we roll into a big casino in the little town of Towaoc in Colorado. Dave and I take advantage of an inexpensive room that’s pretty darned nice. We pay something like $50 for the room for the night. I’m sure the rates are much higher on weekends, but it’s a Sunday night, and the laws of supply and demand work in our favor. (Or is it Monday night?…)
We wander through the casino to get to supper, then back to the room. Casino designers are smart that way, leading patrons past gaming tables and machines at every opportunity, dangling enticement with every step.
There’s not much here that tempts me though. I look for folks who appear to be having fun, but can’t find any. Row after row of sad faces hooked up to slot machines like arms connected to IV’s, drugs pumping into their minds. Table after table of drained souls looking to leave scraps of happiness and dignity on the green felt of the blackjack table.
I’m sure happiness finds its way into the hearts and minds of the folks here sometimes, but none of it shows on their faces today. In fact, I’ve rarely seen it on any of the forays I’ve made into gambling cathedrals during my life.
In a casino, it feels like everyone’s working against a headwind. The constant clang of the slots is the pounding of the wind in their ears. But just out of reach is the promise of a tailwind, so they keep pedaling in misery, hoping for that little wind at their back soon. At tightly prescribed intervals, the road turns for a short distance, and they feel that sweet wind on their back.
Just for a little bit. The game is carefully rigged to make sure the road turns back into the wind quickly after meting out a tiny dose of “feel-good.†It doesn’t take much to keep the hopeful soul hooked up to the misery. Those little periods of tailwind are sweet enough to keep the gambler throwing his money down the pit, hoping for that next turn.
The unsmiling faces I see in the casino reflect a deep sadness to me. Perhaps a sense that no matter how hard they pedal, they’re still sliding backwards. The occasional burst of tailwind pumps just enough joy drug into their veins to keep them pedaling for a while longer…
But then, maybe I’m projecting something inside myself onto the sad faces I see around me. In fairness, I have to say I have many friends who say they truly enjoy going to casinos to gamble. I don’t mean to judge folks who enjoy it, or folks like me who don’t. I’m just observing, and it’s something I just don’t understand. Nobody forces these people to come to the casino. They know they’re most likely going to walk out the door with less money than they walked in with. And while they’re here, I’m just not seeing many smiles.
Then again, who am I to talk about silly behavior after my milkshake debacle at breakfast?
Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts
This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels was released on March 1, 2015. We’re honored and grateful for the awards the book is receiving, including the following:
- 2015 National Indie Excellence Awards – 1st Place
- 2015 Great Southwest Book Festival – 2nd Place
- 2015 International Book Awards Finalist
- 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Awards Finalist
- 2015 LA Book Festival – Honorable Mention
- 2015 San Francisco Book Festival – Honorable Mention
