Heads or tails

You would think that by now I would have learned to recognize that that incredible power in my legs is, in fact, a tailwind, and that on the way back, I’m going to be going into a headwind. Rode into work the last two days, a ride that is so short as to be barely worth putting on the shoes, but if I have the time to stretch it a little bit I can enjoy it. Last night, I got out of work early and thought I’d just loop up toward Troy, cross the river and ride home on Route 4. Tres reasonable, n’est-ce pas? Took the streets north because the bike path is just choked with slow traffic and an inappropriate place to ride a road bike, though they did a nice job repaving it. Got up to Menands and learned that I would not be allowed to cross the Troy-Menands bridge, which was news to me — it’s not on an interstate, but bikes were prohibited, so I had to trudge up to Watervliet and cross at Route 2, which both took longer and left me having to ride through some of the nastiest streets of Troy (in every sense of the word.) And as I headed back south, I started encountering 20-30mph headwinds, so strong that if I stopped pedaling, I simply stopped moving. And while I felt good on the ride north, I didn’t feel like I was being pushed that hard. So my quick spin turned into an hour and a half ride, a jaunt through Troy once again proved to be a mistake (and I haven’t learned yet!), and my thighs have ballooned. So, why is it that I am so heavily into a sport that always finds me a long way from home with a sore ass?