Dave Fleming's Century Ride: December 2021

"Life is all about setbacks.  A 

life lived without disappointment 

is a life lived in a cocoon.  People

have recovered from far worse setbacks."

(Tony Clark)

 

A friend pointed out to me that I have not written in awhile and checked to make sure I was okay.  It was nice to know that someone noticed or cared.   I have been riding, but painting more than writing.  So many Christmas projects to work on and complete.  But I miss writing. I am glad he reminded me.  Thank you, Greg. I remain grateful of the day we met during Hell Week all those years ago. 

Additionally, I have been looking forward to resuming winter hiking and easing up on the riding.  Indeed, I began, but on only my second hike developed what I believe to be a stress fracture in my fifth metatarsal.   I am so disappointed.  I have missed the hilly terrain of the trail, the beat of my  heart as I struggle with the steep rockiness and uneven terrain. And I hike almost exclusively in winter as there are so many ticks in the warmer months.  It is hard to check yourself for ticks when you live alone.  Some places of your body, your eyes just cannot reach. 

 

Of course, I vow to allow it to heal, then ignore my resolve and do a hilly ride to Salem re-injuring myself in my denial, making the original injury worse and no doubt delaying my healing time.  Patience.  Why can't I counsel myself to patience?  And yet with the nice weather, I determine I will ride again regardless, just avoid hills and climb those I absolutely could not avoid in my granny gear, a gear I love having but seldom use.  And so, I ask Jon if he would like to accompany me on an easy century as I know he wanted to get another century in before the close of the year.  I warn him, as always, that I will be slow and that I will be particularly slow on any hills we encounter.

He says yes and so plans are laid to meet on Friday when it is due to be unseasonably warm (think 60's but I believe it gets in the low 70's) and not particularly windy (6 mph with 8 mph gusts).  The weather is a true gift for this time of year, but it is still cold at the start:  38 degrees.  I wear my Hell Week cycling backpack to take off layers as the day warms.  And I dress in lots of layers.  While I have been riding, I have been doing shorter distances and a century is a stretch.  Add on that I struggle to make myself drink on colder rides, and it is a recipe for dehydration and disaster.  I want to enjoy the ride and not feel as if it is a death march.  I also struggle with my mind questioning if I will injure myself more despite picking a flat, easy course.  Despite my misgivings, I am at the start, ready and willing, prior to Jon's arrival.

I am glad to get the century in.  I really don't like to allow too much time to elapse between centuries.  They are just so much harder than if you maintain that fitness level.  While I have made the decision not to be at all invested in completing the Tour de Mad Dog next year, I will ride stages that interest me and I remain hopeful that health/time will allow me to complete numerous centuries.  I have truly enjoyed the small century rides this year.  I am not yet ready to give up distance.

 

With the Tour de Mad Dog, there just are too many courses on the schedule that I have no interest in completing. People have different interests, and some like city rides and more heavily trafficked roads.  I prefer lightly traveled country roads despite the fact they often involve more climbing. It is not all about me. And this summer brought the realization that my century  riding years, while still hopefully numerous, will end.  Things just become more difficult because age cannot be stopped, only delayed. I can tell a definite difference on rides, during recovery.  But again, I am not yet ready to give it up.  And I don't want to waste any of the rides left to me riding a course I have no desire to ride.

 I may even ride a century the same day as a stage as I have done occasionally in the past when I didn't need the stage and it did not appeal to me, but one of my choosing if it is a stage that I have no interest in or I find that all the riders are too fast.  There is freedom in this as there was when the Big Dog site closed and I no longer had any reason to ride the extra half mile to make it a minimum of 100 miles instead of 99.5.    But the closing of the site also meant I began to ride fewer centuries, to let weather deter me that I would have soldiered through, that I lost contact with most of the others on the list.  

 

The only thing that bothers me a tad about not completing the tour is that unless I ride the requisite stages, it will mean conceding defeat to  Mike "Diesel" Kamenish and Dave "Bam Bam" King, in our unofficial contest to complete every tour since its inception in 2004, but I will still be the female winner.  And in the end, even if I were not, it is not important.  Part of life is learning what is and what is not important.  Who knows, I may end up with enough stages to finish.  I just know that I will no longer ride stages just to complete a stage.  I will  ride only if I like the course or if there is someone I particularly want to share a ride with.  So far out of 21 stages, there are 13 that I have any interest in riding at this point, and two of those are my own.

But back to today's century, a century put together by Dave Fleming, a rider from Madison, Indiana (though he no longer resides there) for I have digressed.  While Dave has ridden some of my centuries, including Marengo, I have never had the pleasure of riding this century with him, but at least I have had the pleasure of riding it. It is a relatively flat century, something I insist upon today.  I really would like to be able to walk pain free by Christmas and resume hiking by the end of December.  I am hoping that a flat course will allow my foot to resume healing while still allowing me some exercise.  I am disappointed at the injury and my failure to give it the proper respect already, but I will be even more disappointed if I miss the entire winter hiking season.  I am such a wimp. 

I toy with the idea of putting the ride today on the club calendar, but decide against it for a few reasons.  I never regret that decision though Jon might as he  listens to my incessant chattering throughout the ride.  Again and again, I notice the winter beauty of the Sycamore trees, their whiteness giving definition to the trees around them as well as themselves.  Most trees are leafless though a few of the stubborn oaks cling to leaves that are brown and dry.  Occasionally a puff of wind makes them take the plunge, and they whirl to the ground as if confetti to celebrate our passing.  We pass a barn that announces a birthday ride.  It is in the middle of nowhere, and I later ask Jon if he thinks it was a bicycle or motorcycle ride.  Both of us guess motorcycle.  He tells me the sign has been there a long time. 

There is no first store stop on this century, so we both have brought snacks.  We stop at a church facility that has picnic tables to pause and refuel ourselves.  Jon has oranges.  I have brought a blueberry oatmeal bar that I make.  And water.  We both drink from our bottles, again reminding me that I have not been taking in enough fluid.  We sit in the back of the building where the sun hits the broken down picnic table and both shed layers reveling in the unseasonable warmth that embraces us.  We sit like the old friends we are becoming, talking of this and that, comfortable with each other.  How I appreciate friends that I am comfortable with.  No need for pretenses.  Thoughts can be spoken and explained if not understood without worry.  How glad I am to have a friend who likes to ride bicycles.  While I like solo rides upon occasion, it certainly is nice to have company.  Perhaps more so now than prior to being widowed.  

