Last Sunday I had a great plan. Drop the kids with Grandma in Comox and ride my road bike back home.
I was going to blast off 60-70 km at a hard pace. When I arrived home I would grab a quick snack and, if the weather was nice, chase Chenoa around the local single track on our mountain bikes. In my world, this is the perfect day off.
I woke up Sunday morning excited about the day to come, but was instantly confronted with sick kids.
I’m not proud of this, but for a split second I wondered if I could still ride, and leave Chenoa to handle the chaos. But that would be really lame, so I got up and did not get dressed in my riding gear.
It was a tough day, made harder throughout by the fact that I was supposed to be riding, not dealing with grumpy kids.
As the evening came to an end and we got the rug rats to bed, I was exhausted, and although I still wanted to get out for a quick rip, it was late, and dark, so I decided to stay home and get some much needed rest.
I was headed for bed, barely awake, still pouting because of my missed opportunities, and then I remembered that the first international DH race of the season took place the day earlier.
I quickly found the replay, opened a beer and got some snacks.
I spent the next three hours, when I should have been sleeping, watching some very fast mountain bikers ride a steep and technical DH course in New Zealand.
It was an awesome end to my day off.
It wasn’t as good as riding myself, but when you’re an addict, you’ll take any hit you can get to fill the void.
I’m James Durand and I’m Goin’ Ridin’…
