Virtual 202525

Back to the desert, back to the silence, back to the rhythm of endless roads stretching into the unknown. Forty-six kilometers through Namibia’s vast, golden expanse. A final push for the week, a ride not demanding exhaustion but inviting presence. Strength built, endurance tested, another weekly distance goal shattered beneath the virtual spinning wheels.

The air, dry and sharp, carried the scent of dust and distant earth, untouched and untamed. The wind whispered against my skin, a warm breath against the effort, neither cooling nor comforting, only constant. Each breath tasted of heat, thick and heavy, filling my lungs with the rawness of the wild. The sun sat high, pressing its weight upon the land, painting the sand with deep shadows and shimmering waves of light. Sight stretched endlessly forward, roads winding like veins through a body of burnt ochre and endless stone.

The ground hummed beneath me, a low vibration of effort and motion. The tires met the road with a rhythmic whisper, a steady song of movement, neither loud nor soft, only persistent. My legs turned, my heart pounded, my mind settled into the trance of the ride. The effort was real, but the suffering was distant. Namibia’s silence absorbed it all.

At least, this is what I imagined it would feel like if I were truly pounding the pavement across the Namibian desert. In reality, I remained indoors, locked in a controlled world where the heat did not burn, the wind did not blow, and the dust did not cling to sweat-covered skin. The wheels spun, but the ground never changed. The air grew thick, but the silence felt artificial. The ride remained powerful, the challenge undeniable, but the raw beauty of the desert was only a vision, a thought, a creation of the mind.

The push was steady, the goal already won, but the desert demanded more. The heat did not forgive, the road did not yield, the effort did not stop. Yet, with every kilometer gained, the satisfaction deepened. The ride did not punish. It rewarded. Each moment carried purpose, each pedal stroke carved progress, each breath marked a step beyond yesterday’s limits.

Finished strong, pushing past last week’s best. A new personal record, another marker left behind. Momentum matters, movement builds, progress does not pause. The road calls again, and I will answer.

The fire burns, the will turns, the ride continues.