Johan

Today I took the cross bike out for a spin. I started from Old Folsom with a plan to ride 20 miles or so. I rode towards Granite Bay via the bike trail, dirt roads and singletrack.

When I left the truck, my legs were feeling a bit heavy, as it was my fourth straight day riding. After a couple miles, though, I realized I actually had good legs.

After finishing the climbing up to Beals Point, I really opened it up on the dirt road along the levy, and it felt good. I felt so unbelievably strong. There are those weird days when everything lines up, and you feel invincible. If only you could bottle those unbelievable training rides and save them for race days.

I cruised along at 24 miles per hour for a while on the undulating gravel road. The day before I was struggling to maintain 22 on my road bike on the paved bike trail.

I rode all the way into the singletrack beyond Granite Bay, and I turned around at the planned 10 mile mark because of time constraints. This happened to be at the top of the climb, which worked out nicely.

On the way back down I caught up to a guy on a full suspension bike. He was going a little slow. I pride myself on being a fast descender, but it's pretty bad when a guy on a cyclocross bike is freewheeling behind a mountain bike. Anyway, when it finally opened up to doubletrack, I passed him.

Because I was a little irritated, and had a short rest on the downhill, I put it in the big chainring and opened it up. This is when the experience became otherworldly and why I even bother to write this . . .

It was one of those times when your legs seem to have limitless power. I shifted a few times and kept winding it up. I hit the right shifter again and nothing happened. I looked down to find I was already in my 48x12. The computer said 29.5 miles per hour. On dirt. Singletrack.

I was powering away in the drops, the bushes and weeds flying by my face in a blur—like riding in a tunnel. I was going really fast, but suddenly time slowed down. Everything became fluffy and dreamy, like that time I was given Demerol in the hospital. My body was dumping all the good chemicals into my system and I was high as a kite. And it was awesome.

There is something special about charging down a dirt trail in the drops on skinny tires, floating effortlessly over the bumps like a feather in the wind. It makes you feel like Johan Museeuw in Paris-Roubaix.

It was a cool experience, a short ride that started like thousands of others but ended like an epic. I just thought I would share it.

Later.