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.