Bethlehem 2024

"Great is the art of beginning, 

but greater is the art of ending."

Henry W. Longfellow

It always has a tinge of sadness, these last few rides before the end of the Tour de Mad Dog.  It also, however, makes me appreciate each and every rider in the tour, even those that I don't know well and have never really had a conversation with.   Somehow, even though I ride with very few of them anymore, anchored to slowness by age, I feel a closeness to them, a connection, a protectiveness, a desire to see them warm, happy, and well.  For we have shared something in getting our ten, in making the determination that we would be finishers:  hills, heat, rain, wind, comradeship, distance, laughter, hunger, and on and on.  How strange that an individual bond is also, somehow, a group bond.  Each wants the other to be successful.  Some think it just for the jersey, but as for me, I think it goes beyond the jersey somehow.  There is, in the end, a sense of completion, of fulfillment.  The words of Moliere come to mind: "It is a long road from conception to completion."  Yes, we have traveled many miles to get here.  At least one thousand.

I am delighted at the forecast.  It is so nice to have a ride and not have to worry if there will be rain or excessive wind and decisions to make about whether it will even be safe to have the ride. This particularly applies when one is captaining a ride.  It is one thing to be responsible for oneself.  It is another thing to be responsible for others.   Indeed, it turns out to be the best century riding weather we have had this year.  I start with arm warmers that I know I will soon discard as we roll into the cool of the morning.  I can say I am not unhappy that the last two stages are easier ones, if there is such a thing as an easy century. 

As we ride, I try to remember when I put this route together.  It was before RWGPS.  I remember it took three or four tries to poke through from Bethlehem to Hanover without hitting gravel.  I remember going back into the deserted power plant, Marble Hill, to try to find a road along the river that the paper map said existed but that I never found.  It was eerie back there, the large deserted building, a tribute to poor management, and my fear got the better of me.

I think how I miss those days, the days of exploration when I had more endurance, speed, and energy, but I know I am blessed to be out here.   The group of 18 divides quickly with the faster riders hammering the flat stretch into the first store stop following the climbs on Hebron Church Road.  The back group sees the front group at the first store stop and at lunch.  By the third store stop, they are so far in front that we do not catch them.  And I am fine with that.

For me, fall rides are to be savored not savagely devoured.  And it has always been this way for me. Despite the legs being strong from summer rides, it is time to slow down and to absorb the beauty of the ride for future recall when the winter comes, dull and gray, and the wind howls and keens outside my windows.   There is no need to hasten the end of the comfortable riding season.  Yes, you can stay warm in winter with the correct clothing, but it is just not the same as heading  out in shorts and a short sleeved jersey with  merely some arm warmers to knock off the morning chill. 

 

True, there is not much color yet, but despite the heat you can feel it in your bones, this change of seasons.  Some fields are harvested and some wait.  The soy bean fields always remind me of the stubble on a man's chin when he is on vacation and is not shaving.  I feel the sun caressing my skin, warm and comforting, and I try to let it soak into my very being knowing that soon I will shiver and cringe inside my warm clothing regretting all those times I bitched about the heat. The wind is there when you head into it, still gentle but telling me of what is to come, the increased effort, the slaps about the face. 

 

A couple of times we pull over to allow large farm machinery to pass.  Or at least most of pull over.  I feel a tinge of upset at those that don't.  These farmers are working.  We are playing.  And the importance of their work far exceeds the importance of ours.  The farms here are small.  Most of the farmers work other jobs.  The week-end is when they do their planting or harvest.  Some even use vacation days to sow and reap.  For some it is a job.  For others an act of love.  

This ride brings so many memories for me.  It was the ride I used to put on the first week of December.  We would ride and mail Christmas cards from Bethlehem.  It was the ride where it quite often rained and where the wind was usually from the west in our faces all the way back.  It was the ride where at the last store stop, I realized that even the strong riders were as tired as I was for while it is a rather easy century with only about 4,000 feet of climb, the west wind somehow makes it a difficult century.  To me, wind is more difficult than most hills, because you climb and crest a hill.  The wind remains.  It was the ride where my daughter had to ferry home three riders who were unable to finish one year, one of whom is on this ride and two that I have never seen before.  It was raining and cold that year and hypothermia was a real possibility.  The woman working the Subway gave us the plastic gloves they make sandwiches with to put under our gloves and cleaned up the large puddles we left on the floor.  But it is time to stop remembering and move on.

At lunch, John Pellgrino  and  Amelia Dauer produce coupons for Subway.  Steve Puckett goes to McDonalds but the rest of eat here:  Paul, Amelia, John, and Bob. Dominik has been with the front group but has decided to fall back with us so he has already eaten.  While I am not a Subway fan, the food is delicious when shared with friends and sauced with laughter and stories.

 

 The front group is getting to leave when we arrive.  I ask Amelia if she thinks Clothes Line, Glenn, will forget his backpack again.  She grins and says she had the same thought.  But I figure he had learned his lesson.  Jon Wineland stays behind to have a bit of a chat with us before taking off.  He and a couple others, Chris Quirey (who later tells me he only made one stop due to family obligations) and Vince Livingston ride as lone wolves.  While I often prefer riding alone over group riding, this is not one of the days, and the back group is unusually large for a stage as there are now, after the lunch stop, seven of us.  

No big events happen on the rest of the ride other than Bob Grable being kind enough to turn around and patronize a little girl who had set up a lemonade stand.  I think it shows a certain kindness that is part of his character that he does this.  I like this about Bob.  It makes me think of PBP and the children handing out drinks along the way.  Kindness in this world is greatly underrated. It should be encouraged and valued.  We wait for Bob at the last store stop and head out to finish the century.  Many today are getting their tenth in and I am happy for them.  Two, Steve Puckett and Dominick Wasserzug, need Medora.  For them, I hope it does not rain and force me to cancel.  The group splits in places, the demands of the short but steep climbs taking their toll, but those in the front wait for us, patiently and unasked.   I realize later that I never thank them for this for it is not to finish in a group of five for point purposes, but in the true spirit of the Mad Dogs where no dog is left behind.

Following the ride, five of us have pizza together:  Amelia, Paul, Jon, Dominick and myself.  There is laughter and stories and the justified satiation of hunger, for we have used our bodies today and they need replenishment.  Food is always much better when one is truly hungry, something I will sometimes forget in the upcoming boredom of the winter months when I spend much more time indoors and alone.  And there is an ending.  Not yet of the tour, but of the day.  Tonight I will sleep, something else my body needs.  Oh, yes, I am blessed.  19 years of completing the tour along with the two others who have done so:  Dave King and Mike Kamenish, neither of whom rode today.  Life is, indeed, good. 

Short Frankfort: Thomas Nance Version 2024

 "Memories warm you up 

from the inside.  But they 

also tear you apart."

