At a certain time of year in Wisconsin, riding outside becomes more dangerous than beneficial. Iced-over roads and the ever-present threat of sketchy weather still even the hardiest souls. But the urge to train never ceases, because we all know July’s races are won in February.
So we begrudgingly descend into some deep and hidden indoor space to hammer out monotonous base miles on stationary trainers or rollers, thinking always of the far-off days of post-17:00 daylight.
In the Paincave, we grind away hours in solitude while staring at 19″ rotary dial tube TVs and race numbers from seasons past. We drown out the hum of resistance units with headphones and let the rhythm of the ride take us deep into our heads. Here, we set our minds on goals for the coming year.
A Paincave is a personal space. Some are elaborate whereas others border on Benedictine in their simplicity, but each one is an intimate portrait of its inhabitant. This is where we spend our winters, with stacks of tires, the boiler churning beside.