The miles pass so quickly, and while it seems we are making good time, I am particularly slow on hills so I hurry us along a bit at lunch and at our last store stop.  So long as I am not pushing the pace, my foot does not hurt, but it sure aches when I put weight on it.  By the end of the ride, my right leg is tired from taking over part of the left legs responsibilities and my rear is sore from not being able to stand while riding.  Oh, well, it is a setback, but a minor one.  I expect more as that is just the way of things.  Still, I having watched my husband struggle with pain for so long, I have a real fear and dread of getting pains that won't let up or leave.  I just am not as brave as he was.  

We get in about a half hour before dark, both of us glad that we chose not to waste the day.  I will go home and I will ice my foot and rest just accepting that it will probably be Christmas before I can resume my normal routines.  And I will try to appreciate what I can do and not bemoan what I can't.  Drinking the sunshine today will help.  And I will heal.  No cocoon for this girl, at least yet. How lucky I am. 

Medora: 2021

"Tradition, which is always old, is at 

the same time ever new because it is always

reviving born again in a new generation, to be lived

and applied in a new and particular way."

Thomas Merton

 

Medora, a century that has become a tradition despite the many changes since its inception umpteen years ago.  Because it is a tradition and because it is an easy century, I am expecting more than the traditional six that have been riding most of this years weekly century rides. Not that the same six riders have been riding.  But it just seems to be the average number of people who show.  And I am not disappointed.  Nineteen show.  Attendance is, I am certain, aided by the delightful weather prediction of low eighties and little wind.  Two of the riders, John Mahorney of Ridenfaden, and  Thomas Nance, of Ridenfaden and the Louisville Bicycle Club, ride to the ride start and ride home afterward for an approximate 150 mile day. 

When I originally put the Medora Century on, the town had a small store  with tables and a deli, a dairy bar, and a gas station.  There was no festival.  Now the stores are all gone, closed for various reasons like so many of the small country stores that fuel our rides, with a Dollar General Store rising from the ashes.  So now, rather than putting the ride on any time of the year, it is always on the calendar when Medora Goes Pink, a fund raising festival for cancer, the second Saturday in October.  Traditions modify to fit the times if they want to survive and eating is important on a century. Most of the fails or really painful centuries I have witnessed have been due to a rider not eating.  Indeed, on brevets, when I lost my appetite I knew I was in trouble. 

 

It also has become tradition to ask all riders to wear pink.  This year I have decorated my bike.  I have a pink rose bouquet attached to my handle bar bag and a cheap pink feather boa adorns the handlebar.  Many of the riders wear pink in some form, if only a bandana.  As I have told them, or teased them actually, "real men wear pink:-)"  Amelia is dressed with pink underwear with a back of some type of shimmery material.  In the past there have been bras, decorated and worn on the outside of jerseys.  Mike Crawford adorned a pink tutu one year.  Paul inevitably wears his pink 25,000 mile jersey (the one the club changed to a dreary gray later).  Many of us, myself included, are wearing the pink Tour de Mad Dog jersey designed by Steve Rice.  Almost everyone has at least  a hint of pink, if only a bandana. 

 

 

I decide to use the new route that I came up with when 39 was being repaved as riders seemed to like it better than the traditional route I designed.  Maybe this is because there are fewer climbs, particularly at the end when the few hills on  Kinderhook and Hebron Church can seem brutal, or maybe it is because we are on almost all country roads rather than the traditional state highways that have become busier over the years.  And the wind:  Medora can be brutal in the wind. It is essentially flat farmland for much of the route and there is no place to hide from the wind if she decides to slap you around a bit.  Even after all these years I remember sitting in Randy's eating lunch mid-winter with Grasshopper when the snow began, soft and dreamy but so dangerous for cyclists on road bikes.  The wind was also strong that day, blowing the flakes sideways.   It looked like a fairyland, but like all fairy tales had its dangers.  But today, while wind is predicted, it is not predicted to be a strong wind.  And it is way too warm for snow.

As seems usual, there is one rider unready to leave the parking lot when the ride starts.  As captain, I hang back until he is ready.  Despite his dropping his chain on the first climb, it is  not too long before we catch the others.  I am hoping that some people will ride slowly as I have not been riding much lately.  For awhile I was ill and then for awhile just tired.  Indeed, I thought I might have caught COVID, but both rapid and lab testing were negative.  But people are not riding slowly and I go with the flow hoping I will be able to maintain throughout the ride.  

I love the first of a ride, before the pace groups begin to form, when the brightness of the different jerseys stretch before me snaking down the road.  One can hear the chatter and laughter as riders catch up and share what is new in their lives.  But this never lasts long, and by the time we catch the riders some are ahead.  We do catch up in time to stop one group which veers off course heading the traditional direction.  Well, we really don't catch them, but we don't follow them and turn and they notice.  It does not take them long to rejoin the group.  I am thankful for this.  I am not in any shape to be trying to ride people down for wrong turns. 

The first store stop is the traditional one at Huck's in Austin.  Despite the fact we don't stop there often, they never seem surprised to see us.   We still are close enough together that everyone is at the store at the same time.  Those that arrived earlier than the rest, however, depart first.  I tease them about being in a hurry to go eat junk food at the festival.  As we pass through Austin I note that the festival they usually hold on the same day, the Fireman's Festival if I remember correctly, does not appear to be a go.  Pandemic or a change of dates?  I don't and probably won't know.  

I am riding primarily with Dee and Tony at this point in the ride.  They tell me that they always pick out something to look for on century rides.  They then guess how many they will find.  Whoever comes closest is the winner and the other person treats them to a snack following the ride.  Today's watch is for basketball goals.  They tease each other about counting incorrectly if it means they will lose in the way that close friends tease each other with no malice.  I enjoy hearing their banter and it helps miles pass.  They make me think of how many nice and interesting people I have met through riding a bicycle.

 

At one point, on 700, what seems like a million jeeps pass us.  I grin to myself at the irony of this for 700 has become busier than the state road would have been.  We assume they are heading for the festival which normally has a car show, but they turn on a side row that has a sign reading D.A.R.E. I later google DARE, but only see where it was a failed drug program of some type.  We never see the jeeps again.  There is a car show, but they are not part of it.  My curiosity is doomed to remain unassuaged.

 

I am surprised at how few farmers we see out harvesting on such a fine day.  A few trucks and harvesting machines pass, but very few.  Some of the fields have been harvested, but many have not.  I also am surprised at the lack of pumpkin fields.  Normally, year after year, I pass fields where pumpkins lie rotting. It always aroused my curiosity as to whether it was due to labor woes or there just were too many pumpkins.  I always chuckle at the freshly harvested soybean fields.  They remind me of a  man's stubble when he goes a day or two without shaving.  I notice that where there is green grass, the green is not quite so green as it seemed to be a week or so ago.  The tree leaves are beginning to brown at the edges and those trees that shed early are scattering their leaves along the roads we travel.   