Haruki Murakami

 

 

When I decided to put the Short Frankfort century on the schedule, a century I have not done for a number of years, I did not realize how memory soaked these roads would be.  Prior to putting the century on the schedule, I contacted Dave King as he had been saying that he wanted to do this ride and eat at Qdoba. I tell him I want to put it on the schedule, but I don't want to drive all that way and ride alone.  At first, I thought it would not work for him, but then he says that it does and so I enter it on the club schedule.

In the end, Chris Quirey, Dave, Paul Battle, and I ride.  You could have knocked me over with a feather when Paul arrives as he does not normally ride centuries, but as always I am glad to see his face for he is, indeed, a treasured friend.  As we roll out into the unaccustomed coolness, Paul turns back for arm warmers.  Dave jokes that he wishes he had brought his jacket.  None of us have acclimated from the long stretch of ninety degree, humid weather to this cooler, dryer air.  We wait at the turn and when he arrives, take off.  I think I am glad for my sun sleeves.  They are thick enough to mask the chill, but not thick enough to be uncomfortable...yet.

When we turn off of Old Taylorsville, I think how long it has been since I have ridden this road that I used to ride regularly.  The road is busier now, but it is not scary busy, just annoyingly busy.  As  we pull out further from the park, the traffic lessens.  For some reason, I think of being on Mike Pitt's wheel on this road and how I struggled to hold the pace we were going.  Maybe I think of him because Paul mentioned that he was in Michigan with Tom and Sonia.  Maybe I would have thought of it anyway.  Oh, how that man could make me laugh. Thus begins a day of cascading memories along this route.  

 Paul and I spend the entire day together, and both of us have memories of this route.  At the turn toward Southville, all of a sudden I am back on a 600K.  I am making the turn toward the motel where I will snatch a couple hours of sleep and Alex Mead and Todd are heading out to finish the brevet without stopping.  It is dark out, probably near midnight, but we exchange greetings as we pass, knowing each other only because, other than brevet riders, nobody else is on the road on a bicycle at this time of night.  I remember the spill of the light on the pavement and my tiredness and thinking that there is no way I would want to finish without a few hours of sleep, but then I have never been the swift riders that those two are.  Just me.  Plodding along.  Determined, but at my own pace having learned that this is the path to success of brevets.....your own pace, a pace that will vary throughout the ride.  I always thought it so odd on brevets how you would think you were depleted and suddenly a spurt of new energy would randomly appear giving spring to your legs.

I briefly think of how I would love to do PBP again, but then I wonder about the wisdom of doing so for me health wise even if I could do it again for I have been diagnosed with osteopedia and I would like to keep it from sinking into osteoporosis.  I have read that this can and can't be done and am in the process of trying to find out more. So much conflicting information.  While cycling, apparently, is bad for your bones, I don't believe I will give it up.  It brings me too much pleasure and eventually we end in one way or another though I am afraid of pain.   I will just try to be sure I continue to lift weights and walk on other days and eat enough calcium.  Today my pre-ride meal differed and even before my diagnosis I had switched to often having milk at store stops. 

Soon we are at Southville.  Both Paul and I wonder if it is open.  It looks closed but there is a light on inside.  On the way back, I notice a chair propped in front of the front doors and determine it is definitely closed.  This makes me sad as I remember so many rides stopping there and so many riders that no longer ride.  Vicky and Ron Dobbs come to mind as do Grasshopper (who rides an ebike) and Mike Kamenish (who still rides).  I think of Mike and I when we did this century during Hurricane Ike and how, on the way back, when we stopped, I got a pop but tried to drink facing the wrong direction.   Before I could get it to my lips, the wind pulled most of that much needed liquid out of the can leaving it mostly empty.  I had not been able to drink because I could not take my  hands off the handlebar because the wind would  violently grab it, and I was so thirsty and in need of some energy.  I remember the wind playing with the road signs, toppling some of them.  But we finished as I kissed Mike's wheel as I had done the entire day glad he had come to ride and even gladder that no new century riders had shown up to ride.  

Paul stops to try to find the route on his computer.  He had not started it as  he did not think the battery would  last long enough, but though he thought he had downloaded it, he had not.  We get a bit turned around coming out of the first store stop as we went to a different store than we normally frequent, but soon we are back on course.  

 

All around us is green and I rejoice in it knowing that all too soon, winter will rob the world of color and my eyes will starve from spring.  Occasionally I see iron weed and think of the brother I lost last year when the iron weed was in bloom.  I think of how I wish we had been closer as I was to my other siblings, but even had he lived I somehow doubt this would have happened.  Our life views and values were just too divergent.  Sadness seeps into my heart at the loss, at all the losses.  But I shake off any trace of melancholy in my appreciation of the beauty of the countryside.  Fields of corn that are just starting to brown at the bottom.  Bales of hay scattered throughout fields.  At one spot, they are even  putting up square bales, something that I rarely see anymore that was a norm when I used to help with the hay and straw.  Fall definitely approaches and I wonder where summer went. 

 

Dave and Chris pull away, and by the time we reach the first store stop it is apparent that there will be two different paces today.  I tell them to head on and Paul and I will stay together.  Dave says he has decided he wants to eat at Chick Fil A rather than Qdoba.  This surprises me but I am fine with it though I don't know where in Frankfort it is.  I am not the biggest Qdoba fan though I will eat there, and recently I have felt no pull toward Mexican cuisine, maybe because of the extreme heat we have been experiencing for what seems like forever. 

As it turns out, other than when they are heading out from the third store stop, this is the last I see of Chris and Dave.  I think I am glad that they both came so they were not held back by my pace.  I know at least Dave has plans for the evening that are important to him.  I hope they both enjoy the ride.

 

Paul talks about riders that used to ride these roads with him:  Adrian Hands, Jay Palmer, Lynn Roberts, Debbie Brown (?),  and Allison Ebert among others.  Most of the riders he mentioned I never met other than Lynn.   I think of riders that used to ride these roads with me:  Bill Pustow, Steve Sexton, Steve Rice, and others. Some stories I keep to myself, as I am sure does Paul, but others we share in the way that friends do, sharing a bit of our lives that the other was not present for but were, for some reason, important to us.  Sometimes you know why you remember something, but other times, at least for me, it is a mystery why I hold on to a particular remembrance. At one point, I see a place where I remember stopping and sitting in the grass with Bill and Steve R. while a caterpillar crossed the road and, despite the light traffic, did not make it.  I wonder why we were stopped there because I don't remember.  Did someone have a flat?  Were we just taking a brief rest?  The reason eludes me even as I remember the smell of the grass and warmth of the day and the laughter and camaraderie.  

