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Friday, October 21, 2016

The Ankle and The Knobstone Trail

"Patience is a virtue, but there comes a moment
when you must stop being patient and take the day
by the throat and shake it.  If it fights back; fine.  I'd
rather end up bloody at the end of the day, then unhurt
with no progress made; no knowledge gained.  I'd rather
have a no than a nothing.  I'd forgotten that about myself."
Laurell Hamilton

My friend, Diana, and I are planning on hiking the entire Knobstone Trail.  We are still deciding if we want to hike a section each day and have her husband pick us up so that we can sleep in our own beds and have hot showers or whether we want to camp along the trail until it is completed.  I lean one way, she the other; but I am not above compromise. I enjoy her company and really am not strongly bound to either.  But that decision can wait.  We have decided to hike one section of the trail today just to give us an idea of what kind of shape we are in and how long it will take us.  Diana has a map.  I have a compass on my Christmas wish list as well as a book on how to use it, but as of yet I have neither.

While I spent the majority of my childhood in the woods, I have not really hiked much as an adult and never got much of a chance to camp. My knowledge is extremely limited, and I know that it is limited and I have not yet had a chance to read up on it much.  I do not have the proper equipment, and I do know enough to know that, but it does not deter me from forging ahead.  After all, how many people have completed a triathlon on a touring bike?  Sometimes you do things and if you like them, then you begin to spend money.  If you don't like them, you haven't lost much except time.

We decide to leave early in the  morning.  It is supposed to be colder than it has been recently, but that is not a problem for me.  Since I bicycle in the winter, I have all sorts of cold weather clothing.  The problem is my shoes.  Looking backwards, perhaps this was the decision that might have changed the day, but then it might not have.  Not being omniscient, I will never know.  I have a pair of boots that I bought at Target that were on sale at the end of the season and quite a bit too large, but perfectly fine for shoveling snowy driveways, and I have an old pair of running shoes.  I pick the running shoes.  Would the boots have made a difference?  In the end, it does not matter.  Things happen and you just have to deal with them.  In the scheme of things, any accident you can walk away from is a good accident.

Jim and Diana pick me up and we drive to Elk Creek to hike through to Leota.  Diana is clad in boots and has her back pack.  She is also wise enough to have a walking stick.   I decide against the back pack and just have a waist pack, and while I have put walking sticks on my wish list until I work enough overtime to purchase them, I have not yet gotten them. Both of us are dressed in layers. Jim drives off and we trudge off into the woods.  It doesn't take me long to realize that Diana is much better at spotting trail markers than I am.  Despite what we have heard, the trail is well marked, it is just that even in company I tend to drift off into my own thoughts at times.   I suspect that the West would never have been won by people like me. 

The trees have not yet begun to show their fall colors, but dry leaves do litter the ground.   I see two clusters of mushrooms:  one dead but somehow beautiful.  The other alive and unaware of the seaon change. The farther we stray from the trail-head, the more the path is covered in places.  The birds are still singing, not the bright calls of spring when their exuberance can almost be called raucousness, but not the drear, dead silence of winter when thoughts of survival rule.  It is windy and the trees whisper as if they were talking of us and our passing. Diana and I chat easily, as old friends have a wont to do.  I am grateful for her friendship and I hope she knows this.  I am not and never will be an "easy" person.  I feel too strongly and don't have a tight enough rein on my tongue. My expectations are high.  I have rather weird interests. Even with all the love he had for me, my husband told me not long before he died that his nephew was right when he said I was strange.  With old age, I have accepted this about myself.  But evidently Diana is okay with this weirdness because it will take us a few days of being together for a number of hours when we hike this whole trail. 

The trail is rough and I trip repeatedly despite trying to be careful.  Unfortunately, about two to three miles from the end, I trip and I feel my ankle twist and pain shoot up my leg.  Diana asks if I am okay, and I lie and say I am once I establish that, while it is painful, I can stand.  There is no reason for her to worry and there is nothing to be done about it.  And I will get out of here on my own even if I have to grit my teeth and crawl. I almost brought an ankle bandage, but I did not so swelling will definitely be an issue.  I stumble onward knowing that for a bit endorphins will kick in and  minimize what I will feel later when I stop.  And each time we pause, I feel it stiffen and it is harder to fight the pain and start up again. 

