Dicycling

I'm thinking of getting some accessories for my bike. A light for visibility, a helmet for safety, and maybe some fuzzy dice for that statement to the world that establishes a unique identity, a distinctive persona, a brand if you will. Then all the world will see what a ramblin' gamblin' man I am.

Yeah, no. I do need a light on occasion, and I'm pushing my luck if I go much longer without wearing a helmet, even though most of my riding is done on bike trails and less-traveled roads. But there are always factors that one doesn't control - along with a few that one does control - that bring an element of risk and unpredictability to the otherwise safe, serene, and self-reliant activity of cycling. Riding is a game of chance.

It's a roll of the dice, for example, whether the wind out in the country turns out like it seemed when I started out in town. I always check wind speed and direction before I decide whether to go north, south, east, or west. In spite of MacKenzie's First Law (go out with a headwind, come back with a tailwind), there have been times when I rode for an hour, turned around, and inexplicably found myself coming home riding, like the venerable Motor City rocker Bob Seger, against the wind.

At other times my level of conditioning betrayed me, and the ride back from halfway across Licking County was a long, slow grind. In those cases, I have no excuse. You have to train if you want to go farther. Where there are hills involved, the oxygen debt of biting off more than my cardiovascular system can chew makes mountains out of central Swingstate molehills, and the muscles won't do what the mind tells them to do. Then I struggle up even the mildest hills in first gear and use the next downhill to recover. That's pushing your luck.

In moderation, of course, pushing one's limits can have beneficial effects. If I did that three or four times a week, I would get stronger and chug up those same hills in sixth gear. But I don't train consistently, so when I hit the wall it can get dicey coming back. And that's the slippery slope a casual cyclist rides on, letting days go by between rides, losing the aerobic edge, and making every extended ride a gamble.