The moment my eyes slowly opened while I was laying in bed, I knew today was a day to ride. Energy exploded, excitement expanded, and effort awaited. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just the certainty the opportunity was now or never. The wind was waiting, ready to rage later in the day, but right now, the morning was mine. The mind was clear, the body was strong, the road was calling, and I would not be long.
Before anything else, I checked the conditions. The sky stretched wide, bright and blue, bold in its brilliance. The air was crisp, carrying the cool embrace of early morning, sharp enough to awaken but soft enough to welcome. The wind, light but lingering, hinted at the chaos it would soon bring. The trees stood still, the streets stayed silent, the moment felt frozen, waiting for the first turn of the pedals to bring it to life.
Fueling properly was non-negotiable. Steel-cut oats steamed in the bowl, smooth and strong, soaked in sweet maple syrup, golden and warm. Pineapple popped with citrus sharpness, strawberries supplied a soft, sweet balance. Each bite was fuel, every spoonful was preparation, the perfect mix for what was ahead. A cappuccino followed, its scent swirling, sending signals of strength, sinking into my system. A sip, a second, a slow moment of stillness. The fire was lit, the fuel was set, the effort was next.
Dressed and ready, I stepped outside. The first breath filled my lungs, fresh, full, freeing. The air kissed my skin, cold but kind, waking every sense with its gentle sting. The sun stretched its golden fingers across the road, melting the last traces of dawn’s chill. The pedals waited, the wheels whispered, the moment arrived, and I set off, rolling forward into the rhythm that always feels like home.
The Tama River cycling path stretched endlessly ahead, its pavement smooth, steady, silent. The river rushed, restless and relentless, rolling over rocks, reflecting the sun’s shine. The wind whispered warnings but did not yet wage war. It played, it pulled, it pressed, but it did not punish. Every breath was clean, the scent of damp earth and distant trees blending into a perfume only nature could create. Effort felt effortless, motion felt meaningful, the ride felt right.
Wheels whirred, wind whistled, water whispered. The rhythm built, my legs burned, my body balanced the battle between strain and strength. I was not chasing numbers, not forcing speed, only embracing effort, sustaining power. The burn was a reminder, the output was proof, the ride was real. The numbers confirmed it, 149 watts held, steady, stable, solid. The river roared, the sun soared, my energy poured, and my legs somehow endured.
The sky stretched brilliant and blue, the clarity undeniable, the air crisp and pure. But in the distance, a disappointment waited. Mount Fuji, the towering silhouette often stood in perfect majesty, was nowhere to be seen. A thick white haze hung low, a stubborn veil of cloud cover draped across the horizon, hiding the mountain behind its muted curtain.
The roads were clear, the skies open above, yet the view that should have completed the ride remained just out of reach. The absence was felt, a quiet reminder nature does not always give what is expected. Some sights are earned, some moments are rare, and today, Fuji remained unseen, waiting for another day, another ride, another chance.
With 12 kilometers to go, I stopped. Not for exhaustion, not for struggle, but for stillness. The river danced, the sky stretched, the air smelled fresh, filled with life, filled with light. I leaned the bike against a bench, took a seat, and let the warmth of the sun settle into my skin.
The wind wove through the reeds, the water whispered against the shore, and for a moment, I let the ride become something more. A reminder effort is not just power, movement is not just motion, sometimes, the best part of the ride is simply being there and enjoying life for what it is.
The road remained, the ride continued, and home was waiting. The last stretch flowed effortlessly, the final push fueled by something deeper than energy, something stronger than muscle. The ride had already been won, not by numbers or effort alone, but by the feeling, the experience, the undeniable truth the road gives more than it takes.
The wind would come, the days would shift, the trainer would replace the tarmac, but none of that mattered now. Today, I had the open sky, the open road, and the undeniable freedom only riding outside could bring.