When we pass a curve, I remember a century ride with Steve Rice, Bill Pustow, and Larry and an incident about a camera that happened, one of those incidents that can be viewed as cruel or funny depending upon  your point of view.  I miss those days when Bill, Steve, and I often did two centuries each week-end and were so young and strong.  But even as they tear at my heart, I am grateful for those times despite the fact they are gone never to return.  Not everyone has such memories.  

Paul and I arrive at Frankfort and circle capitol building.  They are doing construction which disrupts the circle a bit but no significantly and I realize that it was during the pandemic that I last did this route.  I think I remember that they had small American flags in the back, one for each person in the state who had died of COVID.  We pass the restaurant where both Paul and I remember sharing meals with others on rides and decide the reason we quit eating there is because of the climb that comes afterward.  We both bemoan the stop light that always seems to catch us but that comes right when you are about to complete the climb. This time, miraculously, it does not catch either of us. At the top we look but and don't see Chik Fil A so eat elsewhere.  I text Dave and Chris though I expect they have eaten and departed. As we leave, we see it but we see no bikes so head onward.  

Both of us are tired but enjoy the company and memories on the rest of the journey.  On Pea Ridge, I think of another brevet when I was with Dave and I accused him of trying to kill me.  Dave loves to go fast on Pea Ridge, and I had ridden with him all day and was not about to let him drop me.  Pedaling like a mad woman, somehow I hung on and we finished together, but I was done.  I think of how Steve Sexton once told me it was his favorite road and how I miss his company.  I think of the brevet where it rained all day.  Steve and Bill had made fun of me for wrapping my lights in plastic wrap, but by the time we left Pea Ridge, they had to stay with me as I was the only one who had a working tail light.  

 

We reach the parking lot at around five and Chris and Dave are long gone.  We are tired but glad to have ridden some roads that hold memories for both of us.  And yes, memories are a Janus.  I am grateful for them and for the people I have been fortunate enough to know and have in my life, but on the other side there is the sadness of the passage of time and the changes that it brings for nothing is ever stagnant.  Thanks, Paul, for your company.  Today we have made new memories that might come back to us if we ride these roads again one day.  

First Time Dillsboro Century

"I don't let my age

define me, but the 

side effects are getting

harder to ignore."

Anonymous

 

I have to admit, seeing the climbing profile in Ride With GPS (which turned out to be much higher that the actually climb recorded with my Wahoo on the ride), I was a bit hesitant about this ride, particularly in the heat of summer and the threat of possible gravel.  (RWGS showed 17 miles of gravel and it turned out there was none as Jon predicted).  It is not that I won't ride gravel:  I do and enjoy it at times.  But taking my gravel bike would slow me down even more than my already slow pace this year.  And there is no denying it.  I am riding MUCH slower than last year.   But the words from Lee Ann Womack's song, "I Hope You Dance," float through my brain....."May you never fear the mountains in the distance, Never settle for the path of least resistance."  And so, I decide to dance.

Because I initiated the ride, and it is with two much stronger riders than I am,  Jon Wineland and Chris Quirey, I tell them I will leave a half hour early and allow them to catch me.  Neither seems particularly bothered by this which makes me glad for I know that I will not enjoy the ride nearly so much if I am having to push my pace.  I will worry that they want/need to go faster.  Together they will do well.  Their paces are similar.  And once they catch me, we will ride as a group.

And so I take off into the deceptive chill of morning, a morning that is hiding humidity that will raise its head later in the day though, mercifully, not as badly as in previous weeks.  As the ride starts in Madison, it also starts with a climb.  I am glad it is not Thomas hill.  It is a long hill, but the climb is gradual and never gets very steep.  I know steeper hills are coming, but by then my legs will have warmed up more.  Another consequence of age, I suppose, is that I do not warm up as quickly as I used to.   

The sun is out and the recent rain has greened the countryside back up.  Almost immediately, a herd of deer cross the road in front of me, melting into the trees that line the road, wraith like.   I notice how the muscles in their haunches, so very powerful, coil and uncoil as they bound effortlessly,  rippling their fur. Once the sound of the leaves under their feet is gone, it is as if they were a dream.  At China Manville Road, I notice another deer, solo, pausing to watch me as I cross the bridge.  I am surprised it holds still long enough for me to photograph it and, after taking the picture, warn it that this behavior will not be safe in a few months when hunting season is again upon us. 

In just a bit, I startle two groundhogs who scuttle under a fence and inside a barn.  This rather surprises me, but I can only surmise that they have established a hole inside that barn that serves as their home.  Do groundhogs share a den if they are mates or only if they are still children sharing their mother's den?  Later I look it up and find some interesting facts about groundhogs.  They are also called Whistle Pigs and are a member of the squirrel family.  They have two dens:  one for summer which is usually in an open, grassy are and another in winter which is usually in a wooded area.  These are probably either siblings or a mother/child as mating season is in the spring after hibernation has ceased and the family disperses in the fall.  Regardless of all this information, I just know that they are quite cute so long as they are not digging in my yard and they bring a grin to my face.

Further up the road, my grin fades as I see two dogs up the road.  One is sniffing another dog who is lying in the road as if he is dead.  Sadly, I think the dog in the road was probably hit and this is his buddy, mourning him.  It makes me think of Susie and Laddie, dogs our family had when I was a small child. I don't remember Laddie, but I was told they were adopted together.  Someone hit Laddie with a car, killing him, and Susie was never the same.  She aged that day.  A smile of gratefulness reappears on my face as the lump in the road moves and rises, not dead but eagerly awaiting my passing so he can bark at me.  These are among the first of what turns out to be a rather doggy ride, but none that left me scared or worried about being bitten.  

I reach the first store stop without the guys catching me and eat my home-made energy bar, then head back out sure they will soon arrive for my pace is even slower than it normally is anymore.  I begin to stop and take photos when I pass a small, rather neglected looking graveyard surrounded by a crumbling stone wall.  There are many such walls I will pass today.  As Robert Frost noted, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall, that sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, and spills the boulders into the sun..."

While there are some fields, many of the roads are my favorite kind with trees that overhang the road and little traffic.  This does, of course, often means hills, land that is there undisturbed because it is harder to build on hills.  But I knew there were climbs coming into this ride, and it is not so hard on me with the guys still behind me.  

When I reach Friendship, I think for sure I will be climbing to get out, but instead it is a lovely, narrow lane.  On it is an old school, and I lay my bike down to take a peek inside despite the no trespassing sign.  I have no intention of going inside.  I just want to have a peek through the broken window.  The floor is partially gone and the smell is musty.  There is an old vanity inside and a few other objects.  All remnants of it being a school, however, are missing.  There are no old desks or blackboard.  Not even a stray pencil left behind.  I continue on thinking of how different life was then.  The school closed in 1925 so even the stories my husband told me of his one room school may not have applied here.  