Prior to arriving at the festival, we go through the covered bridge, stopping to take photos.  I think how thankful I am that the bridge was restored and that thus far nobody has had an urge to destroy it as has happened to other bridges.  I don't think I will ever understand the need to destroy things that are beautiful or historical.  And this bridge is both.  

At the festival, everyone is still  there.  Larry is kind enough to have brought his drone and is taking lots of footage that I know he will coalesce into some wonderful video.  Some have eaten.  Some are waiting in line.  John Fong and Fritz tell me they are averaging over 19 mph when I ask.  Being at the back, I don't know who else, if anyone, is riding with them at that pace.  While I would rather have the barbecue, the long line deters me and, as usual, I get the tenderloin.  As always, it is overcooked and enough to serve 2 people.  Normally I throw half of it away, but not today.  This is a mistake and I will fill overfull and sluggish all day long from my gluttony.  I take the time to tease Steve Rice about whether he is going to ride again in the barrel train as he and other riders did in the past.  Oh, how we laughed that day.  This year nobody leads the way, but the barrels are filled with smiling children, and that is satisfying to see.  There truly is nothing like the smiling eyes of a happy child. 

As with the first store stop, people leave in groups determined by arrival time and how long they had to wait in line to get something to eat.  It is when I leave with the last group that I (and others) notice that we will battle a head wind on the way back.  This explains our above normal average getting there.  One would think after all these years that my average would have given me a hint that there was a tail wind on the way out, but it did not.  Tami and Jon W. join our group for the ride home, or part of it.  I giggle to myself when Tami complains she is slow on hills because she is a strong rider.  Dee and Tony talk about how she just finished a very successful half-ironman and I don't doubt it. I ask Tami if the ratio of men to women at triathlons has ever become equal.  Just like this ride, with only four women, it has not, or so she says.  

At the third store stop, the lead group is long gone when I arrive.  It is starting to feel hot, and I am glad to arrive as my water bottles are empty, not normal for me.  But then I remember that I didn't drink at the lunch stop as I normally do so it makes sense.  Everyone heads out but Jon Wineland who is eating a sandwich. He tells me to go on and seems to mean it, so knowing this and how strong he is, I do.  I worry when it takes him awhile to catch back up, but he does catch up.

 Eventually I will drop back to hang with a rider that is struggling with the wind and another who is coming back from an injury.  Frankly, I am glad for the slower pace.  It gives me time to relish and savor this beautiful fall day, for I know what is following closely on fall's footsteps.  And everyone finishes.  Mark R. was worried about cramping, but I don't find him stranded along the road tied in knots.  What a treat it is to see  him riding a century again.  Nobody even seemed in any danger of not finishing, and that is good. I think about Medora for a bit and wonder who, if anyone, will lead it when I no longer ride centuries.  I hope it is not for many years, but I am aging.  I hope that someone carries on the tradition adding their own flavor to the journey.  

A Return to Gastof House in 2021

“Life should not be a journey to the grave 

with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty

 and well-preserved body, but rather 

to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke,

 thoroughly used up, totally worn out, 

 and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

Hunter S. Thompson 

 

Or in the words of Tennyson:

 

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

For ever and forever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains: but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were

For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire

To follow knowledge like a sinking star,

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

 

 

 

 I have put a back to back century overnight on the schedule.  I have done the course twice by myself:  once on a road bike (mistake but one I am glad I made) and once on my Surly Straggler (a much better choice particularly since the purchase of the Surly was inspired by the first journey).  When I put the route together, I was not sure what I would get into planning it with just maps.  But it worked, and not only worked but was beautiful with the majority of the roads low traffic and many heavily wooded.  Not the kind of woods you see along many roads where the trees are cut back from the roadside and there is no canopy overhead, but the kind that creep right next to the road and whose low hanging branches arch over the road creating texture and dapples that dance with the breeze on the road, shading you from the sun.  

 

That is if there is sun.  As it turns out, the first day is overcast and the sun turns his face away from us, ignoring us.  Anyway, despite the ride being on the schedule, there are only two others interested and in the end only one who actually rides with me:  Jon Wineland.  Even that is a surprise as when I put it on the schedule after having done my initial solo ride to scout the course,  nobody was interested.  I suppose I will never know what scares them off:  distance, course difficulty, the possibility of getting lost, gravel, carrying your gear, me....it remains and probably will always remain a mystery. 

 

I do worry about my physical fitness for the ride as is my wont.  I have not done any back to back centuries this year, and knobby tires and panniers weighted with belongings do make a difference, but I decide to give it a go.  After all, I am not getting any younger.  As I age, however,  I seem to find that many regrets seem to center more about what I didn't do (because of fear, because of money, etc.) rather than something I actually did.  Of course, there are regrets on both sides of the fence.  I think of a friend who wanted to ride at least part of the Continental Divide Trail and asked for my company.  We did not go.  Now we will never go and it is sad, not just for me but for him as well.  We both lost.  Still not sure what happened to the plan, but I think his wife objected.  If that was the case, good decision.  I have no desire to cause problems for anyone and family should come first.

 

In the end, I am not really afraid of not being able to complete the ride so much as how quickly I can complete it.  But I have warned Jon that I will be slow and he says he is fine with that.  How easy it is to talk ourselves out of effort:  we are too slow, too old, too out of shape, too fat, too busy, too whatever so long as it serves as an excuse we can use to justify not doing it.  And unfortunately, it often is a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Someone once said something to the effect of if you don't think you can do something, you can't.  As we age, the body begins to comply even more with our mind.  Or so it seems to me.  Anyone who has ridden a long and/or difficult brevet knows that in the end, there is as much or more mental preparation as there is physical.   Yes, there is the reality that we do age, and that one day our bodies won't allow us to do the things we do now no matter how avid our attempts to maintain them.  But most of us could stave that off a bit longer than we do.  Once again, the words of my friend Lynn Roberts come to mind:  "As you get older it just gets harder to be mean to  yourself."

We head out at first light unsure of the weather and knowing it is likely we will get wet.  The sunrise is spectacular.  We both notice it.  Jon stops before our first turn to take a photo.  Originally I intended to cancel if there were rain predictions, but by the time the date arrives I know that I won't.  Having just lost my sister a couple of days before following trip after trip to Ohio and back, I need this ride.  And I know Pam would want me to take the trip.  In a sense, she will be with me on this trip as she has always been:  in my heart.  Despite the loss being so recent, I smile at the thought of her excitement the first time I completed PBP in 2007.  I can still hear her staying in awe, "You did it."  The rest of my family, other than my husband, were unimpressed by my achievement.

