My Brain is an A$$hole.

My brain is an asshole, and myself hates myself

I know that’s probably murdering the English language in some shape or form, but allow me the error to get this brief thought off my chest.

When it comes to riding, I obviously hate myself, and my brain completely finds delight in being a complete asshole to my body.

You see, every now and again, my brain originally says to my body, “hey body, you’ve rode this week. Let’s take an easy day to putter around, keep the engines attached to your hips running, and just enjoy a nice, easy ride on this wonderfully pleasant day! Doesn’t that sound like a great idea? Just the beauty of being on THE BIKE.”

And my body says, in response because it is polite, and it loves to ride, “why yes, brain! You’re right! We deserve an easy ride! Let’s do just that thing!”

And I kit up. And I get the bike. And I get on the road. And it starts. And the ride is feeling great. 

Wow, my legs feel great. THE BIKE feels great. What a wonderful day! It’s beautiful weather! Look at that bird! Look at that lovely cloud…

And after a few minutes, it starts. The Brain.

“Hey, I know I said this was going to be an easy day, and not to sound like a jerk, but wow, we’re really pedaling slow. Are we moving in reverse?"

Look at that wonderful puppy frolicking in the field! Did I mention those clouds are beautiful? I think that one looks like Eddie Merckx is chasing Wayne Gretzky.

“Psst. Did you hear me? Look, okay, fine. I know. You want this to be an easy ride. Like we agreed upon.”

Wow! These people driving these four ton death machines are really cooperating today! Everyone is perfect! What a great ride! Those clouds kick ass!

“Hey. HEY! Listen. Listen! I know you feel it. I know you think you’re going too slow. I know. Why don’t you just spin a little faster. You can still enjoy the ride. You can. You know I’m right.”

Okay. Maybe. You have a point. Maybe a bit faster. Just to keep the speed up and the legs loose.

“Great. Wonderful. You’re doing an awesome job. This ride is just great.”

And so I pedal a bit faster. Oh, look, things are still beautiful. What an awesome day. My legs are great. This wind is perfect…

“Look, I know we agreed on this pace, but don’t you feel this is still just a bit too slow? Really? I mean, come on, your legs aren’t even hurting. You know it isn’t an official ride unless you’re legs are screaming.”

But, I thought today was going to be an easy, enjoyable ride. Just the beauty on being on the bike?

“Who said that? Really? Nah, come on. You know the only beauty is when your legs are screaming. Just a little. Just a little misery. Come on. Cycling isn’t about pleasant rides. It only counts when you’re in abject pain and misery. That’s cycling! Now, go faster.”

Okay.

“Faster.”

I’m going faster.

“No, you aren’t. Go really faster. Stop screwing around.”

Okay, I’ll pedal.

 “Pedal faster.”

Okay.

“Faster.”

I’m going.

“That’s not fast enough.”

It’s plenty fast for an easy ride…

“STOP SCREWING AROUND! THIS IS NO LONGER AN EASY RIDE, TROLL! FASTER! FASTER! PEDAL FASTER YOU MISERABLE OGRE! PEDAL LIKE YOUR ASS IS ON FIRE AND A JABBEROWCK IS ABOUT TO EAT YOUR SMALL, MISERABLE SOUL! PEDAL! PEDDDDDAAAAAAAALLLL!"

And I do. And my legs scream. And I ruin my easy ride. And I push until my eyelids are floating and my hands are screaming and my legs are like California wild fires, and I’m hoping the numbers on my strava give me the only validation I care about: average speed. Forget easy. There is only THE TOUR DE RYAN and I’m hammering like US Postal on a cocktail mix of EPO and arrogance.

And finally, my bike is on its side and I’m sprawled on the grass and I don’t give an absolute shit about clouds. Clouds can kiss my ass.

And I hear it in my head. I hear the victory roar.

“LOOK WHAT I HAVE BROUGHT FORTH! YOUR EASY RIDE IS DEAD AND BURIED AND LOST TO ALL HOPE AND LOVE! LOOK ON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR, FOR I AM BRAIN-DOR, EVIL MASTERMIND OF CYCLING TYRANNY! YOU ARE MY PUPPET! YOUR LEGS ARE MY SLAVES!”

And my brain laughs. Maniacally. And it plots, because it knows there will be a next time. There’s always a next time. There will always be one more easy ride.

There’s always one more chance to be an asshole to my body.

And it will happen, again and again. Ad infinitum.

There is only joy in the pain. There is only happiness in the misery. You are only content when you are one with THE BIKE, and THE BIKE is punishing your legs like Pinhead tortures wayward Christians.

That’s riding a bike.

That’s one of the reasons why we love it so.

That’s the tyranny of cycling.

And we’re all assholes.