I then pass an old house, long abandoned. As I ride on, as usual, I wonder about the people who lived there.  At what point do you decide a house is no longer worth keeping up and move on?  I have noticed in the past few years how many older people's homes deteriorate and am beginning to understand it.   There are thing a person could once do that they can't safely do anymore, and help is not only hard to find, but expensive if you do find it.  And as I climb, I notice that they guys are behind me.

I grin when I realize each of us has worn the same jersey:  the orange Mad Dog jersey Steve Rice designed all those years ago.   Together we ride on to the lunch stop in Dillsboro:  Janet's.  It is later in the ride, near 60 miles, my preference.  When we first enter, I worry a bit as it is so very crowded and there seems to be only one waitress.  But she gets our order and we get our food in good time and everyone seems satisfied. At one point I have to laugh and point out that we are a bit weird, coming out to ride 100 hilly miles on a hot day.  They also see the humor in this. 

 

 

 On the way out, I notice a board that I have only read about and never have seen first hand.  It has receipts on it.  People donate a meal, pay for it, and someone who is hungry can come in and will be fed the meal that is on the receipt.  It warms my heart when I see such kindness in the world, something that seems to be in rather short supply at times. I later regret that I did not contribute to it though it seemed to be overflowing with receipts.

Chris is interested when we pass an old missile silo that Jon found out about along the route.  Jon tells me that someone bought it and put a home underground in it that even contained a swimming pool.  I think of what it would be like living underground and don't think it would be for me, but it is good it was not wasted.

Despite our varying paces, we end up finishing the ride at about the same time and I appreciate their patience.  I would have been fine had they ridden on, but it was nice of them to share a bit of the day with me for I know I will miss this, the feeling of knowing that others are traveling the same path.  Age slows you down, has slowed me down anyway.  I have more trouble in the heat than I used to and I assume that, also, is age related.  But how blessed I am still being out here, on a bike, exploring and at peace in this beautiful countryside.  And what a nice century Jon has put together. 

 

 

Crossing Scotland from East to West: June 2024

"Scotland is so gorgeous that every

time I'm there, I start to dream of living

there. I want to buy one of those whitewashed

cottages and gaze out at the sea and read

my books."
 

Julie London

I am thrilled that I am going to be able to return to Scotland to ride again. I adore Scotland.  Every time I have been I have been bowled over by the beauty, the greenness, the wild open spaces.  There is just something fresh and clean about it, something that straightens your spine and seems to slap you in the face saying, "Wake up!   Wake up!  You are alive.  Accept the gift.  Live." At least that is how I feel when out from the cities where the green enfolds you in her arms and the land stretches as far as the sky and the water roars with life and energy.  

 

I even like Edinburgh despite the fact it is a city, something I normally am not comfortable with.  I like the way it hums and wraps itself around you.  Like Julie London, being in Scotland always makes me dream of living there, but of course I would need to ride bikes and not just read.  I dearly love them both.  The only thing I don't like about Scotland is the travel getting there.  I am not a good traveler.  Not patient.  And flying makes my ears hurt. It is what it is, however, and can't be avoided.  And living there will never happen. It is but a pipe dream.  They have no desire to have old, retired women come to live there.  "Would I,"  I wonder, "still love it so much if it were my life?"  The grass is always greener you know.  Adages normally, by definition, have a basis in truth.

 

Dave King, a good friend, and I are traveling over together to ride across the country from east to west with Wilderness Scotland,  from Aberdeen to Shieldiag and around the Applecross Loop.  Despite being relatively sure I will be able to do it, I still have doubts, particularly after reading about a climb with sustained twenty percent grades.  Still I know the days distances are on the short side and that there are frequent stops, much more frequent than I would normally ride.  Plus the gearing on the bikes is easier than my own.  I have come to accept that is me, this doubt that hangs on my shoulders like a backpack weighted with stones whether merited or not.  Lloyd would always reassure me, but now I am left to reassure myself. Still, there are times I swear he whispers in my ears, urging me onward. And so, I pack my bags and head out to my daughter's home as she is going to take me to the airport so that I can avoid the parking fees.

 

The plane is, of course, delayed, as happens as often as not anymore.  We sit for awhile on the tarmac.  Because of this, our layover in Atlanta is shortened.  We barely have time to grab something to eat rather than sitting down to a meal as anticipated.   We eat hot dogs.  I can't remember the last time I ate a hot dog.  It is the precursor to a week of wonderful, delicious food that will make up for having to eat hot dogs,  but a terrible diet that will leave me dreaming of broccoli and veggies.  Someone once told me the food in Scotland was terrible.  Absolutely not true.  Compared to here it is heavenly.  You order and wait while they actually cook it, not pop it in a microwave, as it was here when I was young.

 

Before you know it, hotdogs downed, we are back on our way.  The flight is long but uneventful other than the man in the seat in front of me reclining to the point where I feel as if his head is in my lap.  I even manage to sleep a bit, something that never comes easily to me on an airplane.  

 

When we arrive in Edinburgh, the sound of the Scottish accent teases my ears and brings a grin of anticipation to my face.  We pass easily through customs and take the tram to our motel.  It is quite basic, but also quite meets my needs and is clean.  We leave our bags and take off to roam the streets.  

 

We spend a couple of days here before heading to Aberdeen, climbing Authur's Seat, going to the Art Museum, and just walking around.  It warms my heart when Dave suggests the art museum because I know it is probably only because he knows how I like art.  It is a lovely climb to Arthur's Seat even if easier than before the rock fall and being a different time of year than when I have visited in the past, there are flowers that I have not seen in bloom here before. I later learn the yellow flowers are Broom.  There are daisies just as there are at home which make me think of gathering them to brighten our home when Lloyd and I first married.  There are other flowers who seem strange but beautiful to me. It is not overly crowded, but by the time we leave it is beginning to be. The view is amazing but I walked off without my phone or camera. I try to  impress the views on my mind to compensate for it very well  may be the last time I visit here.

I wish we had bought tickets to a play.  We try to go see the castle, but tickets are sold out for the days were are there.  We try to eat at The End of the Earth again, but it is full and we are turned away. We roll with the punches.  It's all good.

We take a train to Aberdeen the day before our adventure is to begin.  Once there, we again walk, this time to the ocean.  We decide to have our meal there from one of the food trucks that line the road bordering the ocean and to risk the chance of getting rained on.  I have not seen this view before.  Dave has, but the tide was out the last time.  I am surprised when our food is freshly made and actually delicious.  It is fun to sit there enjoying the moment and yet anticipating the start of our journey the next day, to see the ocean stretch out before us and the offshore windmills at work. We are joined by a starling who would like to share in our meal.  

