The Rime of the Ancient Cyclist - Facing the demon
By Greg Moody
I remember a line from the movie, “The Right Stuff.”
It went something like this: “There’s a demon out there, he lives out there in the thin air, right around Mach One …”
I was thinking about that last Sunday on my second attempt on Squaw Pass Road near Bergen Park.
It’s not that the road is impossible, plenty of people were doing it, sailing past me like nobody’s business, and it’s not that it was impossible for me, because, despite grunting and groaning and being overly dramatic about it all, I was doing it as well. Slowly, perhaps, but doing it nonetheless.
I had eaten well. I had fueled, so I wasn’t bonking like last time.
I was eating on the road. Drinking plenty of water.
Physically, I was there and I doubled my mileage from the week before — and then — as the third li’l ol’ guy on a cruiser went sailing past me, I began to encounter the demon.
He didn’t live out in the thin air near Mach One.
He had set up housekeeping inside my head, out near peak effort and final push.
He began by talking sweetly, quietly, in my ear, hoping to convince me to turn around. He carped. He complained. He did all in his power to remind me that going back, turning around, giving up isn’t all that big a deal. People do it all the time and the world continues to roll on its merry way through the universe.
And, after a while, I began to listen.
Out of fatigue, perhaps, or weakness of the spirit, but I began to listen. And he began to win.
I knew the car was down the mountain. I knew the car was the only way home. I knew I had to get back to the car to get there.
So why not go back now? Why not say “To Heck With This” and make for the comfort of a vehicle that moves without me doing all the work? Why not?
Makes sense doesn’t it?
And I began to listen.
But once you begin to listen, you’re dead. It’s only a matter of time.
He won again. This time, only about a mile and a half from the summit.
Somewhere in there, you’ve got to say no, talk back, drive the demon back outside your head and into the thin air on the Pass.
He can live out there.
He can’t live inside without causing you to give up and fail.
I’ve listened too often.
I’ve got to stop listening to him, as his words of sympathy and succor only lead to failure on the road.
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