Still, I am not miserable. We reach the end and sit down to wait for Jim to pick us up.  Diana was right about how long it would take us, and now we have an idea of our pace and how far we can expect to get most days.  Diana tells me that the people she spoke to said this was the hardest section of the entire trail, so I am even more confident.  Now if I can just learn to walk without tripping over myself and falling down.  I also found that while my GPS for the bike will not tell me distance, I assume due to our slow pace, it does show the trail so that if we would miss a marker, we should be able to find our way back. 

Diana and I hiked on Monday.  On Tuesday, I wonder if I will be able to captain the century I have scheduled for Saturday.  When I post so that people can plan, Tony volunteers to captain the ride if I am unable.  But of course, despite the fact my ankle is the size of a grapefruit and there is bruising around the entire outside of my foot, I decide to give it a try.  As I later tell them, this is not the smartest thing I have ever done.  I urge them to feel free to ride ahead, but they decide to keep me company and we set a leisurely pace.

During the ride, I can't clip out and walking on uneven ground when I am off the bike is treacherous and painful.  Climbing likewise.  Still, I only walk one hill.  I will pay for my lack of patience.  By the end of the ride and the next day my ankle worsens.  But I remain glad that I "took the day by the throat" and shook it.  I got a chance to chat with Mark a bit for the first 25 miles until he veered off for home.  The other riders opted to say with me and I enjoyed the beautiful fall day and the company. Lunch, as always at the Mennonite store, was exceptionally delicious.  And I will heal.  Had I been patient, I would have healed more quickly.  I would have had less pain.  But I would have missed the last of the unseasonably warm weather and the company and the countryside.  And I do so grow tired of just sitting with my leg propped up.

Winter will come, heavy handedly sweeping leaves from the trees and leaving the world a monotone of browns and grays.  The birds will silence and the world will seem still except for the wuthering of the winter wind, ghost-like and mournful.  But I will remember hiking with my friend and riding with friends and I will long for the birth of spring, and I will be grateful for the time I had with them and glad that I made the choice to do both, even if I ended up bloody at the end of the day.  I hope I don't forget that about myself. 

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Off To Bethlehem

"Learn from the river the
art of moving on without
letting go."
Panana Reed

Other than an wasted week-end, I have been busy this week taking care of those fall chores that need to be done so that you can feel cozy and snug and prepared for the colder weather.  No, I did not get them all done, but I got done some of the ones I like the least:  cleaning the sump pump well and cleaning the culvert.  (I must admit I did enjoy using my new culvert cleaning tool).  The weather for this much needed vacation week is incredible:  warmer than normal, but not so hot that it is a struggle.  After thinking about where I would like to ride and not having planned out a new route, I decide to go to Bethlehem. I will make a few changes from the original route so that I can leave from my home.

As I ride, I can see that fall is gently nudging  summer, telling him that his turn is over and asking him politely to yield. Summer is a male month, demanding and hot.  When he refuses, immune to her wheedling, she will exert the full force of her power and inevitably she will win.  But for now, he stands his ground.  It is warm with a hint of the wind that awaits and makes riding so much more difficult.  There are clouds that come and go throughout the day.  The corn and soy beans retain no hint of green:  they are brown and dusty.  In a few places, farmers are beginning the harvest, jeans covered with dust, sweat dotting their brows that are furrowed with concentration and determination.  Wooly worms scatter the road like confetti and as always I wonder about their journey.  Where are they going?  They seem to be crossing the road from one corn field or soy bean field to another.  Is there some difference in fields that I can't see?  They aren't all going in the same direction, say north.  I smile to myself thinking, "Why did the chicken cross the road?"  Some things we humans are not privy to.  The only think I know is that it  happens every year and is a portent of the coming cold.

