Summer Time 2020

"Summer afternoon-summer afternoon;

to me those have always been the two most

beautiful words in the English language."

Henry James 

 

Two glorious days of riding despite predictions earlier in the week for a mostly rainy week-end.  Summer time.  Perhaps not as hot as the past few summers the last couple of weeks, but certainly more humid.  Recently the weatherman said we were up seven inches of rainfall for the year and I believe it.  But still, while not my favorite season, I love the summer despite his occasional brutality.  Previously I wrote that August is a male month:  hot, steamy, demanding.  I stand by those words.  Riding is difficult in August, particularly when it is hot and humid and the sweat stands and beads on your skin rather than evaporating. Lungs gasp for usable, refreshing air and pull in syrup instead. But the rain combined with the heat and humidity has caused everything to stay green and lush.  Mowing my yard has been more like preparing hay for baling. The green is beautiful appealing to my eye and providing a nice background for the flowers that I pass.  I had thought the Black-eyed Susan's were gone, but find there are still occasional patches littering the roadside.  Queen Anne's lace is blooming and the Golden Rod begins.

Yesterday was a club ride that had two climbs but was otherwise flat and fast.  I spent the first part of the ride talking to an old friend as the road unwound before us.  Time changes us and changes others, but I suppose it cannot change the past though perhaps it tempers how we view it.  Links forged through hours spent traversing different roads leave their  marks as do rifts in that chain caused by the choice of different roads.  Friendship is such a valuable thing.  It is a shame that so often we allow it to lapse.  Memories are good, but better when combined with the making of new memories.  But life changes.  We change.  And the world changes around us. Paths diverge and sometimes lead in different directions.  That is okay.  As I read recently, it serves to remember that not everyone deserves a seat at my table, nor I, perhaps, at theirs. 

 

Later in the ride, another friend and I escape potential tragedy when a delivery truck tries to back into a driveway hooking two electric lines.  As the lines strain and appear to be on the verge of giving way and breaking, the driver luckily realizes there is an issue and stops.  Had he broken the lines, I feel certain they could have/would have snaked around and hit us. The incident reminds me of a class at the Y where they had us put elastic bands around ourselves and someone tried to hold us as we ran.  Mine snapped and hit the woman holding the tube, bruising her knuckles and causing her to cry.  I felt so badly for her and was thankful that nothing had broken.  Despite the fact it was totally unintentional, I felt so guilty and responsible, particularly since she had young children with needs to tend to. 

 

Today's ride is from Madison and is not a club ride. Jon and I head out from near the Ohio River for Vevay.  Because we are not taking the busy road bordering the river, this means the ride starts with a climb.  It is long but not really steep. I think that Jon has planned this route to avoid too many hills to test my legs but this is pure conjecture on my part.  I don't yet know him well.  We already have a pace difference and hills accentuate that difference.  The roads he chooses are lightly traveled and so beautifully rural.  We meander along creeks and pass areas with field stone walls.  One is being repaired and the others not. Both need it. The words of Robert Frost come to mind: "Something there is that doesn't love a wall."  Still, I love the stone walls even half fallen.  The effort someone took to erect them, hauling stones from the field and patiently putting them together.  I picture him, sweat dripping from his brow, hands roughened by the constant contact with the rough stone, back bowed by effort.  Prying stones out of the field. Trying this stone, then that stone, trying to make the best match, one that will resist the ground swell. And at  home, she waits, tending to the children, baking the bread, hauling water from the creek for water to wash in.  The people who built this country were truly amazing people, strong people, determined people.  Making do, creating something from nothing. Finding ways to use that which surrounded them. But I ride with someone.  My musing ends.  Focus.  

We stop in Vevay and both purchase drinks, sitting outside and eating bags of snacks we have brought.  It is so different from club rides or from brevets where there is an emphasis on downing a quick drink and snack, then getting back on the bike.  Today there are no controls and no hurrying.  But as we sit, clouds roll in hinting of rain.  I use my phone and see that there really is nothing locally, but up north it apparently is storming.  We ride out into the grey sky and increasing wind.