I am surprised at the large rescue boats we see and their construction:  so tall and heavy seeming on the front and so empty and flat behind.  It makes me wonder how they work and why they are built the way they are.  I never figure it out. There are a couple of light houses and sea gulls sway and cry in the air around us.  We are amused at the antics of a medium sized black dog who is having the time of his life with his owner. He leaps in the air repeatedly, every wiggle of his furry body showing his joy at being out for a romp with the person he loves. I can't help but grin.  There is just something about a happy dog that brings a smile to the face.  Such pure enjoyment of the moment.   Another dog, a small wiener dog, is not so cute.  He becomes aggressive with every dog that passes.  Since they are at a table near us, it becomes rather annoying. 

After our lunch, we head out to find another bag for Dave as he feels it will be easier to take things back if he has another bag.  We stop at a small pub for a beer (Dave) and a glass of wine (me).   Since it is Scotland, the sun pops in and out and I am constantly taking off and putting on my jacket.  This will continue throughout the rest of my stay.

After looking at the forecast, I begin to obsess a bit about the wind.  The high is predicted to be 55 with a feel like temp of 48.  Showers and rain.  Wind WNW at 20 mph with gusts of 35.  82 percent cloud cover.  I am prepared for the rain with my relatively new Showers Pass jacket and the clothing I brought, but the wind frightens me.  Other than regularly riding in wind, there just is no good way that I know of to prepare for it.  Even though the first day is only 45 miles, Aberdeen to Ballatar, that can seem an eternity when going into a strong head wind.  

There has also been a change in guides.  Our original guide, Dan, will join us the second day of the ride and we will have someone named Aaran.  Then another email that Scott would be our guide.  There is only one other person going on the trip and Dave and I debate whether it will be a male or female.  Dave hopes it is a female so he has a private room.   It turns out the third person is James, a farmer who took up bicycling during the pandemic.  He turns out to be a very strong cyclist and a really interesting person.  I end up finding myself quite enjoying his stories of his life as a sheep and cattle farmer, of the plays he performs in during the winter when it is dark and cold and little to do, of his children and his wife and a life quite different from my own.  We find we enjoy the works of a mutual author, Bill Bryson, and we both like musicals.  And we both like bicycles.  He is training for a ride that he wants to do with his son and, after seeing how strong he is on the bike, I have no doubt he will have a great ride. 

After meeting Scott at the train station, we have a bike fit and  head off.  The rented bikes are Trek Madones.  45 miles with 2,340 feet of climbing so, without the wind, a relatively easy day.  But with the wind and not sleeping well the previous night, I have qualms.  The days of walking have left me a bit stiff.  But I did not come to Scotland to ride around in a van. I came to ride a bike.  

Once we leave the more crowded roads of Aberdeen, I feel myself beginning to relax and enjoy myself.  I am not sure I will every really enjoy city riding and I am glad to leave Aberdeen behind me.  It rains on and off, but at one point it absolutely begins to  pour. It is strangely exhilarating. I shake my fist at it and at the wind and continue pushing one pedal and then the other. There is nothing like a strong wind to humble a person, particularly a person on a bicycle.

 

With the deluge, I stop to put on my jacket and a few moments later no longer need it.  It is, after all, Scotland.  This donning and shedding become a theme. The rain comes and goes, but other than that one brief moment when the wind keened and the rain slammed into me feeling like ice pellets, it is gentle.   The rain, not the wind.  The wind continues to slap me, and since we are riding apart now we are out of the Aberdeen, it is just me and the cursed wind.  I  adjust my pace, (to quote Jon W., "We have ALL day.") put my head down, and move on.  The scenery takes my mind off of the discomfort of getting bludgeoned.  I am just glad I am here.  So many thoughts of difficult brevets cross my mind, brevets with obstacles other than distance or in addition to distance:  wind, rain, snow, heat, cold, hills.  In the end, it is about perseverance I suppose. I have always admired the ability of humans to persist and endure against the odds despite our frailty. There is a certain nobility in that, or so it seems to me.  Still, I don't FEEL strong much of the time, but weak and slow, the weak link, the chubby anchor.   But I plunge onward, determined. 

 

 

The next day also brings wind and rain.  This time the forecast is for 20 to 30 mph winds from the NW with gusts of over 40.  Chance of rain eighty percent.  I prepare myself as best I can, sleeping once I figure out how to turn off the heat in the room.   The winds cow me, but I keep reminding myself of how proud I will feel if I manage to ride all the way across the country while fighting such an enemy.  Without the wind, in the amount of time we are taking, it is but a meager accomplishment, but fighting the wind it IS an accomplishment.  The guides, now Dan and Scott (Aaran leaves after breakfast) remind us that they switch riding and have a rest day every other day.  Plus they are younger and just generally stronger.  But they are encouraging and kind.  

There are three significant hills coming up today  as we head through Cairngorms National Park. Some have twenty percent grades, one of which is Lecht pass. 

 

The Lecht - Vital Statistics

Overall Distance: 2.583 miles

Climbing Distance: 1.9 miles

Descent Distance: 0.62 miles

Flat: 0.06 miles

Total Ascent: 931ft

Longest Ascent: 0.95 miles

Longest Descent: 0.34 miles

Highest Point: 2112ft at 1.9 miles

Total Descent: 160ft

Steepest Ascent: 20% at 0.06 miles

Steepest Descent: -7.8% at 0.73 miles

Ave Gradient: 5.6%

 

 I manage to scramble up the climbs keeping near to the middle of the lane as occasionally the wind switches from a head to a cross wind and rudely grabs my wheel trying to wrest if from my grasp reminding me of when Diesel Dog (Mike Kamenish) and I rode out hurricane Ike all those years ago and how I could not take my hands off the handlebar long enough to drink. Then to add insult to injury, when we stopped to drink, I bought a can of pop and the wind pulled half of it out of the can before I could take a swallow.  How I kissed his wheel that day all day.  

 

During one of the climbs, my legs begin to cry.  I think of how glad I am that I have been riding some tough hills at home.  And there is no denying, despite my cursing and hurting, the climbs are lovely and some weird part of me enjoys them, the challenge that they pose.  Halfway up the van is stopped and James is stopped, but I ride on.  The van would be too tempting when my legs are aching and my mind is wanting to quit.  The bikes do have easy gearing, but the hills are not just steep but long. And of course, there is the wind. The mind, of course, wants me to quit before I have to:  somethings brevets taught me.  One of the hills today, Amelia and I climbed in the opposite direction and that year, out of eight riders, only Amelia, I, and one other made it.   And that was a number of years ago and without the wind though it did rain that year.  Indeed, the rain was worse then than today.  So I celebrate my success when I crest. 

The views are spectacular, more than worth the efforts of the climbs,  and despite the weather, Grantown-on-Spey comes too soon.  Because of the gap between arrival and dinner, something that happens each day, I shower and then head out to walk around the town a bit. James keeps getting bath tubs, but alas, all my rooms have only showers.  They do, however, have heated towel racks that allow me to wash and dry my riding clothes overnight as needed.  My room is also, up stairs, and I tease the men that at the end of the week, I will have more climbing in my legs than they will have in theirs because of these blasted stairs. 

