[dc]A[/dc]s I mentioned a while back (in Bike Therapy,) in the past two and a half years my life has transitioned from the quiet contemplation of the Hudson Valley to the hustle and bustle of New Jersey. Along with the change of location came a change in scenery; familiar roads were gone, trusted bike shops were distant, and new relationships had to be formed. While there's trepidation in the unknown, there was also a distinct thrill of discovering new places, new clubs, new roads and new people. But why does it take a new place to get us in to mood to explore?
Perhaps more importantly, what lessons have been learned through this period of forced transition and how can we apply them without having to relocate 200 miles away?
Complacency
When we're familiar with our surroundings, we tend to get complacent. We know exactly where every bump in the road is, where every bit of gravel is, where every climb starts and finishes. Rides that were once new, fresh and exciting become an exercise in the mundane. Sure, we can try to find new roads, new routes and new ways to string together a spiderweb network of directions in order to keep our attention piqued. Eventually, like almost all facets of life (training, work, marriage, pretty much anything we do on a regular basis) we slip into a routine that can be difficult to break. This is the beauty of a forced change: it creates the environment for you to jump out of the ordinary routine and into something extraordinary.
Where we once spent most of our time zoning out during our riding, thinking about what housework we have waiting for us upon our return, that project at work that's unfinished or how our quads are a little stiff today, we now pay rapt attention to what lies ahead. Riding new and unfamiliar roads forces us to be cognizant of the experience in front of us: our eyes are on the road, scanning for potholes, cracks and tar snakes. Our senses are on alert to the direction of the wind, the feel of the road beneath our tires and the sounds of our surroundings, be they vehicular traffic or the crunch of gravel under rubber. We acutely take note of our form as the road rises ahead of us, reading the path the road takes as it winds through hill and dale. As we roll past coffee shops and cafes, we may swing a “U-ie” and park our steed for a 15 minute espresso break; the proverbial “stop to smell the (coffee scented) flowers” moment.
The Human Element
Perhaps just as important as our relationship with the road, exploration into the human element of the local scene drives us out of our little personal bubble and forces us to take note of those around us. We may wander into a bike shop to scope out the scene and answer questions already formed in our minds:
“Will this be a place I can trust with my carbon tubs if I break a spoke?”
“Are they the pleasant sort that I'd want to hang around for a bit and shoot the **** with them?”
“Are they standoffish or rude?”
“Do they carry the same brands that I ride or lust over?”
Thankfully, all these questions can be answered after a few minutes exploration and a few minutes of probing chatter. The universal language of the ride takes over and before we know it, we're discussing the merits of tubular vs. clincher or Shimano vs. Campy like old friends, thrown into a new scene.
[pullquote]Riding new and unfamiliar roads forces us to be cognizant of the experience in front of us…[/pullquote]Group rides are searched for, pored over, queried in emails and eventually marked with a scrawl on the calendar (or tapped into iCal, for those of us in the 21st century.) Introductions are made along with the obligatory mundane chatter and bonds are formed or not. How strong they grow, how fond we become of a group and how often we throw our hat into said group's ring rests largely upon those initial meetings. Yet, without the spirit required to explore those groups, nothing can ever be set in motion.
So bearing this in mind (as well as the fact that you probably haven't moved anywhere recently and may be falling into that rut that life has dropped you into) make a conscious effort to go out and explore. It doesn't matter if it's a new group, new road, new climb or entirely new type of riding (cyclocross or track racing anyone?) Nothing can beat the thrill and reward of exploration, even in your own backyard.
Thoughts? Comments? Start the discussion below, or post up on the Tailwind Coaching Facebook Page.