I am glad Jon is patient with my pace for he is a much stronger rider than I am.  I suspect it helps him having ridden a solo century yesterday after his run the day before while I was at the club ride. Energy has been drained. It is nice to be on new roads but it would not be nearly so nice if I had to push myself to ride faster.  The course he has plotted is overwhelmingly beautiful and at times he has stories to tell me about them, stories of memories from previous rides for these roads are not new to him as they mostly are to me.  At times I worry that I will drive him crazy with my chattering and questioning, but he takes it good naturedly.  Perhaps he is like Paul who I find often only is half listening, or perhaps what I have to say interests him.  I don't know him that well yet.  We are new friends tentatively finding our way and making memories. Needless to say, since I have no idea where I am or what road to take next, he can't in good conscience ride off and leave me though with a GPS and phone I would eventually find my way back.  As I told Grasshopper long ago, if you ride long enough you come out somewhere.  

As we near the end, Jon points out that there is a plane parked behind a church we are passing.  We decide to turn around and look.  When we arrive, we immediately are asked if we are from the press.  While it seemed half joking, it also seemed half serious.  Evidently the plane, a small two seat Cessna, was losing oil and had to make an emergency landing.  The men were getting ready to remove the winds and load it on a trailer to take it for repairs.  We chat for a few minutes before moving on and finishing our ride both glad that the landing was made with everyone being safe.  I think how odd it is, a plane down in the middle of nowhere.  The pilot was lucky to have a rural area with some open fields.  

When we return to Madison, we have lunch down by the river before parting ways.  While sitting there, an older man informs us that the city has taken over responsibility for the pavement on the hill and trucks will not be allowed.  He expresses concerns about the finances required to keep the road usable. But of course, neither of us reside in Madison. The skies have cleared, but the wind remains. It is a good day, a summer day, and there are no so very many summer days left in 2020.  Here's to bicycles, rural roads, and friends, old and new.  Here is to summer. 

 

An Untroubled Century Ride

"At these times, the things that troubled

her seemed far away and unimportant:

all that mattered was the hum of the bees

and the chirp of the birdsong, the way the

sun gleamed on the edge of a blue wildflower,

the distant bleat and clink of grazing goats."

Alison Croggon

It seems impossible, particularly after the blazingly hot, humid days of the past few weeks, to have the prediction for a high in the low 80's and little humidity.  Each day recently, upon awakening, I would find so much condensation on the windows that it was hard to see out and 90's with heat index near or over 100 degrees a broken record, relentlessly repeating itself. But this morning there is just a hint around the bottom of the pane. And here it is, the forecast for cooler, less humid weather, and even the night before it is not changed.  The only club ride that would possibly have tempted me would have been a long one, and there are none.  So I decide to head out on a solo century, a journey that has been calling me for awhile but which I have weakly resisted due to the hot, steamy days that making breathing more difficult as if the air had thickened to consistency of honey.

Coolness wraps  its arms around me, bringing goosebumps to my uncovered arms, and I wonder if I should have worn light arm warmers.  I giggle to myself thinking of how when I first started riding and lacked many of the essentials, I cut the toes off some old tube socks so they could serve as warmers.  And when I am done giggling to myself, I realize I no longer feel the chill in any way but a pleasant way, one of the odd phenomenons of riding. I suppose the exercise warms the body. I have decided on the Christy century, and early in the ride I pass the spot where, long ago. I came upon a fox, sitting in the middle of the road, enjoying the morning sun as if he did not have a care in the world.  I remember thinking he was a dog until I drew closer, and then worrying if he was, perhaps, rabid, since he seemed in no  hurry to run from the bicycle that was bearing down on him.  Up he got and slid seamlessly into the nearby woods, disappearing all too quickly yet not seeming hurried. 

I wonder what the day will hold for me because you never really know, particularly if you are on a bicycle. We often think we know how our day will go, reeking with boredom, only to find that it just does not go that way. Sometimes it is a relief when the unexpected happens and sometimes it seems a curse, but perhaps these changes are a blessing, even though we don't like the way our routine is disrupted.  It is hard to remember sometimes that change can be good and that variety is, indeed, the spice of life. 

