"To say good-bye is
to die a little."
Raymond Chandler
It is still cold out and despite the sun, the world looks defeated and used up. I hope to see a little green, but I am disappointed. Water pools beside or in the roadways. Mud spots my pants and even on my GPS. I can't decide where I want to go. I only know that I want to go. And so go I do. I take the Surly thinking that I will seek gravel.
I do find gravel, and I ride on it for a bit, but since they graveled Story Road with the larger gravel, it is bumpy and takes all my concentration. Originally, I decided just to head west and north and plan on ending up in Salem, but that is not to be.
As I ride, I lose track of where I am, taking turns randomly and using only direction. I don't have time for a century since I did allow it to warm some prior to heading out, but I have plenty of time for a longer ride. Eventually, I come out on a road I know, and I know I am near Medora.
While I definitely prefer my Wahoo to my old Garmin for programmed rides, there are some areas where it lacks. Roaming is one of them. I miss the comfort of knowing I can search for cities or addresses or food. I miss the comfort of knowing that not only can I retrace my route (something my Wahoo will do), but knowing I can ask for the shortest route back. So I decide to go to Medora. I heard a rumor that the store there was closing and I will see if it is true today rather than waiting for a day when I need to refuel and go and find that there is no longer an oasis available.
When I arrive, the store is still open yet a shadow of its former self. There is one rack of edible products, mostly junk foods, and some drinks. The girls manning the cash register confirm that it is closing. They tell me there is a dollar store of some type that will be opening, but it will not be open until the following year. I commiserate with them on the loss of their jobs and after a short sit down, wish them luck in finding employment.
I think of how when I first started riding in that area, there were two stores and an ice cream store. Now there will be none. As always, I grieve at the loss of another small store in a small town that is dead or dying. I think of the many times I have stopped there, of the rides I have that depend upon a stop there or carrying extra, and I am saddened. Mostly I think of what we have all lost in the quest for efficiency and cheapness. What makes one town thrive and another flounder? People, location, a combination of the two? I am not smart enough to answer this question. Perhaps it is just our lack of caring.
Briefly I contemplate riding on to Leesburg to see if that store is still operational, but I decide it is too far. I am weak from the winter and got a late start and have nobody to pick me up if I falter. And so I head home.
On my way, I think about the many times I have stopped at Medora. The first time I found the store on a solo ride and how grateful I was. That special winter ride with Grasshopper when the snow started while we sat and ate our sandwiches in the older store, the one that closed first, the one that was an old hardware store and had the lovely aged oak inside. The flakes were so lovely, as large as a baby's fist, and I worried about our trip back if it covered the roadway. I think of arriving there with Steve Rice and Steve Meredith and finding our way home blocked by flood waters, how we waded those waters, bikes held high, knowing they were probably both cursing me. I think of riding there with large groups for Medora Goes Pink and remember some of the riders riding the small train made of metal barrels. In my mind, I see Paul and Lynn sitting on the curb with me as we eat and drink, preparing for the next 50 miles. I think of taking Greg Z. there last fall as I wanted him to see the covered bridge. How we had to ride gravel to get there as the main road was closed and not walk- able. At least, I think, we can still ride the century there when they have their festival in the fall. And I say my good-bye to the store knowing barring something unforeseen, I have walked through those doors for the last time. Another good-bye. And I grieve at the loss of another piece of my past, another death, but remain grateful that I knew it when.
While I definitely prefer my Wahoo to my old Garmin for programmed rides, there are some areas where it lacks. Roaming is one of them. I miss the comfort of knowing I can search for cities or addresses or food. I miss the comfort of knowing that not only can I retrace my route (something my Wahoo will do), but knowing I can ask for the shortest route back. So I decide to go to Medora. I heard a rumor that the store there was closing and I will see if it is true today rather than waiting for a day when I need to refuel and go and find that there is no longer an oasis available.
When I arrive, the store is still open yet a shadow of its former self. There is one rack of edible products, mostly junk foods, and some drinks. The girls manning the cash register confirm that it is closing. They tell me there is a dollar store of some type that will be opening, but it will not be open until the following year. I commiserate with them on the loss of their jobs and after a short sit down, wish them luck in finding employment.
I think of how when I first started riding in that area, there were two stores and an ice cream store. Now there will be none. As always, I grieve at the loss of another small store in a small town that is dead or dying. I think of the many times I have stopped there, of the rides I have that depend upon a stop there or carrying extra, and I am saddened. Mostly I think of what we have all lost in the quest for efficiency and cheapness. What makes one town thrive and another flounder? People, location, a combination of the two? I am not smart enough to answer this question. Perhaps it is just our lack of caring.
Briefly I contemplate riding on to Leesburg to see if that store is still operational, but I decide it is too far. I am weak from the winter and got a late start and have nobody to pick me up if I falter. And so I head home.
On my way, I think about the many times I have stopped at Medora. The first time I found the store on a solo ride and how grateful I was. That special winter ride with Grasshopper when the snow started while we sat and ate our sandwiches in the older store, the one that closed first, the one that was an old hardware store and had the lovely aged oak inside. The flakes were so lovely, as large as a baby's fist, and I worried about our trip back if it covered the roadway. I think of arriving there with Steve Rice and Steve Meredith and finding our way home blocked by flood waters, how we waded those waters, bikes held high, knowing they were probably both cursing me. I think of riding there with large groups for Medora Goes Pink and remember some of the riders riding the small train made of metal barrels. In my mind, I see Paul and Lynn sitting on the curb with me as we eat and drink, preparing for the next 50 miles. I think of taking Greg Z. there last fall as I wanted him to see the covered bridge. How we had to ride gravel to get there as the main road was closed and not walk- able. At least, I think, we can still ride the century there when they have their festival in the fall. And I say my good-bye to the store knowing barring something unforeseen, I have walked through those doors for the last time. Another good-bye. And I grieve at the loss of another piece of my past, another death, but remain grateful that I knew it when.
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