 

  Lunch is at a lovely inn with huge sandwiches.  Dinner is at a beautiful restaurant lit with fairy lights.  There are stag horn chandeliers that are laced with dried herbs.  Dave has mutton.  It is worth everything to see Dave's face as his food arrives.  I have never met anyone else who takes such enjoyment in eating. I settle on steak, a rare treat.  We both have sticky toffee pudding.  Gentle conversation hums this night, mostly about sports.  Much of it does not interest me as I am not a watcher but a doer, but I still enjoy the caressing murmur of their voices, the laughter,  and revel in the company.  It makes me think how much of my life has become solitary since I lost Lloyd.  There is a warmth here in the presence of others that gives the meal a special feeling that it might otherwise lack despite being delicious.  I don't think solitude is  particularly healthy, but what is a person to do?

The next day also brings climbs, and while there is wind, it is nothing like what it has been.  We climb the Garbole  on our way to Drumnadrochit.  Long stretches of blooming Rhododendron being to line the road in places.  The wind, while not so strong, has begun to affect my breathing and I am glad I brought my buffs that I can pull up over my mouth to warm my breath and give my throat some relief. It is cold at times and I find my feet freezing at one point, but the scenery takes my mind off any discomfort and climbs warm me up.  Like Kentucky, there is little flat.  One is usually going up or down. At one point, I add a balaclava to my head which also helps to warm me. I think how glad I am that I brought warm gloves. My hands never really bother me.

 

One thing I have had to adjust to, other than riding on the other side of the road and roundabouts, are the single track roads.  There are places on each side for drivers or riders to pull over to allow traffic coming the other direction to pass.  Some cars are good about yielding.  Others not so much.  I can't think of ever running into this in the states, but then I have not ridden in all the states.   I remember some of the single track roads from a previous ride in Scotland, but not so very many.  At times, it makes it hard to get into a rhythm with the constant yielding or being yielded to, a dance between bikes and cars. 

 

   And the following day it is off to North Kessock. We start the day with a short cruise on Loch Ness.  The best part of the cruise is when the captain allows two young boys to steer a bit.  They were so proud of themselves.  It was a very kind thing of him to do.  But we never see Nessie.  Or I guess I should say the real Nessie.  Dave conquers the false one that sits at the dock. 

 

 I believe it was on this day that we came upon a young lamb whose head is stuck in a fence but the days begin to blur and merge into one another.  I am no longer able to sort chronologically and, despite bringing my laptop, I have not been diligent about my trip log .  Ride, walk around a bit, eat, sleep, an old familiar pattern, like coming home.  Unlike my previous trips, I don't go out exploring in the mornings. I save my energy.  I implore James to help the lamb and, with some difficulty, he is able to free the lamb whose mother is patiently waiting.  Also, while riding alone one day, I stop seeing sheep being moved to another pasture.  It is so interesting to see the dog work.  How he crouches when told, then herds, then crouches.  The sheep obey and it is over all too soon. 

 

One day lunch was in the van as there was no place near the route to eat.  It had been raining quite a bit prior to this and we shiver as we sit in the van refueling for the next round of road.  As soon as the rain eases, I pop out and restart. At one  point, I take my first "wild wee" after being assured that I will not end up in jail over it so long as I am discrete.  Then the next to last riding day there is a special lunch in what seems to be a mansion.  I "think" they said it is a hunting lodge of some type.  I am amazed when I learn what people will pay to hunt and fish.  If I remember correctly, it is over a thousand dollars AND they are not allowed to keep the fish. But then, look what I have spent on bicycles over the years.  It always surprises me how much money there is in the world.  We are served finger sandwiches on a silver platter, crust cut off the bread, and mushroom soup followed by cake.  It seems rather formal, but it is lovely and I quite enjoy it. 

And then we are finally at Sheildaig facing the biggest climb of the trip.  There is quite a bit of time before dinner, so I walk along the short anticipating and worrying the next day and climbing Bealach na Ba and doing the Applecross loop: 

• Location: Bealach-Na-Ba, N.W. Scotland
• Distance: 9.1 km
• Average gradient: 7%
• Maximum gradient: 20%
• Height gain. 626m                       

After dinner, they tell us that there are several climbs after the big one. It does not look that way on the map they give us, but I take their word for it.  If they think it is a climb, I will certainly know it to be a climb.

 

Morning dawns and we head out.  I am tired and have the beginnings of a stuffy nose.  I noticed it yesterday and hoped it was allergies, but it was not.  Oh, well, it is what it is.  I worry more about flying while congested than I do riding while congested.  At least, I think, it is not rainy or overly windy today.  I figure that all the cold, wet, windiness of the week along with later nights than usual and constant daily riding have taken their toll.  Still my legs are not sore and my mind is not tired, just my body.  I look forward to seeing what the day will hold.  

 

When we reach the beginning of the climb, we can't proceed as they have closed the road for a bit due to blowing up an old oil rig in the ocean.  We head next door to a cafe to wait. 

 

After a coke, my first of the trip, the road opens and we head out. Just the look of the climb is intimidating, but I know it is like anything else. One foot in front of the other until the job is done. At first the climb seduces you into thinking it is gradual, but then it ramps up. Fortunately or unfortunately, the road is all single track which means constant pulling over and stopping for vehicles or vehicles stopping and pulling over for me. This makes the climb easier I suppose, in one sense as there are numerous stops along the climb that give the legs a few seconds of reprieve, but it also means that I can never establish a climbing rhythm and restarting on the steeper parts of the climb is difficult. Still, my fears of  not being able to restart due to the steepness never come to pass.

In some ways, parts of the climb remind me of Texas, but in others it is a strange, unknown beauty. Like the US, each different place has its own charm and beauty. Dan is waiting at the top with the van and even one person I don't know says “Go, Melissa.” I have made it though, like the others, I will never know if I would have been successful without the brief pauses. I “Think” I would have, but will never know. Regardless, I have made it to the top and there is a lovely descent to the cafe where we will have lunch that sits along the oceans. 

