When I returned from a ride today, Charles Strickland followed me into the driveway.  A lot of people would have asked, “Been out riding your bicycle, huh?”  

    Charles, though not the kind of guy you choose for a friend, is too sharp for that.  He said, “I’m sure Nina’s got some kippered herring in the pantry and probably some fresh bread in the kitchen.  Let’s go inside and make a couple of fish sandwiches.”

    I asked, “Mind if I put my bicycle away first, Charles?”

    He said, “It will be alright right there.  Rex will watch it.  Come on, I wouldn’t have stopped if I wasn’t hungry.”

    So we went inside where there were a couple of cans of herring and some cinnamon, raisin, walnut bread.  The combination didn’t sound very appetizing, but Charles said it would be fine and he was right.

    While we ate in silence, Charles picked up my camera and looked at the pictures I’d taken today.  Stopping at the photo of the crumbling wall that’s at the top of the blog, he said, “This one looks like you.”

    I looked at it, but didn’t see the connection.  

    “Like that Grateful Dead song: Broken Down Palace.”  

    Trying to ignore him, I continued to eat in silence; but my thoughts were loud.  Charles must have heard them because he continued, “I saw you today.  That’s why I happened to come by just as you rolled up.  I saw you on one of the hills you like.  You looked heavy on the pedals, if you ask me.”

    I hadn’t asked him, but he’s right.  There’s a forum for North Carolina randonneurs and I get e-mail updates.  A lot of the randonneurs I know are riding a 200K permanent every weekend; usually the Tarheel or Lake Loop.  Sometimes there’s a weekday ride.  And they are riding fast.

    It used to be -- and not very long ago -- that anyone who rode a bicycle 10,000 miles in a year was on the fringe.  Not anymore.  These days, the first year you ride 10,000 miles, you think you have some bragging rights, but beware.  “Hey, I just tallied up my mileage for the year and I rode 10,000 miles.  How about that?!”

    “10,000?  Yeah, that’s alright.  I remember when I used to ride 10,000 a year.  Look, if you just bump it up 50 miles a week, you’ll get in another 2500 miles a year and that’s where you’ll start to see some real improvement.”

    We have a couple who rode more than 15,000 miles in 2009 and they both work!  I figured it out and that’s more than 41 miles a day.  Are they on the new fringe?  I don’t know.  They are very nice people and they never mentioned the mileage they were racking up to me.  Someone else let it slip.

    Then there are the guys like me.  The ones who let summer fitness slip away every November.  The plan is to ride a lot in December and regain some of what was lost, but December is always a lot colder and darker than we remembered and what we lost in November is a lot more than we imagined it would be.  (Fitness comes slow and goes fast, doesn’t it?)  Now, it’s the end of January and I’m heavy on the pedals.  And there are a lot of folks who live where it’s darker and colder than it is here in North Carolina.  I empathize.

    Anyway, I let the fitness go, but I did pretty well with the weight this year.  I didn’t pick any up this winter, but when I was soaking in the tub a while back, I happened to look at my legs, which were propped up against the wall, and I noticed that there isn’t any muscle on  them at all.  There never has been much, but there’s nothing now.  

    Fortunately, I read that the new thinking is that you don’t need muscles to ride a bicycle.  In fact, muscle is just extra weight you have to haul up the mountains.  I don’t know how that works -- maybe Dean could write something about it -- but I know I’m believing it; every bit of it.  It feels right and we do live in America where if you believe something hard enough, it’s true.  

    The only thing is, what do I call that part of my legs that’s sore every time I ride more than 50 miles in the winter?  Phantom muscles?  Like the phantom limbs that plague amputees?  I don’t know.  My butt’s sore, too, and I don’t think that has anything to do with muscle so I’m sticking with the not needing muscles theory and I’m not dwelling on what ever it is that gets sore.

    The days are getting noticeably longer and we had some beautiful weather this past week -- I was stuck in the shop and didn’t get any riding in -- but then it cooled off and rained.  Today was nice.  

    It’s this time of year when the funk can descend like a weighty mist and I begin to doubt that it will ever be warm again or that my bicycle will ever feel the thrill of power from his engine.  

    Even through the gloom, sometimes someone throws you a line.  I stopped off at the hardware store in Liberty on the way out today and I guessed that the young fellow in there is the son of the woman who runs the place.  I asked if he’s the guy who is going to be a Navy Seal and he said he is.  Then he told me that he rides a bicycle -- his mother had already told me -- and that he rode a lot last summer; about 600 miles.  Perhaps sensing my feelings of inadequacy, he said he rode to Asheboro and back on Old Liberty Road and the hills killed him.  I enjoy riding Old Liberty Road, even in the winter, and I felt a lot better about my empty legs and heavy feet.  In fact I felt so good, I think I went a little faster on the rest of the ride.  

    Then Charles came by and screwed up my tempered euphoria.