I think briefly how different preparation for a ride or other outing is different in the time of COVID.  I have packed a mask and neck gaiter for the anticipated run into stores.  I have brought a snack for the first stop, but did not pack a sandwich for lunch.   I miss the old days. On some rides, like the Willisburg Century, lunch was one of the main attractions. And I miss old friends.  I think of Bill Pustow and how when he rode this century with me, he was so shocked at the lunch town Halloween decorations.  And they were, indeed, sacrilegious, or some of them were.  I continue to wonder if that was the intent or if someone just did not put two and two together.  Regardless, I am glad for the miles we rode together, for his company and the stories he would tell, for the times he made me smile and for the times he made me think.  I don't like changes, but things change, and he no longer rides with the club or with me, but I am glad we had the time we had.  Memories of the many rides we rode as companions lace my memories and will for as long as I can hold my memories tightly.

Before I know it, I am passing Cliff Stream Farms where Jon and I recently rode for lunch and where I took Diana for her birthday lunch, a new favorite not just because of the delicious food but because of outside dining, another COVID change.  It is too early for it to be open, but maintenance is hard at work, the roar of the mower sounding through the morning air, the smell of cut grass perfuming my passing. Again, I give thanks for friends, for how they brighten days and moments of our lives. I decide I will stop for my first break at the bridge nearby, one that I loved from the moment I first laid eyes on it while out exploring these roads. 

At the bridge, I come upon a sign and I am not quite sure what it means, but it sounds as if the bridge may be torn down and replaced, something I have seen happen repeatedly on the roads I ride. What does it mean to "reuse" a bridge?  I don't know the answer to this question. Sometimes the things that appeal to me aesthetically are not really useful for most people. Is utility, should utility, be the main goal, or does/should beauty fit in there somewhere?  Perhaps others find beauty in the new bridges, their structures, their size.  Personally, I gravitate toward the old.  I lean my bike against the railing and eat the homemade peanut butter crackers I have brought as I mull these things over in my mind.

Before I reach Vernon, my destination, I have another unexpected event.  I reach a road that says it is closed as a bridge is out.  Of course, scoff law that I am, at least on a bicycle, I skirt the sign and proceed hoping that the people will not be working and that I will be able to pass.  When I reach the bridge, I see a workman sitting there.  Hoping against hope, I wave and approach telling him I am not from around here and wondered about a work around.  Without my asking, he tells me I can cross through the creek if I don't mind getting a bit wet.  He even offers to carry my bike for me, an offer I refuse but appreciate.  I don't stop to take pictures after crossing as more workmen are coming and I worry he will get in trouble for his kindness in allowing me to pass.  I suppose it has been fueled by lawsuits, but it certainly seems that not many are helpful anymore.  In allowing me to pass, he has saved me what I would estimate to be about five extra miles, not a big deal in summer on a day like today, but a big deal when daylight is less abundant or when the sun is scorching every inch of your skin like a blow torch .   

I love the roads on this ride, particularly the first 65 miles or so. Some are more lanes than roads.  All have tree overhangs shading providing shade that dapples the ground.  Certainly, it makes spotting potholes more difficult, but oh how pleasant it makes the trip.  I realize that Ms. Croggon is right.  Whether it is the bicycle, the scenery, the weather, or a combination of the three, things that trouble me fall behind me on the road.    I think that is one of the things I love most about riding, how often you can leave behind the negative. As usual, I appreciate the deep, rich greenness.  The hot, humid weather has ensured that things have remained green.  In the corn fields, however, I spot the first signs of the coming fall.  Silks are blackening, edges of leaves are hinting of browning. Black Eyed Susans are pretty much gone as are the daisies.  I see the first of the Sumac and think how, when Lloyd was living, I would have told him as they are good honey producers.  Yellow flowers, tall and beautiful, perhaps wild sunflowers but whose name I don't really know, are blooming.  Insects buzz. As I pass wet lands, I hear a frog still pining for a mate.  And because I am not with others, I can sing, loudly and robustly, as I have not been able to for quite a while.

I pick up the pace after lunch finding that my legs feel better than expected.  I have been riding slowly all year, and while I still am not riding quickly, I am riding hard for my fitness level and it feels good.  My lungs start to heave a bit and my thighs ache, but I know I can hold this pace for a long while, pedals churning.  And all too soon it is over and I am home and I wonder why I hurried.  And I wonder if I will ever figure out how to correct the date on my camera;-)  But it is all good.  And this day, a brief respite from the merciless heat that is August,  a brief respite from the things that trouble me, has been a blessing.  Oh, yeah.....bicycles.