As I near Bethlehem, it becomes evident that it has rained here despite the zero percent rain chance predicted.  It is not yet so chilly that I have to worry about this.  While I may not be comfy if it rains on me, it is not dangerous.  I make a mental note to pack the garbage bag that I normally begin carrying this time of year for when I don't want to tote a rain jacket. I think of Joe Camp on this ride when it rained so, and the hardware store yellow rain jacket that he wore like a tutu. I also watch my speed on the descent with all its twists and turns.  Leaves, walnut, persimmons, and acorns litter the ground.  I think of how I used to harvest the black walnuts for my husband as he preferred them to the English walnuts.  I miss him so.  And I remember that this was the last century that I rode before he returned home to heaven.  And yet again, there are tears of sadness and gratefulness, an odd mix. I realize that rightly or wrongly I have moved on, but like the river, I have not and will not ever let go.  There will be new experiences for me, some pleasant and some not.  I may or may not fall in love again.  People will enter and leave my life, some for the better and some for the worse.  Despite my reluctance, I am moving forward.  And there is, for the most part, a smile on my face, and a bicycle that needs to go for a ride. 

Sunday, September 25, 2016

A Good-bye to Watermelons and Hot Weather Rides

"The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart,
and not to be mentioned with the commoner things.
It is chief of this worlds luxuries, king by grace of
God of all the fruits of the earth.  When one has
tasted it, he knows what the angels eat.  It was not a 
Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because
she repented." 
Mark Twain

The first watermelon of the year is a time of great rejoicing for me.  Watermelon was the food I craved while pregnant, and none was to be found at that time of year.  Watermelon is one of my favorite hot weather pre-ride foods and one of my favorite recovery foods.  Quite often, it is my breakfast throughout much of the summer.  And the last watermelon of the year is a time of sorrow, if only because of what it signifies, for normally by the end of summer I am finally sated.  
This year the last watermelon of the year happened to coincide with the last hot century of the year:  Wheels of Screams.  I could not believe it Thursday when I saw a fruit stand that actually still had Jackson County melons, and I could not believe it Friday when I saw that despite the time of year, temperatures on Saturday were to top 90 degrees.  

I have only done this century once before, and I remember two things about it:  it drained me and there were the best Amish individual apple pies on this earth.  As with most rides that I have not ridden very often, I don't know if I remember being drained because it was an unusually hard course, I was out of shape at the time, or I just had a bad day.  Even after yesterday's ride, I still don't know.  

What I do know is that the ride is very hilly with lovely vistas.  The greens of the landscape so different that the fresh green of spring, still holding on but obviously with effort as autumn approaches and insists on taking her turn with the land. What I do know is that in the months to come I will miss this warmth and the cleansing sweat that summer rides encourage.  What I do know, is that the woman running the store had not made apple pies and so we left disappointed and empty handed, but perhaps a pound lighter. What I do know is that I will remember the time spent with Bob and Dave, and how Dave rushed out of the third store stop to accompany me in because he did not think it was safe for me to drag in alone and I needed to get back.  

One more TMD century ride, and then most of my friends will disappear for the late autumn, winter months like watermelon will have disappeared from fruit stands.   But they will reappear in the spring and early summer months and their absence will have made their very presence  more dear. 

Thursday, September 8, 2016

The Last Vacation Day

"That old September feeling left over from school
days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, 
obligations gathering, books, and football in the air....
Another fall, another turned page: there was something
of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last
years mistakes had been wiped clean by summer."
Wallace Stagner

One more vacation day, I think as I arise, and there is so much work that I should be doing, but it "is" vacation and so I will not.  Instead, I will ride my bike.  I may do a century or I may not:  it is all dependent upon how I feel.  I slip out into a cool, morning where the high humidity is not yet a concern.  Just my bike and me.  Responsibilities be damned.  Sometimes there is a need inside to do what you want to do rather than what you should do, and today that need will be satiated, at least temporarily.  Yesterday, after my morning ride but prior to the afternoon time trial, I changed the oil in the lawn mower and cleaned the air filter, a chore that traditionally belonged to my husband and that I had put off far too long, but today, despite the long list of things that should be done, I am doing what I want to do.  

I decide that I will ride to Norman Station and have lunch at Jiggs.  If I am tired at the first store stop, I can turn around and make it a 50 miler, but I am beginning to feel more like myself though I still need to drop 10 extra pounds that I picked up during my down time when I hurt too badly to ride.  The sun is shining, the day is mine, and I am on my bicycle.  

