The rarest sight for any cyclist is when the tree branches are pointing away from you. That is, when a strong wind is pushing you in just the direction you're going.
This wind is so rare that all veteran cyclists are automatically suspicious of any breeze they encounter. It takes them a moment to realize this wind is not like the ones they battle fifty-one weeks of the year: here comes not a foe but a friend. Even when the sensation comes it is mistrusted, for memories of the opposite are always fresher in experience.
The mindset becomes different when being escorted through town by breezes. It is the sudden relief of support and the startling fear of lacking control. It is like being taken by the hand into a television studio and watching a clone of yourself do the work you were about to do. It is like watching a home run sail over the fence while you stand at second base. It is like being shoved in the back by nature, but it's just the shove you need and you don't mind several more.
It is the dream that doesn't come when you sleep, and in waking is the absent deity.
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I've sometimes felt that the strength of the wind with or against you suggests the nature of the path you are taking. Often it seems as though the destination becomes more challenging by the block: complications of the place and people, the safety shortcomings of your ride, reasons why you would never have left your house, all thoughts that gain force in your mind as the winds grow in fierceness.
I remember one night I was set to ride across town to meet some friends of mine who were finishing work. They were in the Annex while I at the time lived in the western side of Toronto, so it was a ride that promised to be rough regardless of conditions. Still, the promise of some beers with good company was enough for me to pedal onward. It wasn't until I got to the first hill, an underpass wedged between Keele and Old Weston that the gusts hit me. Riding against a hard wind is like trying to walk through a sandy beach with the enormous hand of a god pushing you backwards. By the time I reached the top of the hill I was already exhausted, and I could still see the closest intersection to my house.
Being brave or foolish, probably both, I kept going. The wind would have none of that. I came upon another hill and began descending, only to realize the force against me was so strong I actually had to pedal to get down the slope. That was enough: I turned my wheels right around and let the spearhead of the breeze nudge me back the way I came.
As it turned out, the friends I was going to meet up with that night got into a pretty heated altercation with each another. Had I put my head down and forced my way through the unreasonable winds I would've been rewarded with an awkward situation at best. The moral of this tale? If something is hard, give up! Nah, I'm kidding. This is just a tale, oblivious to any personal experiences you may have. Like a hard wind there is nothing with a motive here. We may think it's always against us (I know I do!) but it is simply a force of nature, perhaps sometimes paralleling our present existence.
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