The Himedomachi Cycling Club

I woke up this morning and thought of all the reasons it wasn’t a good day to do the ride I had planned. I had slept badly, my knees ached from fencing last night, it was probably still raining, It was 8.15 and I was still in bed and I had promised myself I would leave by 8am, so I was already late and I wasn’t even dressed. I was scared of the ride. I had planned to ride 100kms and ascend 1800 meters, probably one of the hardest things I have done on a bike and on a route that took me far from home and through the forests.

This journey through fear and apathy has a name. It’s is called the doorstep mile – it’s the physiological journey you have to complete before you leave and it’s the hardest mile you do.

In all the books I’ve read about endurance cycling the chapter on physical training is generally towards the middle. The first chapter is called some variation of, ‘”Why do it?” The experienced athlètes believe that you are most likely to give up through a lack of motivation in the face of hardship rather than not having the physical stamina for the job. They stress that you have to know why you’re doing it and the reason has to be so convincing that it’ll take you thorough the darkest of times.

Somewhere in the fluffy clouds of my imagination I wanted to do it. The route was in my ride computer, It mimicked one of the harder days in Japan. I had bought food and drink and fuelled myself on carbs the night before. My riding clothes were beside me on the bed. The only thing missing was my head.

I thought about it for a while and I realised that wasn’t quite right. I’d love to be someone who jumps out of bed at 6am and gets their day going with yoga and muesli. I feel I ought to aspire to be person and feel guilty if I’m not. I got out of bed at 8.30, once I had done the Wordle and mini-crossword. I did it how I wanted to do it, not how it ‘should’ be done.

I also had promised my older brothers I’d ride today. While they didn’t invent taking the piss, they have spent the past 50+ years perfecting the art and in some ways it was easier to ride 100kms than having to face up to them if I hadn’t. So I filled my water bottles and completed the doorstep mile and got out the door, only an hour and a half after my idealised departure time.

I headed out to Cheseaux and then onto Bavois and Croy. I circled around the back on the Jura until Vallorbe, then climbed through the forest to Le Pont and then up the Col de Mollendruz. It was a deliberately taxing route that climbed almost non-stop for 60km before swooping back down Lake Geneva. On some sections I averaged 13kmph, but once I went over the top of the Col I almost doubled the speed.

It was cold, though, coming down the mountain as I hardly moved and I felt like my feet were being welded to the pedals. After my last ride, I had thought to pack some peanut butter sandwiches and packets of sweets. As well as providing energy, eating the sweets immediately made me feel like the impish little boy who’s just raided the tuck shop and my spirits perked up.

One of the reasons I love Japan is that people will talk to you on the street, particularly retired people who have time to pass and a curiosity about you and where you are from. I spoke to no-one for the 7 hours I was out and I’m going to have to think up strategies for striking up conversations with strangers, otherwise it’s going to be a very lonely experience.

I got home at 16.30 and visited my son who was doing his homework in the shop. We chatted in the late afternoon sun and I savoured seeing him more than usual, happy to be home and pleased that I had achieved something I had promised I would do.

101km along, 1800m up

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