When I reach Medora, the first store stop, there is a man at the register who is obviously high.  He is shaking so badly he can barely tie his shoes. He keeps glancing from side to side surreptitiously and I am reminded of the movie "The Exorcist" and think that it would not surprise me to see his head  swivel completely around. While he looks as if he once was an extremely good looking young man, he appears ancient despite his obvious youth.  The lady at the register is obviously frightened and calls for the store manager, but he leaves without incident.  I see him drive away and worry about who he might hurt, himself included, in a car.  But I really don't see anything I can do.  It is a small town, and I have never seen a hint of law enforcement on my trips through that town.  The woman at the check out are talking about all the town "crack heads" when I leave, and I am thankful that I did not go down that path because I easily might have.  Thank you, Dan Gorjanc, though I assume you long ago departed this earth, for your guidance when you were my college guidance counselor.  Both in the guidance office and in the class room you did your job:  you made me think. Odd how God sprinkles people in our paths.  Though I did not spring from his loins,  he cared at a time when my father did not, could not, and he wanted nothing, expected nothing in return. Family, it seems, is not always biological.

Despite stopping at Medora, something makes me stop at Leesburg as well, a feeling that Jiggs, like so many country stores and restaurants, might have gone belly up.  Years of experience has taught me not to depend upon these stores under challenging weather conditions.  Thank goodness I heed my gut, for the day grows progressively hotter and when I reach Norman Station, Jiggs is closed.  At least it has just changed its open days and hours, but I wonder what happened.  The owner was elderly, but a friendly sort, always welcoming.  Did he have a stroke, a heart attack?  I say a prayer for him and his family.  The older I get the more I realize how difficult old age is, not only for the person who is aging, but for his family who are gradually losing pieces of the person they love.  I am scared of getting old, and I renew my vow to myself to get back into better shape.  Goodness, a girl should be able to ride back to back centuries without blinking or a hint of tiredness, particularly at a slow pace. But injury combined with laziness has made me weak. I do not want to be dependent.  I know the day will probably come, but I steel my resolve to make it as far away as possible.

 I think of the small stores, nuggets of comfort in a beautiful but store barren land, particularly as I make the two water bottles I have last for nearly 50 miles, drinking them despite the fact they are as warm as the day.   I could say they are as warm as "piss" and be telling the truth.  There is  no enjoyment in the drinking, just the necessity of filling a need so as not to perish and to be able to continue to turn the pedals. I pass no churches where I could check for water spigots.

 Originally when I designed this route, we went to the 58 Cafe.  It closed after only a few trips there though I still have memories from when it was open.  For some reason, I see Mark in his chair, a big grin on his face, and I can almost feel the warmth of his laughter. How riding bonds us to others that we otherwise would have no connection to. We saw so many deer that day during our ride, but the hunters sitting in the restaurant were there empty handed.  I think of Medora. I used to stop at another store, now closed.  For a moment I am sitting there  in that then open store with Grasshopper, outside the snow is starting to fall, flakes as big as my fist, as I worry about how we will get back for with snowfall so furious the roads will soon be covered and we are on road bikes.  The inside of the store is warm, made warmer by the glow that old oak has, for this store was a wonder of aged oak, and made warmer by the company of a friend.  Someone once suggested it was an old hardware store originally.  And there are more, many more such stores, each with its own special character, not like the homogeneous 7-11 or Speedway, etc. Commiskey, two stores down, one store left to go. Each a remnant of the past.  Each a way station on my journeys and explorations, a source of comfort and nourishment and a part of my cycling experience.

Soon I am at the gravel hill climb, but as I make my way, my rear wheel slips and turns sideways, unable to find purchase.  Before I know it, I am on my side on the ground, laughing like a wild woman, gravel digging at me,  one foot still clipped in.  I am not hurt, just covered with grit and a bit bruised, including my ego.  I think that I  should have ridden my other bike as it is designed for this terrain and wonder why I didn't.  Or perhaps I am just too weak.  Just the other day I was wondering if I could still climb Fire Tower Hill on  my bike. But I don't think it would have happened on the Surly. Sometimes I just don't make good choices. Oh, well, if you are going to ride bicycles, you are going to tumble.  Any fall that you walk away from, that is a good fall. And if you are going to live, you are going to occasionally make poor choices.  That is how we learn.

