Steve and I argue occasionally, as married couples do. These things are usually settled fairly easily by one of us ceding to the other, area of expertise dependent.
Usually that’s what happens. (Not always 😂).
Steve happens to be the math guru.
When angles, distances, or complicated equations of the higher math variety are required, he is the go-to guy.
Now, considering our area of country, you’d assume our rides generally cover terrain that is well, flat. Not so! At least, not where we ride. Two bayous, back to back, provide us with quite a surprising amount of elevational variation.
- I do not care for heights.
- I do not care for speed.
- I particularly do not care for heights and speed in conjunction.
Of the many things I have learned during this little adventure, one is that any exceptionally steep decline is guaranteed to dead end into an impossibly sharp turn. One that must be made in order to avoid ending up at the bottom of a channel.
Channels are made of concrete.
Often there is a little water.
(As if that weren’t enough, where there is water, there might be ducks! Mind, I have yet to see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there…lurking.)
There is one place on our ride that is, for lack of a better word, horrifying.
Normally I would rather go downhill than up, for…well, surely obvious reasons? In this particular instance I would rather climb that hill five times to avoid going down once.
I…so not kidding. 😟
As you perch atop that 45 degree angle and gaze upon the hard left turn required to avoid ending up plummeting to your death in a 30 foot drop, you might begin to wonder what atrocities you’ve committed during a previous lifetime that have gotten you to this particular place at this particular time.
Imagine this as endless continuous loop for your thrice weekly cycling experience.
Steve, in his willful ignorance, insists the downhill run is only 15 degrees, and the left turn, while sharp, would only entail a 15 foot drop if missed.
He is wrong.
This brooks no argument.
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