Hardinsburg: The Closing of the Dutch Barn

"Not til June can the grass be said to be

waving in the fields.  When the frogs

dream, and the grass waves, and the

buttercups toss their heads, and the heat

disposes to bathe in the ponds and streams,

then is summer begun."

Henry David Thoreau

The weather is supposed to be perfect, not so hot as it has been, and I decide to head out on a solo century.  Despite lots of foam rolling yesterday and a gentle walk to get blood moving along, my legs still ache from a tough Tabata session a couple days before. But I thoroughly expect them to meet the challenge and to perk up.  Unfortunately, they don't cooperate with my expectations.  Rather they complain and gripe the entire day, particularly on hills, but still I move forward.  In retrospect, this was not particularly wise as I could have easily cut the ride short fairly early in the ride and still gotten a nice sixty miler in, but I plunge onward.  I think that this is the type of day that  used to upset me when I was working because I could not make good use of it by bicycling.  So even a bad day on the bike is, perhaps, a good day.  My legs, however, never do agree with my mind on this particular day.

Later I will ask myself why, and I have no answer other than it seemed too perfect of a day to waste and I have been interested in seeing how I do on a century with COVID and trying to keep store stops minimal.  I have only done one so far, and the weather was much cooler. Prior to heading out, I pack my lunch and some snacks.  I have tried making and freezing a turkey sandwich with cheese on whole wheat.  As there is no mayo or condiment on it, I expect it to be fine, but just in case I have a mix of walnuts, almonds, and raisins as well as peanut butter crackers to fall back on. 

I debate between the Story Century and the Hardinsburg Century, but settle on Hardinsburg despite the additional climbing involved. I have not been climbing enough.  Also,  I have heard that the Dutch Barn, one of my favorite stops, has closed it's doors, but I want to verify that and see, if it is true, if Little Twirl remains open. 

What interests me on this ride are the different fields I pass.  I see wheat that obviously will be ready about the time it normally is ready:  late June or early July.  The green is just starting to hint of gold.  The wind, stronger than I expected, whispers as it dances with the wheat.  Briefly I wonder if they will also use the wheat stalks as straw. They used to, but often they don't bother anymore, plowing it under. Truly, we have become a country used to waste.  It was on this century when a rider from another country showed to ride.  It was the fall of the year and black walnuts were on the ground everywhere.  She was amazed and let me know that in her country people would have been fighting to harvest them to have food put back for the lean times.  That being said, having harvested them, it is a arduous chore. 

The corn is a different matter.  Some of it looks great and is about mid calf to knee high.  Other is barely above the ground.  I don't see may soy beans, and what I do see is just peeking through the soil.  It seems to me that normally they are farther along this time of year, but perhaps my memory is incorrect. I pass barren fields that  normally scream of life this time of year.  I assume from  spring rains yet again interfered with planting. And I see hay, some of it freshly baled and some cut and drying.  I pass a field where the farmer is turning the hay, bottom to top, so the bottom will dry.  There seems to be more hay than last year and I wonder to myself if that has anything to do with the drought last year and the sparsity of hay.  I think of the years Lloyd and I put up straw and hay that I would then sell at the track.  It was hot and sweaty work, but I loved the smell and I loved working with him and the way my body felt at the end of the day, soreness promising new strength.

The Dutch Barn, one of my old favorite lunch stops, looks forlorn as I pass.  At first I think perhaps someone has bought it and re-opened as there are cars in the lot, but it is not.  I go up the street to Little Twirl and find that not only is it open, but it appears to be thriving.  I am not feeling strong at all and decide that while I have avoided stores, I will get a coke to go with my sandwich and an ice cream cone.  I order and wait.  People come and go.  I am the only one in a mask.  Finally I ask if I have gotten lost in the shuffle.  She apologizes and quickly fixes it. 

The sandwich is fine.  Needless to say, with the heat it is no longer frozen.  The turkey is not hot or cold to the touch.  The cheese, provolone, is a bit soft.  But it tastes fine though not as good as the ice cream. 

When I reach the bottom of the steep hill, the one that has brought so many riders to their knees and the one where Paul fell over, my way is blocked  by a road closed sign.  I decide to  ignore it praying that I can get through.   If I can't, today's century will turn into probably 110 miles and two major climbs will be added.  I have no doubt that I CAN do them if I need to, but my legs remind me that I sure don't WANT to.  I ride for a few miles seeing no road construction, but as I reach the very end of the road, I see a back hoe parked across the road and store piled up in front of it.  It appears that  nobody is working so I decide to see if I can get through.  The bridge is torn out, but the creek bed is not so far that I can't walk through.  Feeling smug, I step on rock crossing the creek only to find that when I hit the mud, I sink in to over the top of my shoes.  Luckily, my shoes don't come off, but they and my socks are covered with thick mud. 

I laugh thinking that some people pay for mud baths and here I got mine free.  The lengths people will go to in order to avoid a few hills and extra miles;-)  Wimp.  I remember a time when I was little and my mom had just bought me a new pair of red Keds, the kind that had the white half circle of rubber on the toe.  The guys and I were playing in a mud pile at the gardening center, a place we weren't supposed to be, and I sank in so deeply it pulled my shoes off.  I thought for sure I was in for a beating when I reached home, but my Mom just took me and bought me another pair of shoes.

Up the road a bit, I find a place where a field is across from a creek so there is a road directly to the creek.  I stop and clean up a bit.  The mud has dried around the circle that tightens my Boa closures to where they won't turn until I stand in the water for a minute.  I realize that in some strange sort of way, I am enjoying this difficulty.  These troubles are the things that make rides more memorable.  My favorite riding companions have always been those that just roll with the punches without getting upset or angry at these types of obstacles. Chris Quirey, throwing the thin board across a deep ravine for us to cross over on.  Steve Rice and Steve Meredith wading thigh high waters to get back from Medora and avoid having to retrace miles.  The Wacky Tacky group with Duc Do who arrived at Mammoth Cave to find there no longer was a road where one used to be.  The power cut climb on Tokyo.  I remember these rides partially because of the obstacles.

The first of the orange day lilies are blooming and the Black Eyed Susan flowers are scattered here and there.  The white daisies are still blooming but already wilting in places.  Summer goes so quickly. 

It doesn't cross my mind that this route will allow me to see if the Red Barn store is still open when I near Salem as I have a ride scheduled to go by there on Tuesday, but it does.  The Red Barn is open, but unlike Little Twirl, no customers are there.  As I enter, well masked, I caution Amos that it is me and not to shoot.  That is just how it is when a store stop is also a gun store. You use precautions if you are entering with a mask covering your face.  I don't know what being shot would feel like, but it is one of those feelings that I could live my entire life without finding out and would have no regrets. While my legs definitely would not agree today, I am not at all into pain.

Amos is glad to see me and asks if there are others.  I tell him no, grab a drink, and sit by myself out side before heading  out to finish out the century.  The rest of the way back is on one of my favorite roads.  Best of all, at least for today, most of the climbing is done.  The last major climb is right before the Red Barn.  All that is left are rollers.  My legs are thankful.  I am thankful because for some reason, I am unusually tired.  My house is a welcome sight and I am glad I don't have the drive home to contend with.  And while I am tired, I am glad that I did not waste the day.  The extreme heat and then the cold will arrive soon enough.