 I still  know it is a good choice to ride today though by the time I reach Brownstown, I am out of water and very, very thirsty.  There is something out here that I need occasionally, the green landscapes, the solitude, and the time to think. Deprived I can become quite contrary. I smile and think of the times Lloyd said to me, "Uh, perhaps you need to go for a ride." When I ask for water with my sandwich, the lady takes one look at me and says, "You look like you could use our large glass."  I feel like a camel as I down glass after glass of cold water seeped in ice.......cold, beautiful, refreshing ice.  It is if I can feel my strength returning for the final twenty some miles and the one final climb. Again I realize how experiences are sometimes enhanced by deprivation. 

 I am home, tired but strangely refreshed.  My eyes have had their share of beauty today and my body is sated from physical exercise, exercise that will make it grow stronger. Exercise that will hopefully make me sleep tonight like a child, deeply and soundly.   Vacation is over for now.  I have more planned in October if nothing interferes, before the winter chill, when the world glows with color that we must cherish and hold tightly for a few months before the cycle begins all over. I have no regrets that chores remain undone, maybe because they never STAY done.  And after all, retirement is just a few years down the road.  "To everything there is a season."  Today's season is for bicycling, despite the heat and closed stores. And now to appreciate a cleansing shower.  God bless the people who thought of running water.  

Sunday, September 4, 2016

A Solo Century

"If we never experience the chill of a dark winter,
it is very unlikely that we will ever cherish the warmth
of a bright summer's day.  Nothing stimulates our 
appetite for the simple joys of life more than the starvation
caused by sadness or desperation.  In order to complete
our amazing life journey successfully, it is vital that we turn
each and every dark tear into a pearl of wisdom, and 
find the blessing in every curse."
Anthon St. Maarten

I am excited.  I have been positively giddy with anticipation of the holiday week-end with an added bonus of a vacation day all week.  I have a date:  a date with my bicycle and the open road.  Originally the question was not whether to ride or not, but whether to ride the club ride or head off on my own.  In the end, I find I do not want the four to five hour drive to and from the club century.  It just is too far for one ride. I debated getting a room and staying all night and riding by myself the next day, but it is too late to arrange a cat sitter. I decide to ride from home.  I have a century route that needs some finishing touches before being presented, and it is always best to do this alone.  With company, I get distracted.  Don't get me wrong, the distraction is nice sometimes, but to appreciate the company of other riders I find I am often better having some solo miles in the saddle. 

The weather is perfect.  Not so chilly in the morning as to require a jacket or an uncomfortable half hour or so of riding, but crisp.  I know that fall promises to stealthily make her appearance all too soon, that golden time when the world lights with color before slipping into a cold, drear silence.  The inexorable high humidity that has haunted this summer has broken and the dew point has dropped.  I have nothing to that "has" to be done, and I feel a need to nurse at nature's verdant bosom before the green fades.  Experience has taught me how very much I will need it, this green world, when the weather turns and I am imprisoned indoors. And today I have no need to leave at a certain time or to return at a certain time.

While it feels a bit sacrilegious, I am beginning to have some appreciation for the single life, and later during the ride I spend part of my time contemplating how very fortunate I am to not "need" to have a partner for financial reasons.    I will never be fabulously wealthy, but then I don't need to be, though I must admit that already I have a yearning for yet another new bike.  All I need is to be able to care for myself, and I don't have to have fancy things.  Even another bike:  it is not a need, merely a want.  There is a huge difference.  I briefly think of the time my husband threatened to buy everything on my Amazon wish list for me.  I finally got him to understand that it is more fun to get something when you have wanted it for a bit. 

I drink my coffee and play a few word games before readying myself and my bike.  I have not restocked tubes, tire, and cartridges since Raney's six flat day though she has repaid me the items.  Since I would have to enlist a friend for help if I should have trouble, I try to take everything that I would need for minor repairs.