The first of the ride is on familiar roads as the route leaves from my house.  I have only done one re-route and that is in Medora.  The gas station there has closed.  Originally I intended to stop in Leesville at the store there, however, looking on-line find that sometime during the pandemic it closed, so it is important to visit the Dollar General now in Medora for something to drink.  I have brought my homemade oatmeal walnut blueberry bars for the ride and Jon and I both indulge along with a trip, ready for new roads (for him) or less familiar roads (for me since I have traveled this way before).  I don't know if he really likes it, but he is kind enough to say he does even if he doesn't.

After the turn onto Brick Plant Road, the climbing  begins.  In the past I used my carradice, but this trip put on my panniers and they seem easier to climb with, but perhaps it is my imagination combined with weight shed since I retired.  Still, despite the steep grade, I really never have one moment when I wonder if I can make it.  Strange how it is easier to climb a difficult climb with company so long as you are not attempting to climb quickly. The question of being able to climb a certain hill will come later on a steep, gravel climb after Shoals where despite my knobby tires and trying to keep my weight toward the back of the bike, my wheel shifts and shimmies all over the road as rain drizzles gently on my head, the only diversion being the lovely sound of the rain whispering its secrets to the leaves on the trees that line the road.  

It seems but the blink of an eye when we reach Buddha.  I briefly mention to Jon my past speculations on why a town in the middle of Indiana would be named Buddha.  I told him that at one point I looked it up, but I could not remember the reason though I do remember that it is not pronounced the way Buddha is pronounced in the religion.  Another thing about aging.  My memory is not what it once was.  As I once heard someone say, "The hard drive is full and I'm working on disc space."

We arrive at Mitchell and despite the disparity in our riding abilities, it appears we are going to be good traveling companions.  Jon has brought his famous vegetarian spinach lasagna.  We find the gas station has a picnic table, purchase drinks, and sit down to a fine feast.  I tease him because normally I am a very fast eater, just gobbling food done, while he often lingers and actually chews his food.  But today, relaxed, I am the last to finish. We both feel there is an odor from the place, however, so we don't linger overly long.  Heading out, we are on the busiest road on the route.  But it is not for a long distance and soon we are back on lazy, isolated roads.  My only regret is that there is not time to ride some of the interesting roads that peel off to the sides of our route.  It just feels good to be on roads that I have not ridden enough to be familiar with.  And I am thankful for a GPS unit so that I don't have to depend upon a cue sheet.  

Somewhere either right before or after lunch, I pull over in the midst of a climb to take a photo, struck by the beauty around me.  As I begin to try to restart my climb, a car pulls alongside me, rolls down the window, and stop.  Without thinking, though their window is half rolled down, I say, "Damn it," as they are impeding my ability to start pedaling.  The woman smiles uncertainly and asks me for directions to French Lick.  Of course, I have no idea how to get there from here in the middle of nowhere and suggest using her phone and googling it not even thinking they have no service.  The man with her asks if I am okay and I say yes wondering if the delay combined with a hill will allow me ever to catch up with Jon.  But he is waiting at the top.  At least I think this was on the first day.  My failure to take notes and my failing memory means I know it happened, but I am not sure exactly when.

We hit our first gravel outside of Shoals and the worst gravel after leaving Shoals.  Don't get me wrong.  There is gravel that I truly enjoy riding on, but not thick, large gravel.  I had remembered that there was gravel after Shoals, but I did not remember it having such large rocks and the huge hill.  What I remembered was the shrine and the rock with spray paint on it.  And being tired, ready to reach my motel.  But then, when you ride alone you notice more or maybe different things than you notice with a companion.  It certainly is nice to have a companion to share things with along the route:  a thought, scenery, etc.  It is at this point in the ride that it begins to drizzle a bit.  It never truly rains, but it drizzles enough that we are damp.  We both have rain jackets, but it is warm enough that neither of us chooses to don them.  I take the time to enjoy the sound of the rain dancing in the tree tops and pattering on my helmet.  I am thankful it is not a downpour but one of those light rains that can actually be pleasant at times. We both end up walking a good part of the hill.  I am fine with that, more used to it than Jon who is so strong on climbs.

As we near the end of the first day, I find that the long, gravel road from the past, the one where I saw so many Amish residents but had to wear a bandana to shield myself from the dust has now been paved.    It is both a relief and a disappointment.  I also briefly confuses me.  Every time I have ridden this route, a road that was once gravel is now paved.  But it also means we get to the motel more quickly, and I am ravenous.  We pull into the Gastof Amish Inn only to find a large group congregated outside the entrance.  Luckily for us, they are already checked in because as I wait for what seems an eternity for the receptionist to finish a phone call, I begin to chill a bit from being damp and standing still.   Jon and I share room numbers and a plan  to text so that we can have dinner together after showering.   

We meet and walk to the restaurant only to find there is a long line.  We ask the receptionist if she thinks it will be less crowded if we wait an hour and return.  She obviously has no idea, so we decide to wait.  Or perhaps I decide to wait and Jon follows suit as I am ravenous.  While much of the food is decidedly unhealthy (think fried chicken), the buffet is a delight to the eyes and the tummy.  It is nice to have company at dinner as well.  My eyes, however, eat more than my tummy and I do waste a bit of food, something I don't like to do.  We leave the restaurant after again standing in a long line to pay.  My only complaint would be that the woman handling the receipts had a cash register and could have jumped in and helped but chose not to.  Or perhaps she is not supposed to do that.  Regardless, it is as long of a wait getting out as it was getting in.  The food, however, was delicious and I suppose, if I had it to do again, I would wait again.

Jon says he has brought some wine and invites me to share a glass with him in one of the many gazebos about the grounds.  On our way there, after returning from the dinner, we come upon a rather raucous group that is obviously having a wonderful time.  They are playing some game and there are three men hiding right outside the side door, one wearing a hat that has two beer cans attached to the side like ears.  We do determine that each of the men is representative of someone well known, but never figure out the game.   Still, I enjoy the bursts of laughter from the group that float in the air occasionally until their gathering ends.  How pleasant it is to have people we can share a giggle or a smile with.  How fortunate to have family and friends with whom to forge shared memories.  And here sit Jon and I, forging a memory of our own, the sweetness of wine mixed with the night sounds and the comfort of a hard ride behind us and another to look forward to.....well, it doesn't get much better than that.

