Sometimes I forget why I ride. Lately, my motive has more-or-less been getting a good result in October. So, I have been using the road bike as a means to that end. It’s harder for me to have fun on a ride bike, and I have only been fueling my wrong motive. So, as I sat on the floor of my bedroom last night, almost three quarters through a four week block of training, reflecting on how productive the first two weeks were, how tweaking my knee and taking a few days off has thrown me off, thinking about how crappy work was on Wednesday, thinking about all the crap I had to get done Thursday, thinking about how little sleep I was going to get, I thought riding with my fat-tired friend sounded delightful. I wanted to smell sagebrush and dirt. I wanted to ride over rocks going really fast with some wider, flat handlebars in my hands. I tried talking myself out of it. I tried to convince myself that my planned short intervals, road ride would be more productive, but it was all to no avail. After all, I am a mountain biker. I set my alarm for 5:40 and hit the hay sometime after midnight.

Sometime before 7, I was in the car heading for the Sandia Foothills. It’s been over a week since I rode the mountain bike. Boy, I’ll tell you what, I was rusty. Making a road bike go fast and making a mountain bike go fast are fairly different things. No matter, the rust quickly flaked off and I was having a blast riding over rocks, looking out over the west mesa, seeing the Sandias over head, and not using toilets. On the second loop, I tried to do some intervals. I was moderately productive. However, doing intervals has never been so fun. I was hitting stuff fast. Without trying I was getting airborne over little bumps, railing corners faster than ever, floating over rock sections, sliding around in weathered, sand-size granite, and dodging a plethora of rabbits. My confidence was swelling all too quickly. It was not long before that weathered granite put my confidence on ice. I was coming over the top of a climb in a full, 44x12 sprint when I found an off-camber, loose, sweeping left turn. My line was not set up; I took the corner wide and started losing my rear wheel. Fortunately, I recovered that without going down. Unfortunately, I relaxed to soon. My front tire gave way. I slide with my bike, then flipped over it, then rolled a few times. I picked myself up in the midst of a cloud of dust, realized my elbow was bleeding, and glanced over my bike. Everything looked okay. Man, I got back on my bike and rode fast for another 20 minutes. I had sweat, dirt, and blood on me. I was surrounded by nature. What more could I ask for? This is why I ride.

Sometime before 7 tomorrow, I will leave for the airport. I am going home for my cousin’s wedding. I am looking forward to the weekend. I am excited for my cousin and her soon-to-be husband. My cousin and I are only five months apart in age. In a lot of ways, we grew up together.

Sometimes I wonder why Todd Wells always ends his blog wondering.