Bodies at rest tend to stay at rest. That’s Newton’s first law. So you can imagine the difficulty one encounters trying to rise from a warm bed before the sun has even sighted the horizon, to fortify oneself with hot coffee, and then head out for a trail ride. That the temperature is in the mid-20s only compounds the challenge.
And yet, it’s January in New England and the trails are not yet coated in snow and ice, so we do what we can.
And all the way to the meet up, you have those second thoughts reverberating around your cranium. “What am I doing? Man, it’s cold. This is stupid. The guys probably won’t even show up. I really could have used the sleep.”
Then the guys DO show up and next thing you know the heat is coming into your legs, into your core. The leaves crunch under your treads. Frozen earth rides like asphalt in places. The wet parts have gone crusty in the hard morning freeze.
You still can’t quite believe you’re there as the sun begins to suffuse the woods with gray light, but the equation is shifting. You’ve kicked off that equal but opposite reaction, joy and inspiration pushing you down the trail, momentum interrupted only by the odd rock or root. Quite unwittingly, you’re smiling.
And then you’re at it hammer and tongs. Up steep ridges you grind, your breath coming in great billowing gusts. Your fork floats and pops as you hurdle downed trees and then you find a brook in full babble, and you brake without saying a word to your companions. You stop and listen. As much as the riding, this is what you get out of bed for.