In the morning, we meet for breakfast and a rather late start that will haunt me a bit later in the ride as evening draws  near and there are still miles to traverse.   I had slapped an emergency light on my bike, but it is not the kind of light to do much night riding with.  There is no doubt that in a downhill I would outrun the light and be riding blind. The breakfast is much better than when I have stayed there in the past with a large selection of foods.  We both pack some of the homemade bread and apple butter to take with us on our journey.  As we are getting ready to leave the morning room, I say something about the current division in this country and one man joins our conversation saying that there surely is.  Wisely, neither of us ask the other's political beliefs though I must admit to curiosity.  

On my way to check out I am interviewed by an elderly couple in the elevator who want to know a bit about our journey.  They are surprised at the distance we are going.   Jon is interviewed by the desk clerk, and we smile a bit at people's curiosity.  Since we end up getting lost, I also will be surprised at the distance later in the day;-)  I check out and take my bike outside awaiting Jon who has not yet come down or checked out.  I load the new, untried course into my GPS thinking that the worst that can happen is we run into some gravel difficult to ride.  Hah!  Adventure and new sights await, always a treat on a ride so long as they don't involve a fall, injury, illness, or some other bad thing.

When I rerouted today's ride, I did not reroute until after Brooks Bridge because I so enjoy it.  Yes, it is covered with graffiti.  Yes, you must ride gravel to get there.  Yes it is old.  All part of the charm.  It also is one of the few bridges over the White river in this area.  I also find I am enjoying having knobby tires that allow me to ride faster and descend faster than Jon while on gravel.  It reminds me of being Scott Kuchenbrod in a time trial.  Yes, it was because he got lost.  But the fact remains that my time was faster.  I tease Jon about this relentlessly.  Toward the end of the gravel part of our ride, he is obviously getting faster on the gravel so my bragging is probably short lived.  

 

Brooks Bridge is at the end of a gravel road, and we fail to see the ghost that allegedly haunts it.  I do tell Jon  that it seems to me I remember Duc Do saying there was something I should see near here that I missed but I can't remember.  He texts Duc asking if he remembers.  I am a bit surprised he has cell service here, but he does. We ride on unsure when or even if we will get a reply. 

 

After crossing the bridge, the road turns to pavement for a long climb that never gets steep but still challenges already tired legs.  It always surprises me how my legs protest the first few miles when I ride long brevets or back to back, but later give in and don't cause too much problem other  than protesting on climbs.  At the top of the climb, I see a couple of cows in the yard of a brick home.  At first, I think they have put statues there for there obviously is no fence.  Then I see movement and  more cows until there is an entire herd of cattle.  A man comes driving up and slows.  I ask him if he knows who to contact about the cows being out and it turns out he is there to try to get them back to their pasture.  His friend arrives in a mule shortly after.  He jokingly offers to sell us the cattle.  I tease Jon about tying a cow the back of his bicycle and try to remember if it is a cow that the boy sold for beans in "Jack and the Beanstalk." We ride on.  Jon notices a street sign to our left that says Hindostan Falls and asks me about it.  I tell him I don't know but ask if he wants to go down the road and see what we find.  We do and find some waterfalls that cross the White River.  Ironically, after our trip down that road, Duc later texts about the falls.  We climb back up from the falls to our route and at the top the man with the cows stops to tell us the cows are in.  He then reveals that when he saw our tire tracks off the bridge he thought they were Amish buggy wheel tracks.  He asks about our journey and then drives on wishing us safe travels. Like most people we encounter, he is surprised at the distance we are traveling and probably wonders about whether we are quite right mentally.  I also wonder that occasionally so can't blame him for any speculations he might have.

We arrive shortly thereafter in Shoals and stop at the Jay C there getting some milk to have with our Amish home baked bread and apple butter.  We sit on a bench outside the store and indulge.  It is delicious.  As we leave, we come across one of the large row crop tractors that Jon always asks if we could ride under.  There are a number of them sitting there and we determine that  yes, one could ride under, but it would be much easier at my five foot two than at Jon's six foot two.  Still, I would not recommend trying it while the tractor is moving.  These are the tractors that I usually dismount and step off the road for and allow them to pass before resuming my travels. 

 

We hit some lovely pavement ( and it is along this stretch where we get lost the first time).  Chicken Farm Road.  I see a bungee cord lying there in the road, apparently waiting to be claimed.  For those that have never ridden with Jon, Jon always finds a plethora of tools alongside the road.  I rarely notice such things, so I am gleeful that I spotted it before he did and can't help but brag a bit.  I get off my bike and attempt to pick it up only to find it is embedded so deeply in the tar that removal is impossible.  Thus, my small victory is dashed.  The joke is upon me.  I giggle. This nicely paved road also turns out to be a loop around Shoals.  The arrows on my GPS disappear without my noticing for awhile and we are lost. We both smile as "The Blair Witch Project" comes up in conversation.  

 

We consult our maps and get back  on our way following a main road out of Shoals hoping to get back on course.  We decide to cut through Martin State Forest and hit miles of gravel.  Neither of us has been here before. As it turns out, the reroute I did included a gravel road in the forestry, and the arrows appear back on my GPS as we ride.  Neither of us have been to this forest before.  It is lush and green and we see nobody on the roads.  We stop to see if the office is open, but it is closed on week-ends.  The entire Forest appears to be deserted.   Because I have knobby tires and am on my Surly, I have a huge advantage over Jon who is on his road bike.  But he never complains and never loses his good humor, something I appreciate. Some people get very upset if a ride goes off script or if the unexpected is encountered.  But Jon does not appear to be one of those people. 

At the end of the forest, we turn for awhile on paved roads and it seems like only a short hop to the lunch stop at Orleans.  Outside of Orleans, Jon's cue sheet diverges from my GPS file and we decide to follow the cue sheet.  Luckily we punt or we would have bypassed Orleans and I am in need of fuel. We arrive only to find we are fifteen minutes too late for pizza.  We ride to the other restaurant in town only to find it closed even earlier in the day.  So we end up at a picnic table at the gas station eating gas station food, something both of us are familiar with:  we have both done hours of curb side dining during our years on the bike.  I am starting to get fairly tired and look forward to the flatter section between Orleans and our next stop, Salem.  I find, however, that my reroute has not only taken out much of this flatness, but has added gravel.  Once again we have a few miles  of gravel to ride on roads new to both of us.

When we reach Salem, I am ready for the adventure to end.  A shower and bed sound so enticing.  I am tired and getting a bit cranky.  I decide to  modify the route a bit to cut off two hills.  I later regret this decision and probably would not have made it if I adequately remembered how I had routed us in.  Regardless, this is what we do and we end the ride an hour or so before dark.  Despite being tired,  or perhaps despite is not a good choice of words because tiredness is part of what makes the journey enjoyable, I am so glad that the ride worked out and that we rode, the we did not "rust unburnished," but "shined with use."  Oh, how I love bicycles.  Oh, how I appreciate friends that do as well. 