 

 I would not want to do that descent without disc brakes and my fingers are aching by the time we reach the bottom. The descent is technical with lots of switch backs, not one of those descents where you can just let go, fly, and enjoy. I chill during the descent and think about the professional riders and how hard it must be not being able to stop and add or take off clothing. On the ascent, I am sweating. Luckily Dan talked me into switching gloves. I had to take my glasses off. But on the descent, I am freezing. With so many ups and downs, it is almost impossible to know how to dress and of course, I am already frustrated with all the stopping and starting.Of course, the descent leaves me aching to know if I could successfully climb it in that direction.  I point out to Dan and Scott that if 10 miles per day were added to the other days, one day the ride could go one direction and the next the other.  Nobody but me seems very enthralled with this thought;-)

The inn we eat at lies across from the Island of Skye. We eat, for us, rather lightly, and take back off having been warned yet again that while the profile shows the rest of the route as being flat, it is far from flat. There are number climbs, some of them with quite a bite to them and quite challenging. But oh, some of the views are spectacular, enough to make one weep.  At one point, a white van that was supposed to stop at the passing spot on his side of the road ignores it and comes close to hitting me. I refuse to yield as on my left is a guard rail protecting against a sheer drop. I would probably survive a car/cyclist accident, but I would not survive that fall. I am very uncomfortable at times with how close cars come, but this was the worst and I found it frightening.

We are lucky as the rain has held off and get in with only a light sprinkling. I feel rather guilty as James and Scott and Dave have waited for me. Scott is paid to wait, but the other two are not. But they don't seem to mind. And we finish.  As always, I have that feeling of joy at the accomplishment and sadness and regret that the adventure is over.  Tomorrow we will be transported back to Inverness and we will part ways.  I will take a train to Edinburgh and fly out the following day, James is taking a train to join his wife, Dave is staying in Inverness for a day or two, and the guides are headed home to the arms of their family.   It does not seem possible that a week has passed, but it has.  Time just has a way of doing that.  Perhaps it is better to leave wanting more rather than tiring of the experience.  Again, I count my blessings and send a prayer of thanks  upwards.  Health, bicycles, Scotland, and friends.   Could it get any better than this?

When I return, I send the following email to the guides, every word heartfelt.  

 

 

Dear Scott and Dan, 

There are no words to thank you enough for your guidance and support during my trip across Scotland.   Turning 68 this month, I know that I have more cycling miles behind me than are left in front of me, and I doubted my ability to be successful.  But I remembered the words of my late husband when he was encouraging me to do my first PBP.  "Do it," he said, "while you still can.  And don't worry overly about the expense because in the end it is only paper."  So, with his whisper in my ear, I signed up not knowing that I would be fortunate to end up with two guides that I had met on earlier trips. 

With such a small group, I  knew I would probably be the oldest and probably the only female.  I was right and, of course, with such strong companions, I was also the slowest.  I also knew that to be successful, I had to do my own thing, ride at my own pace.  This can be difficult as some people don't understand how this factors into attaining a goal, but you both did.  I appreciated that you never hovered but that I knew you would be there if I needed something despite the fact you both could have finished the routes hours before I did.  I appreciated your laughter and kind words.

Such lovely climbs and such screamingly wonderful descents.  Views that would make an angel weep and laughter and companionship despite the cold, wind, and occasional rain.  It is, after all, Scotland.  When I think back on this journey, I will think back on both of you and smile, glad that there are such people in the world.  Yes, I know you are paid to be guides, but you went above and beyond the entire trip, encouraging and nurturing and just being the wonderful people you are.

But I have run on enough.  I hope this email reaches you both and that you are safely ensconced in the arms of your loved ones.  Blessings on you and yours.  Melissa Hall

 

 

And a few more photos:

 

 

Orleans: The Back Door TMD Stage 2024

"If you are a boat that wants

to sail in windy weather, you must

be more stubborn than the waves!"

(Mehmet Murat Ildan)

 

There is no need trying to convince myself to ride because I am captaining the ride and thus own it.   The course is not particularly a difficult one and not particularly an easy one, but the wind adds a new dimension to the challenge every long ride brings.  And it is a tad over 104 miles and still early in the riding season.  Legs remain green though they are starting to harden. The soul also requires a certain stiffening to face longer rides. Other than a robust wind, however, it is supposed to be perfect riding weather topping out in the low seventies and with wall to wall, soaking sunshine, a dire need after a long streak of dark, dismal, rainy days. 

 

 The wind is to be in our faces going out which will mean a delicious tail wind on the return, always better than having a tailwind out and fighting the wind on the return.  I try to concentrate on this positive.  Also, the wind will aid in my training for Dave's and my trip to ride across Scotland in a bit.  Indeed, at least a spot of rain along with the wind would be more appropriate training wise.  But I am thankful for the sunshine.

 

I am surprised at the number of people who show as some bowed out due to the wind prediction.  I think that there comes a time when one knows one can do something but also realizes the cost.  So I understand that decision.  Indeed, I have made it myself at times, more frequently with age. As I said after Jon's century earlier this year, it was not fun.  It was hard. Still, I lied when I said I would never do that course again.  It is a fine course.  It challenged me physically and mentally and a time lapse helps with the realization that this is, indeed, good for me. Doing it also  helps ameliorate the danger of losing the ability to do it. Loss happens so stealthily.   One could almost believe it means to trick you into letting your guard down. But perhaps that is how it is:  we fool ourselves better than the best of grifters.

 

I look at that as one of the perils and costs of aging and remember my mother telling me that she forgot that she could no longer do certain things until she tried to do them.  It is one reason I continue to sit on the floor and squat and use the muscles it would be so very easy to neglect.  Time steals these things and with age it becomes harder to regain the use of them. And the loss is a slippery slope.  Is there wisdom in fighting the inevitable?  Sometimes I question myself.  But I know I want to be able to take care of myself for as long as possible.  I rue the thought of being dependent.  But still I wonder when I will ask my legs for strength they can no longer give despite my efforts and desires.  Will I be angry or resigned? 

Most of the riders that show are known to me and I have no concerns over their ability to finish the ride.  I have neither the desire nor the ability to ride this course quickly with my current fitness level and with the predicted winds.  I find myself rather happy knowing that at least a few of these riders may be in the back with me, for the majority of them are strong riders and I will not be able to keep their pace.  Nineteen have shown up, a much larger crowd than I expected.  The riders are Chris Quirey, Larry "Gizmo" Preble, Fritz Kopatz, Tom Hurst, Jeff Shrode, Tommy Paulin, Steve "Meat Dog" Meredith, Jennifer Standfield, John Pelligrino, Bob Evancho, Al Hargrave, Mike "Diesel" Kamenish, Keith Baldwin, Jose Rodriguez, Bob "Backpack Bob" Grable, Thomas "The Train" Nance, Glenn "Clothesline" Smith, Dave "Bam Bam" King, and me, "Puddle." 

 

Tom is the first to arrive and says he thought it would take longer to arrive, but soon other cars fill the lot.  For the first time, I have to use the  parking spaces across the road. Jenn and Steve leave a bit early.   Dave, as usual, arrives late and has to chase us down. 

