Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
This may be a good time for a disquisition on wind, which is, naturally, a huge factor
on a trip like this, a thrilling friend when it's behind you, a wily foe otherwise, which
feels like most of the time. (A rejected title for this topic was “The Wind Is My Enemy,”
rejected not because it is inaccurate or misleading but because the tone was a little too
arch and because “Life Is a Wheel” is just a little bit less arch and I like it just a little bit
better.)
The psychological battle between a cross-country cyclist and the wind is more com-
plicated than you would think. First of all, the wind isn't a singular force but a pleth-
ora of little forces that coalesce into a prevailing notion, though not without a number
of contrary opinions. In other words, the wind is a million winds, most of them work-
ing more or less in concert but many not, so that no matter which direction is preval-
ent, you're being buffeted by a battalion of little dervishes: Think of a car being tugged
through an automatic car wash with all the spritzing and polishing that goes on in there.
West to east is the direction of the prevailing wind, though all that ostensibly means
is it blows that way more often than east to west, and I'm not sure how significant that
is, given the number of days I've already had on this trip with winds from the south.
It's true that riding east you rarely face a straight-on headwind, but it's also true that it
doesn't line up a hundred percent behind you very often either. Rather, most days, it's a
question of angles, a steady breeze or a gust coming at you from one side or the other,
or hitting one shoulder or another, a slight (or maybe not so slight) deflection from your
purposeful path. It's a bit like being nudged by a bully, again and again, frustrating at
the least, disheartening at the most. Plus, crosswinds and headwinds are noisy. Passing
through the slots in your helmet, rushing past your ears, they become a kind of tinnitus,
blotting out birdcalls and insect songs and obscuring the delightful quietude of country
roads. They also make cars and trucks coming up from behind you hard to hear. What
you hope for—what I hope for, anyway—is semi-stillness, motion in the air but nothing
that feels like a force to contend with. You don't want stagnant air that feels stifling and
soggy, and a gentle cool breeze is surely a boon to anyone who is exerting himself over
an extended period.
This afternoon I had a fairly accommodating wind, though I've discovered that on the
prairie rogue gusts are hardly uncommon, coming from anywhere at any time. And when
a car, or worse, a truck, goes rumbling by in one direction or another, the whooshing
rush of air that comes with it combines unpredictably with whatever nature has going at
the moment and can make it seem as though a helicopter is alighting nearby, leaving you
desperately gripping your handlebars and envisioning Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked
Witch of the West, pedaling through the tornado in
The Wizard of Oz.