 

 

Hardinsburg: Century of the Week

"The longer I live the

more beautiful life becomes."

Frank Lloyd Wright

 

Today's century is the Hardinsburg Century, one of if not  my favorite of all my route creations.  When I originally put this route together, my intent was to have Hardinsburg at the half way point and eat there, but when I arrived I found that  not only would I have to add miles to have lunch there for it would be too early in the ride, but that there was no place to eat or even to get a drink.  There was an old Dairy Bar still open, but it was so filthy that even the thought of consuming something that came out of that building turned my stomach.  And so I rode on and the lunch stop became Livonia.  Today Hardinsburg has a rather nice gas station and what looks to be a clean, quaint restaurant.  Things change.

 

When I first reached Livonia, there was a gas station that appeared old enough to serve the first automobile and Little Twirl, an ice cream shop.  Not too many trips afterward, when I arrived the gas station was closed never to be re-opened.  Then Little Twirl was joined by a Mennonite Store that served sandwiches made from manna.  It, however, closed right before or at the start of the Pandemic.  Little Twirl remains though it is no longer open year round as it was when I first saw this town on my bicycle. 

 

I wonder who, if anyone, will show to ride today.   It turns out to be a rather small but pleasant  crowd:  Jon Wineland, Larry Preble, and Dave King.   Dave is running late and says to start without him despite my offer of waiting and so we do.  He catches us at the first store stop.  It is good to see him.  Dave and I have so many memories together, have traveled so many miles together over the years, that even though we are not really close in some ways, it is almost like being with family. 

 

The store in this town also has changed from when I first began riding here.  The original gas station closed when this one opened.  Dave reminds me that there was an old grocery store where the current gas station store stop is now located.  I had forgotten this but remember now and how when I was working I saw it had caved in shortly after the store closed. 

This route has a nice mix of farm land and forested areas.  Despite the drought, everything is green.  Corn is tassled and ears appear to be abundant.  I feel blessed to live in a country that has the ability to produce such crops.  Occasionally we pass family gardens and I think how I miss gardening, not enough to pick it back up at this point.  Maybe I miss the shared  labor.  There is something about sharing a chore that I almost always treasured.   Until the last few years, it was something that Lloyd and I shared together.  I think I have always appreciated the bucolic scenery on this route, but I do find that as I get older the scenery and life itself becomes more beautiful, more precious.  Perhaps this is because it also becomes more finite, this realization honed to a finer point by the growing list of loss that is part of life.  Whatever the reason, despite the fact I notice less while riding in company than I do on solitary excursions, today I am aware enough to soak it in.  I wish I could discuss with Mr. Wright his thoughts as to why, but obviously that is not going to happen, at least in this life.

How precious it is to have company on the ride.  How lucky we riders are to have the health that we do.  And yes, while we can attribute some of it to our own efforts, some is genetic and just the luck of the draw.  And how blessed we are to have these lightly traveled roads that are bordered by trees and fields bursting with bounty and the freedom and time to explore them.  

The road we take from Hardinsburg to Little Twirl brings back memories of many winter centuries for it always seems a rather hard road to me for some reason.  A ride with Steve Sexton comes into my mind, the wind raging, the others ahead of the two of us as our legs challenged the hills and the wind and the cold.  Today the road is not so challenging eased along by company and the lack of cold.  Indeed, today the humidity is the enemy.  It is eased by the wind and the cooler temperatures, but I do notice some rubbing in my shorts from constant dampness and know I will suffer a somewhat sore bottom this evening, something very unusual for me.  

At lunch we sit outside and meet an interesting woman and her partner.  She has two herding dogs that are exceptionally well behaved.  We chat a bit about dogs on rides and horses on rides as she also is an equestrian. It is refreshing to hear a dog owner express the opinion that it is the owners fault if dogs pursue riders in the road. This is my second trip to Little Twirl this year and yet again someone (Larry) buys my lunch and I think how fortunate I am to have such friends and how my riding friendship circle has expanded far from what it once was.  

 

The second half of the ride is challenging to legs that are already tired.  The pace is slower than what we have been riding during recent centuries, but there are more hills.  And my legs ache and complain at what is being asked of them.   If I were alone, I would ease my pace, but since I am the weak link in this group of riders I push myself a bit  knowing I will be a tired woman at the end of the ride.  

 

At the Red Barn, there is a group of men, including Amos, sitting outside.  They laugh when I say something about being a woman and getting chocolate telling me his candy bars are expired.  Of course, with aging eyes I can't read the fine print without the readers I don't carry on rides, so I buy the candy bar anyway and later find it was not expired.  They tease Amos about it.  

 

It is good knowing the worst of the climbs are over after the Red Barn, but still I know there are rollers ahead:  lots of rollers.  Larry and Jon ride ahead, but Dave hangs back with me until Little York when Jon hangs back and Larry and Dave ride ahead.  A ride which has been challenging for me has been easy for them, even Dave who says he is not in century shape.  But still they allow me to ride with them, and that in itself is precious and meaningful.  And it is over leaving me tired and longing for a  nice soak and treatment for some raw skin, but still life is beautiful and I feel certain my dreams will be filled with the green bounty of August and the warmth of friendship and bicycles, always and forever, bicycles.  

 

 

Virgin Century: Century of the Week

"The time you enjoy wasting

is not wasted time."

Bertrand Russell 

 

As is usual in Indiana for August, the prediction today is for very hot weather.  Hot weather or very cold weather always causes me concern when I lead a ride.  I don't normally have trouble in the heat if I am conservative about my pace and the course is not overly demanding, but still there have been times when I have finished a  hot ride with every cell of my being screaming loudly for liquid, preferably ice cold liquid, and I feel as if I might burst into flame at any moment. Where cramps torture me that evening while I lay in bed or relax on the couch and move my legs a certain way.  But that is not my norm and  that is me.  I worry more for those that show for the ride because they somehow feel to be my responsibility, as if they were not adults capable of making their own decisions. And I have nursed many a rider through a hot ride when they were having trouble. And I remember a couple of rides not captained by me with a rider, the same rider, prostrate on the ground while others threw water on him and tried to cool him.   But it always concerns me and interests me.  Why do some people adapt easily while others struggle to adapt?  Genetics?  Fitness level?  On a ride earlier this year, I learned that Garmin actually has something that supposedly tells you what percentage of heat adaptation you have.  Color me skeptical.  But perhaps it does work.