 

This course has never been a tour stage.  I  have done my other version of Orleans as a tour stage:  Packman's Hint.  But while I have had this ride on the schedule, it has never been a stage.   I have made quite a few modifications to the route for the tour, and I pre-rode most of those changes a couple of weeks ago and think they are good changes.  Interestingly, Ride With GPS has it with about five miles of gravel but there is zero gravel on this ride.  Oh, well, it is a valuable tool...just not a perfect one.   When I first put this route together, I did not have a GPS or RWGPS.  Just a paper map that, interestingly, I only found when I finally reached Orleans.  Part of the delight of designing a route is sharing it, and I hope people like this route. But I also have fond memories of laying the course out, exploring roads.  What works and what doesn't?  What has too much traffic?  Where will stores be located?  There is more to planning a route than many people realize. 

 

 Originally I was going to host Story, but road construction meant a change in plans.  Probably a good thing.  There is, in my opinion, way too much repetition in tour stages this year.   I like the familiar, but there is something nice about new or vaguely familiar roads.  I am always amazed at people who seem to enjoy riding the same course over and over again with little to no variation. Personally, I like a bit of diversity, either new routes (properly designed) or old routes that have not been on the schedule for awhile.  (Oodles of those old routes are available)  I am looking forward to Bob's ride the next week-end for this very reason. I  have ridden the course before, but it was  years ago and will seem brand new.  Bob always does a good job with course design.

We head out through the covered bridge and up Liberty Knob.  The group quickly divides into smaller groups dependent upon pace. I, of course, am at the back. This would be the case even if it were not my responsibility as ride captain. Surprisingly, the dogs at the top of Liberty Knob don't come out.  Had they gone after the faster riders and become worn out?  Had the owners finally restrained them, something they have never done in the past despite my talking to them and Mike Crawford talking to them.  For whatever reason, they are gone.  Prior to this, I was amazed at the traffic on the first section of Liberty  Knob.  It is normally completely car free.  We happen upon a farm auction which quickly explains the cars.  

The blackberries are blooming profusely, clouds of white brightening the roadside.  It looks to be a bumper crop this year. The honeysuckle has begun to flower and occasionally I catch a whiff of their sweet smell.  It makes me think of the Pam Century, normally the ride where I first notice honeysuckle blooming.  It was not on the calendar this year and I could not have ridden it if it were due to a planned visit with the grandchildren.  Indeed, I have not ridden it for a variety of reasons for a number of years.  Perhaps next year it will be back.  Perhaps not.  As John points out at one point in the ride, there is a huge attrition rate with the tour.  People find other interests or gravitate back to shorter rides.  Regardless, people come and go.  I tell him there are only three of us who have been finishers every Tour de Mad Dog since it's inception:  Mike Kamenish, Dave King, and myself.  

Later in the ride, Bob makes the comment that he does not expect to be riding the centuries in five years.  He is younger than me.   "Will I," I wonder, "be riding them in five years?" That is not so far away.  Of course I don't know, but I hope so even if I ride by myself because the other, younger riders hold much too fast a pace.  And if I don't, what will I be doing?  Shorter rides?  Other things?  The future is, always, a teaser.  There is just no way to predict. 

 

 Dave later will pick a sprig of honeysuckle and Steve M. talks about how, as a child, he would do what every other child who grew up around honeysuckle did:  pull out the center stem and taste the sweetness of the nectar.  I remember asking my husband why bees don't harvest that sweetness.  He told me their proboscis is not long enough to reach.  The white daisies are starting to bloom and occasionally we pass large feeds of the yellow weeds that brighten fields despite the fact farming has begun.  In places shoots of corn and soybeans peak shyly from the ground.  And there is beauty in the world.  It seems too early for crops to be poking up through the rich brownness, but they are boasting of a coming harvest.  Fall will be here all too soon, I fear, bringing with it the promise of another winter.  Still, I am grateful and send up a prayer of thanks for allowing me to experience another spring.  I pray best when on a bicycle. 

 

Once we round the square in Salem, right in the middle of town, I see a deer cross the road from one yard to another.  How we are robbing creatures of their homes and then are surprised when they become part of our own. Outside Orleans, Jenn and I see a tiny turtle, no bigger than an inch or two, crossing the road.   The wind is starting to tell on us and she reveals how she struggled on the Maple Syrup ride, a ride I skipped due to the weather.  She discloses that she was going to quit at the festival but her phone did not have any reception so she finished.  I tell her she will remember that ride because of the difficulties, the challenge of finishing.  It is almost always the hard rides that we remember, the ones that take a toll mentally and physically.  These are also the rides we can take pride in because they were taxing.  I suppose very few things in life come easily.  

I ride with Jenn into Orleans, but she is only going to  the gas station.  I tell her I will catch up but that I need to eat and head, along with other riders, to Speak Easy Pizza.   There is only one bike there.  I say the others probably went to the Dawg House, but Bob says he did not see any  bikes there.  Later we find he just missed them when Dave tells us they ate there.  Dave said the special was beef Manhattan and that it was good, but not great.

 

Steve, Bob, Al, John, and I order our food.  We come upon Jose who said he paused and was unable to catch back up to the others.  Everyone goes on about how good the food is.  For the second time, I have a rider tell me they are going to come back and bring their spouse.  It is a long way from Louisville to Orleans, but it would be a pretty drive.  I am just glad it is a success.  After the ride Bob emails that this may be his favorite course due to the lunch stop. 

The ride back is much easier.  The wind that slapped us around gives back, paying us back for our "stubborness" in facing her down.  The course also is relatively flat until we near Salem, something my tired legs are grateful for.  Steve and I talk about how there just is no way to get in or out of Salem without hills.  I remember last years back to back century overnight ride to Montgomery and how my legs ached as we neared Salem.  As we make the turn for the store stop, Al and Jose do not turn.  I decide that since we are 18 miles out, they decided not to stop.  Instead, they just missed the turn and we later find them out wandering, just getting back on course on Canton Road.

 

With the wind, the hills don't seem so exacting, plus I know we have a wonderful two mile downhill coming up in the near future.  Steve later tells me that is his favorite descent of any century though he wishes that, rather than ending with some rollers, the descent ended at the starting place.  And it is a good downhill, not at all technical so you can really let it go.  I mention to Dave that it was rather fun to ride fixed.  He says he does not think it would exactly be "fun."  I grin.  Dave did PBP fixed.  For him, it would be fun.  I wonder what the front riders thought of the descent, but of course they are all gone by the time the last group pulls into the finish.

The ride ends and three of us go out for dinner.  All three of us have overseas plans coming up this year.  Jenn is off to Italy though not to ride.  And as I mentioned earlier, Dave and I are off the Scotland for what, I assume, will be my last time in that enchanted land.  And to top off a delightful day and dinner, Dave, at one point, tells me that I  underestimate myself, a compliment that I will tuck in with others that I keep to cheer myself up or onward when I am feeling down or need, once again, to "be more stubborn than the wind."  (Thanks, Dave).  And thank you to all who came to what turned out to be a challenging but pleasant day.