  One nice thing about summer riding:  the preparation is normally minimal and the days are long.  I don't hit the road until about 8:30, and that is fine.  There is more than enough day light for the 104 miles.  Soon, though, I will need to put my emergency light on my bike for while it still stays light fairly late, each day is shorter.

The day is filled with dodging farm machinery.  I am not quite sure what the scurrying is all about because the corn and soybeans are not yet ready for harvesting, but I assume they need to make sure everything is in order.  I pass a truck loaded with hay bales, square bales, not the round ones you normally see anymore.  Three young men sit in the back of the truck, legs dangling, as the truck heads to the barn.  For a moment, I am with them for I remember putting up hay, the sweet smell of alfalfa and timothy, cut and warming in the sun, the scratches that I did not realize I had until the end of the day when I washed the sweat from my body and examined my aches and pains.  The prayers that it would not rain and that the hay was dry enough that it would not mold when baled. Those were good days, days I would not have had without my husband.

And the day is filled with memories of him.  I pass the church we visited when my father-in-law  preached one Sunday.  I pass Reed's orchard where we picked so many peaches, the drone of the wasps on the fallen fruit, the juice that only comes from a fresh peach, not the green imitations sold in supermarkets. I pass the area where we went to dance and drink when we first met and where the waitress said she did not have to card him, only me, because she had seen his identification the night before.  (I always told him he was lucky he was with me the night before.)  And while the memories are tinged with sadness, they also bring a smile as I realize how very fortunate I have been.

I notice that purple flowers are starting to bloom, that the corn is starting to brown and wither, starting at the outer edges and moving inward.  I notice the first of the wooly worms and think of what I overheard an elderly man telling another during a lunch time walk:  "It is going to be a bad winter this year, a hard winter," he said."The almanac says so and I saw a wooly worm that was completely black."  I hope he is wrong, but regardless, I will survive.  I pass a house that is beautiful on the outside, old bicycles, wagons, and I think how the people living there have created a home.  Looking at it, it feels cozy.  I wonder if that translates to the inside, but of course you cannot knock on the door of a strange home and ask for a showing.

As I descend into Bethlehem, I notice how technical the descent is on this road where we normally climb and don't descend.  Odd how when you are climbing, you don't notice as many switch backs.  And then there is the river.  A tug boat pushes a load of coal as tug boats have for years. As I climb out I notice that despite the lack of humidity, it has gotten hot, but it feels good to sweat.  It feels good to feel my muscles strain and challenge themselves and grow stronger.  And it feels good to be alive and on a bicycle.

 Yes, winter will come, but first there is fall.  And all the seasons, all the feelings, all the experiences, are what gives life its very richness.  And through it all, until my legs are no longer able to push the pedals, there are bicycles. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Cycling Etiquette: Potty Training 102

I debated whether to post this on my blog, but I decided to to go ahead in hopes that it will remind us that we need to respect the stores we depend upon.  The people involved are almost all good people.  What happened was not maliciousness, but rather thoughtlessness.  I, myself, have too often been thoughtless and hope to improve. The first was a light handed attempt to remind people. After a certain response, I was purely pissed off.  (Pun intended).  I decided not to correct the grammar/spelling mistakes, so if that is something that really gets to you, you might want to skip this one.


On Mon, Aug 22, 2016 at 8:59 PM, Melissa Hall wrote:

Imagine my surprise when I got to the first store stop yesterday and the woman asked me to tell the Louisville Bicycle Club members that they are never welcome at her store again.  I have not gone back yet to talk to her and try to smooth things over yet, but she did tell me that one of the things that upset her was club members openly urinating in the back of the store.  Please note that was caught on security tape as well as witnessed by neighbors.  Some of the other things she said I feel were probably misunderstandings or just plain stupid, but I felt like I needed to address this one.

When most of us were quite small, our mama's and papa's taught us to use the big boy or big girl potty.  Boys were normally taught by their mothers, and if not by their mothers most certainly by girlfriends, to put the seat back down.  All this is potty training 101.  Eventually we ditch the diapers, take up toilet paper, and become more independent.  We lower the seat because it just isn't worth upsetting someone over.