After last week's fast (for these old bones) ride, I find I really don't mind if people show this week or not.  I just want to ride.  Company will be nice if it happens, but riding alone at my own pace is equally enticing.  I tend to notice more of what I see alone, to think more.  As always, I remain quite flummoxed by how much I can miss while riding with others.  I know many others don't understand this.  They tell me they can't imagine riding a century alone, that it would be torture for them.  And of course, there are gains riding with company, but there are also losses.  Always the balancing act. With fall and winter coming and the Pandemic stealthily drawing in her net, I suspect there will be more alone time than I desire so I have actively sought company in anticipation.

 

 I have not ridden the Virgin Century for years now.  I did not design the course and it requires that I drive to the start.  It has its moments, but there is a bit too much farmland unmixed with variety for my tastes.  A few too many busy roads however short the time spent on them.  But still I like to see the course preserved.    There certainly are courses ridden more frequently that lack the charm of the Virgin, centuries like the Surbane and the Urbane, rides some people adore but I detest due to the heavy traffic and car fumes and traffic lights.  I particularly detest these rides in the spring when earth throws off winter's shackles and is awakening and there is birth and color throughout the countryside.  Despite my intense dislike of these courses, sometimes I ride them because of the TMD competition.   It seems that spring is when so many want to ride through the city and it just seems such a waste of bicycle time during months that seem to be made for cycling.  I suppose there is a beauty there that eludes me or it is because the courses are essentially flat with lots of rest time at traffic lights.  Regardless, I think I shall always prefer light traffic, scenic country rides.  If that means hills and a bit more effort, so be it. I long ago gave up trying to understand why people prefer heavy traffic, the scent of exhaust,  and lack of scenery.

 

As I understand it, originally the Virgin Century was put together for first time century riders and there is no denying that it is an easier, relatively fast course  compared to most centuries that we ride.  Alan Darby and Ellen M. normally captained this ride, but I believe that Paul told me he thought Mike Pitt put the course together.   As far as I know, Alan and Ellen  no longer ride and have not for a few years. Mike "Sparky" Pitt has not ridden with the club for years.   I knew none of them well, but still feel a twinge of regret at their loss.  I knew Sparky better than the others, and always appreciated his wit and how he could make me laugh until my stomach hurt.   As Bob recently pointed out to me:  most of the people we ride with are riding friends  only.  They are not people you go shopping with or play cards with.  Once they quit cycling, you lose touch.  I concur and add that they also don't seem to ride distance more than a few years.  I remember Bill Pustow once telling me that most people don't ride distance for more than two years, or I think that was the amount of time he gave them.  Was it him that figured that out or a study he came upon?  It seems true regardless of whether it is or not.

 

Despite the first of the course being relatively flat,  there is a long, demanding climb on what has become a much busier road than when the ride was originally put together and the end of the century is more difficult from the first half of the ride. I remember hurting on that climb one time, legs aching, mentally wrestling with the desire to quit.

 

All this riding....is it a waste of time that should be spent doing other things?  Many people think so. And it is a question I have asked myself numerous times, particularly on long brevets or difficult rides, the ones where you promise God and yourself that if he'll just get you to the end you will NEVER mount a bicycle again all the while knowing that you are lying and hoping God really does have a sense of humor because he also knows you are lying.  Similar in some ways to giving birth. As I labored to bring my daughter into the world, I vowed to remain forever celibate.  But later I had a son, and if my husband had concurred, would have liked to have had another.  In the end,  I suppose,  most things are a waste of time if you come right down to it.  Few of us ever really accomplish anything truly significant.  At least cycling contributes to physical fitness.  And I can think of worse ways to waste my time.  Is it a waste if we gain from it physically and or emotionally?  Russell is probably right.

 

  Distance cycling certainly is not normal, particularly for a woman.  For the majority of the centuries this year I have been the only woman on the rides.  But for some reason I love the rides, the roads, the adventure that  possibly awaits. I love the kindness of the men that are stronger but still  allow me to tag along and don't scorn my weakness.  Still, sometimes I wonder about myself and this passion.  Maybe it is  the possibility that draws me.   Maybe the memories many rides evoke. Maybe a longing for what might be just around the corner?  The adventure, the lure, the tinge of danger.  I just know that even a hard ride leaves me feeling a sense of satisfaction.   Over all the miles on the road, there have been only a handful of times when I was  not glad that I rode even when I had to push myself out the door. 

Five others show for the ride:  Tom "Ambassador" Askew, Jon Wineland, Mike "Diesel" Kammenish, Jeff Schrade, and Jeff's son, Jonathan Schrade.  Jeff and Jonathan are doing their first century of the year.  I don't know them so I have no idea what type of riders they may be.  Jon tells me his longest ride this year is 40 miles, but he is young, 18 I believe, and at 18 you can get by with more than you can at 65.   Amazingly, Jon W., the other Jon,  rode a century Friday and Saturday so today will be his third of the hot, humid week. I rode only a short portion of the Friday ride and was glad to rest yesterday.   Everyone is in a good mood and ready to roll and we leave out about five minutes after the start time.  

Almost immediately we break into groups.  As expected Diesel, Jon W., and Ambassador lead the way while Jeff, Jon, and I proceed at a much more reasonable pace.  The sun is shining and it is not yet hot and the miles pass quickly.  I have put on the description that I will sweep down to 13 mph, but we are averaging over 16 at the first store stop.  I can tell, however, that the pace is wearying for them and tell them I am more than happy to sweep at a lower pace down to 13, but I won't sweep at 13 unless someone needs me to.  They assure me they are fine with the pace and that I can go ahead, but I could not keep the pace of the front group even if I wanted to.  And we don't keep our 16 average.  At the end we are somewhere in the low 15's, still a respectable pace for the weather.

While the groups are separate, we tend to regroup at each store stop.  The problem comes at lunch.  When we arrive at the designated lunch stop, it is no longer in business.  I am not sure whether to turn around to the new location or proceed. Before the ride started I had mentioned the possibility of eating on the town square at the coffee shop.  As Jeff, Jonathan, and I head that way, Jon rolls out of the parking lot of Save-A-Lot to join us.  We find the others already at the coffee shop though they don't remember my mentioning it in my pre-ride speech.  It is definitely a step upwards food-wise from Subway and if I ever put this route on again, it will be the official stop.  Four of us eat outside and two inside.  Everyone agrees it is a better choice.  Nobody is pissed off that I did not check to ensure the old lunch stop is open.  I love it when riders roll with this punches.  This lunch stop also is close to the 60 mile mark, my favorite distance for lunch during a century.  

 

Despite the heat, everyone finishes strongly and gathers just a bit at the end before heading off home in different directions.  The long climb up 160 following the third store stop is not as onerous or as heavily trafficked as I remember though there are, indeed, more cars than I like.  The descent down Pixley is amazing and brings back memories of climbing it regularly as part of my training for the Virginia 1000K.  I  much prefer going down;-)  At one point, grass is tall and I notice deer.  You can't see them unless they are moving.  When they bound, you see the head and butt, then nothing.  I am never able to see exactly how many.

 

And another century is in the books.  And I have enjoyed myself whether the time be considered wasted or not.  Mostly I am glad that everyone seemed to have a good time and arrived in the parking lot safely. 

Century of the Week: Orleans: The Back Door

"We're all traveling through time together,

every day of our lives.  All we can do is do

our best to relish this remarkable ride."

Domhnall Gleeson

At the last minute I have to change the date of the century from Saturday to Sunday. This combined with a number of club members doing an out of town ride leads me to expect a small group, possibly no group.  And I am right:  only two arrive to ride. Jon Wineland and Mike "Diesel Dog" Kammenish are the two.  Expecting that those who did come to ride, if any,  would be stronger than I am, I had already decided to ride the Cannondale for I am much faster on it than I am on the Lynskey though not nearly so comfortable.  I don't understand the physics behind this.  I just know that it seems to be true.  I also recognize that despite my riding the Cannondale it will still be a slow pace for them, but perhaps not so wearisome as it might otherwise be.  Jon, particularly, with riding a century and running the day before might even be content with the slower pace.

The weather is unusually cool for this time of year and there is wall to wall sunshine, something that has been in short supply this summer.  It is delicious to roll out into the coolness. Queen Anne's Lace lines the hedgerow along with some purple Chicory and white Sweet Clover.  There are a few Black Eyed Susan's, but they are mostly gone, whisked away by July. What is left whispers of their former beauty and glory. Dew covers everything in the early morning, thick and nourishing and adding a beauty to the already gorgeous scenery.  I know it is very temporary, and perhaps that makes me appreciate it even more than I might otherwise.   I soak it in.  With winter coming and the Pandemic once more taking hold of the world, I know these days, like the dew and most things,  are limited.  I need this reminder of the beauty in the world, of friendship, for yesterday I was with my sister in Hospice, a living reminder of change and loss and the shortness of life.  I hope this ride will help me shake some of the anger over the unfairness of it.  Crippled in her twenties and now this.  Life just isn't fair.

The first of this ride has a couple of climbs that test the legs a bit:  Liberty Knob and the ironically named Flatwood.  But I love both of these roads.  There is brief, sporadic chatter and there is silence, silence that makes me remember the miles I have spent with each of the other riders.  Memory after memory of the years Diesel and I have ridden together flood my brain.  Diesel was the first person to talk to me on a club ride. I see him at the Back to School century in Seymour, along with Chris Quirey, as we pace lined and worried about the hill they promised us.  I grin thinking of how we kept waiting for the hill and realized we had climbed it without realizing it was the grand hill the organizers had talked about.  I see him on the Short Frankfort Century, allowing me to suck his wheel as we fought the winds from Hurricane Ike, signs blowing to the ground, loose gravel and sand blasting our skin until it it hurt.  I remember finally reaching a pop machine and being so grateful as  I could not let  go of the handlebars to drink due to the wind and how, as I opened it facing the wrong direction, the wind drew the precious liquid up and out of the can without it reaching my lips.  

I remember Jon and I and our picnic at Hardy Lake when we were first becoming friends.  I remember our later ride where we hit gravel and came upon a cow who had just given birth, placenta still hanging and visible, and how precious it was watching the newborn calf learn to stand.  How it knew instantly where Mom kept the milk.  And I am warm from that day.

We take a brief wrong turn that will add a mile onto the ride, but nobody complains and we are at the first store stop before you know it.  A car pulls in with the radio playing so loudly that it is an assault on the ears even from a distance.  As we look in, there is a woman and child, upper bodies dancing in time with the music, obviously entranced and enjoying themselves, and hearing the music scream, "Screw you."  I think of  how things have changed.  My mother would have put her foot down on music with those lyrics, or perhaps not.  The questionable lyrics of a couple of Beatles songs float through my brain.  All of us grin at  her antics.  I expect her to be  young, but when she gets out of the car she is not so young and appears to be toothless. I think how I love the different things I see on rides.  How odd each of us is.  I feel quite certain that she would believe anyone riding over a hundred miles on a bicycle is quite on the edge of sanity.  It is always the other person's existence that seems rather peculiar to us, locked in our own view of reality and right and wrong.

As we leave Shorts Corner to take Daisy Lane, I am glad.  Shorts Corner is more demanding than Daisy Lane and Martinsburg Roads are.  It is easier to keep up on flats than on hills.  I have grown noticeably weaker on the hills over the years.  But I suppose that is also true of the flats.  Later today, I will be impressed with my 16.1 finishing average, but it has not been so long ago that every century of the Century Challenge, a five century back to back event, was over 16 each day. I quite enjoy being at the top of the rise and the view that stretches before me like a canvas of colors.  Everything still lush and green despite the start of what looks to be a dry spell.  How lucky  I am to have the health to be here and to have friends to share it with.  

My GPS has been giving me some issues, but finally decides to behave itself and I am glad to have arrows as I am less familiar with the route once we leave Salem.  Orleans is late in the ride and lunch is not until about 60 miles.  At lunch Diesel talks of a bad fall he had breaking five ribs and other bones.  I realize I was not aware of it and I think how easily we loose touch.  Not good when there are so few of us left that ride. 

I think of how important it is to keep making new riding friends because so many drift off either having health problems or finding other interests or doing shorter rides.  I have made so many friendships through bicycling, friends that I treasure.  And while I know the day will come when I cannot ride anymore, I also know that unless it is due to sudden death, I will miss these miles, these friends, the hills, the grass, even the wind that I curse as it slaps me in the face and impedes my progress making a difficult journey even more challenging. 

After lunch the head wind we have been fighting becomes a tailwind and there is a long flat stretch that allows us to fly. Since it is a small group and we have space, I drop into my aerobars which seems to help me go even faster, perhaps because the bike fit was done anticipating being in the aerobars.  It seems no time before we hit Salem and the last store stop.  

And then we finish.  Diesel says he feels good and adds a few more miles to an already long ride.  I long for a chair and water.  I realize I have not drank nearly enough on this ride, a common fault of mine.  Despite the cooler weather, Jon registered 86 at one point and not counting the store stops, I have not drained one water bottle.  I resolve to do better next time.  And I appreciate the fact that in all likelihood, there WILL be a next time.  There is something healing about being on a bicycle.  There is something healing about the laughter on group rides or even just the silent companionship with each knowing the other truly loves what they are doing.  Doing my best to "enjoy this remarkable ride."  Ride safe and ride happy.