Now for potty training 102, at least per Puddle who is now 60 and thus qualified.  The polite thing to do while cycling is not to urinate against buildings or in open areas, particularly when young teenage girls or children may witness what you are doing.  This is particularly true when there are a plethora of wooded areas and corn fields.  Yes, I am sure that each and every one of you has magnificence to exhibit and that causes others to gasp and gape in awe, but some things truly should be kept to oneself and one's loved ones.  I also know it means that you have to work to catch back up with your group or ride by yourself, or gasp, ride with the last group.  Or if you IN the last group, you have to ask the ride captain to soft pedal.  But really, you ARE big boys and girls, aren't you?

In all seriousness, please remember to treat country stores, however eccentric the owner may be, as the gold they are because they close right and left as they struggle to compete with Walmart and other big conglomerates that would never even consider putting a store in the middle of nowhere.  They allow us to ride in areas that otherwise would be much less comfortable to travel. Would you want your daughter or wife or small son to look out the window and see people exposed, whatever their intent?  As I told the group I was riding with, when my daughter was young, I would have told you that was what God gave us knives for.  Think before you act, be polite, pick up after yourselves. And show a little modesty.

Just my thoughts.  I wasn't there and didn't see any of it.  Just going on what I was told.  Puddle


      From: melanie  Sent: Tuesday, August 23, 2016 10:36 AM
Subject: Re: [kycyclist] Cycling Etiquette: Potty Training 102
Perhaps if the owners treated paying customers like customers rather than 'no public toilet' aliens?
We are good business and were treated disrespectfully the moment we walked in. No smile. Looks of disgust, up and down. Spending good money. Need to pee. Not even sure why we would have this place on a store stop knowing how much they don't want us there?


Melanie, However misguided and self centered I might believe your opinion to be, I uphold your right to have it and to assert it.  But I also uphold the proprietor's decision NOT to allow us to use the bathroom.  Now if he had said,  you can use it, but nobody that is black, nobody that is gay, no purple people eaters, I would have a problem.  But he did not.  And his refusal was for all of us and does not justify people violating his property. 

I suppose what I wonder is WHY you came to that ride if this was a problem for you.  It was clearly announced on the list serve and on the club web site and at the ride start that there was no bathroom available at the first store stop.  You could have chosen not to ride. You could have chosen NOT to use the store, the one store in a town that by last census count was around 1,400 residents.  You could have chosen to ride to the lunch stop without stopping.  I have done so before and so have others.  But YOU chose to stop.  You say they were surly.....well maybe they had a right to be.  Frankly, had it been me I would have closed up shop and not sold us anything.  And believe me, there have been times when I have had to drink water the temperature of the outside air because a rural store has closed.  Yeah, you can ride on it even when the water is 100 degrees, but it sure is not as pleasant and renewing as a cool drink.

Take a good, long look at these stores because they are living ghosts.  The man will not make $15,000.00 profit in the next year I suspect, no less be able to afford any septic repairs.  (MY most recent estimate for replacement at my home was $15,000 to $20,000.  I am VERY careful what goes down into my septic.)  If you have children, their children may see a store like this, may be LUCKY enough to see a store like this where someone still has a dream, a remembrance of what life was before everything became so darned big.  I can almost guarantee you that your children's children will never see such a store unless gas skyrockets to where they can make a profit again.  As I said before:  they are living ghosts.  Those that haunt the countryside on bicycles realize that and cherish them along with their eccentricities.  There are so few.  And I will defend them and their eccentricities.  I will defend their right to close their restroom to everyone but employees if that is what they choose.  One by one they are folding, lost to us. 

Why this store, you asked?  Because to get the rural, low to no traffic roads, that is what you have to search out these stores.  Not only did you and others foul your own nest (the owner asked us not to return), you fouled MY nest, your hostess for the ride, as well as any other bicyclist that enjoys riding in the country rather than in the city.  I ride this route by myself often, and there are no other stores close by. 

Certainly if the majority of the club would rather not have my centuries for tour stages, let the Director know.  I know many people prefer city rides. I enjoy sharing my routes with people who enjoy them, but I have friends who will ride them with me regardless of whether they are tour stages or even club rides or I can ride alone.  This route, like most of my routes, were designed alone.  I will be going to the store to apologize and make my peace so that I can continue to have an oasis in the midst of country roads where there are little choices for store stops. 


Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Carefree Century 2016

"This is my fight song, take back my life 
song, prove I'm alright song.....Cause I've still
got a lotta fight left in me."
Rachel Platten

Being the worry wart that I am, I worry about the ride today.  While the humidity and temperature is predicted to be a bit more moderate, it is still going to be hot and I know this ride, how one hill is followed by another hill and another hill until your legs have been pounded to a pulp and beg for relief.  After awhile, they no longer listen when you tell them to just shut up and do their job.  And I am not sure that I have any business at this ride.  I am recovering, but I remain slow, particularly on hills. This is not fair to a ride captain on a club ride who stays back with the slowest rider. But there is something in me that makes me want to do this, to see how it goes, to measure where I am and how far I am from where I have been. I have yearned for the sights and sounds that a bicycle ride brings, for the company and laughter of friends, for solace and assurance that all will yet again be well.

And so I set out into coolness that is unusual for an August morning.  No, not that crisp coolness that makes one identify with the horses running nearby in pastures, manes streaming, sleekly beautiful,  kicking their legs high into the air just because of the joy of being able to do so, but still cooler and less humid than it has been.  As I reach the ride start, colored  jerseys assault my eyes as if they were flags of celebration. How did I ever think they were ugly, for I did at one time.  I realize I love the ride start, the precious sound of friends and of strangers sharing conversation, laughter intertwined with chatter, anticipation lacing the air.  For you just never know where a day will take you, and particularly a day with a bicycle.  Burns was certainly right about "the best laid plans."

I have no idea how I will do on this ride, for I still have bad days, days when my neck or back or hands plague me as if I were ancient and withered, and so I have no idea who I might end up spending the day with or if I will spend my day alone.  I think back to the last time I rode this course, this beautiful course that winds around the river with the occasional view that takes your breath away.  My husband was still alive then and I was preparing for the 1000 K through Virginia and West Virginia designed by Crista.  Paul rode with me that day, and whether it was intentional or unintentional, pushed me on every hill until my legs and my brain cried even as they both grew stronger.  But neither is here today:  Paul is not riding today and my husband is beyond my reach.  I say a prayer that God holds him dear and keeps him safe and warm and that finally, after years of constant pain, he is at peace.

I begin the ride cautiously, trying to listen to myself, the sound of my heart, the rasp of my breathing on the hills, the feel of my leg muscles, and I realize with some surprise that I am feeling well and strong.  So after the walking bridge, I begin to push even as I note the lushness that surrounds me, for despite the heat, ample rain has left the trees and fields sumptuously green, a feast for my eyes and for my soul.   For a moment, I think I might like to ride the day alone, for I always notice the scenery more, but I realize that finishing will be easier if I ride with friends.  I push past one group and jokingly wave my blue bandana in the air as I leave them behind. Still, I leave the first store stop alone only to be caught by Steve, and then Sara, and then Dave.

It is good to talk to Steve for I am comfortable with my friend of many, many years now.  There are still times when I question our friendship, for we differ so, politically, socially, economically, intellectually, but still it is one of those friendships you can count on for we have remained friends despite knowing each others flaws and differences.  We talk about his  new bike he is building up, about how I hate the gearing on my Surly and hope to replace it.  We talk about hobbies and catch up as we have not really talked with each other for months.  I get hugs from Dave and I realize how long it has been since we have ridden together, another bicycling friend who time has made as comfortable as an old shoe or a favorite pair of jeans.  I think briefly about how one of the things I most loathe about being a widow is not having anyone to talk to and who makes me laugh, for my husband could almost always make me laugh, one of his traits that I prized the most.

By the third store stop, it is hot.  The sun shows no mercy and beats down on us demanding surrender. My legs are asking if I have lost the last bit of sanity left to them, but still we trudge onward toward the ride finish.  We treat the sun with respect, but still we thumb our noses at him and ride on. And I realize that despite being dirty, sweaty, tired, and hot, I am thankful.  I am thankful for the day, for friends, for returning health, for bicycles, and even for hills that challenge us because somehow they make us a bit more than what we were.  The ride is, I realize, my fight song, and today at least I have won.