Well the road rolls out like a welcome mat,
to a better place than the one we're at...."
Chris Stapleton
This song caught me with the first line......how true it feels on a bicycle when the last of the winter days speak of spring with a kiss of unseasonable warmth and the road is so welcoming, teasing of adventure. And today is such a day. How welcome it is to be on a bike.
The day begins shrouded in grayness that could speak of winter, but it lacks that cold shrillness that often haunts winter days, perhaps because the wind is mild: enough that you know it is there, but not strong enough to leave you cursing and despairing. Additionally, I know that the skies are predicted to clear before growing heavy with clouds again and issuing in rain, and the thought of sun is joyful. From what the weathermen say, lots of rain. Three of us roll out of Bicentennial Park in Madison toward Pleasant. Almost immediately, Ken notices a brake rub. He stops and it is a quick and easy fix, but bicycle problems will haunt him throughout the day afterward ushered in with a flat.
Rural Indiana has had snow this year, something we were spared the past couple of years, and cinders are thick on the road. If you have ridden much in cinders, flats are expected, not a surprise. The surprise of the day is that Ken not only has but one flat, but also is the only one who has a flat. When we first take off, I attempt to use my glove to clear the cinders after riding through a particularly heavy spot, but the roads are wet from the prior evenings rain and it is too cold to have water soaked gloves so I just accept my fate. If I flat, I flat and will fix it. There are worse things. The other curse of cinders is that they easily can cause a wheel skid that results in a loss of control and a crash. Between luck and easing down descents that we would otherwise let loose on, all of us avoid this unpleasantness.
When Ken has his flat, he is never again able to get his back wheel exactly right and there is an audible sound when the tire turns. He has tried loosening the brakes, re-seating the tire, and other tricks to no avail. Yet he never complains despite the fact that it must take lots of additional effort, and while this is not the hilliest ride I have ever completed, it is not the flattest either. As I later tell him, I would have milked it for all it is worth. I don't know him well, but it says a lot about his character that he does not.
I shed my jacket after the first climb and then chill as the sweat dries, but once the wind has dried my wool jersey and base layer, I am comfortable. I smile inwardly knowing that I have hot soup on my bike for my lunch. Hiking with a thermos of coffee this winter has taught me how fortifying a hot beverage can be when there is chill in the air. The trick was getting my thermos to fit my bottle cage. I accomplished this by taping newspaper around the outside. The other trick was getting the vegetables inside the narrow stem. This morning while preparing I decided that next time I will bring a soup that does not present this issue. The guys tease me about the soup until after we stop in Pleasant for lunch. It is a friendly teasing, that kind that has no malice or meanness in it, so it makes me smile. For just a moment I think about life when I used to eat inside restaurants or stores. It seems a lifetime ago.
The climbing feels wonderful though I obviously am not cycling fit. The skies clear and we have some time with a wonderfully blue sky. Again and again I delight at how magnificient it feels to be outside and on a bicycle, particularly on the lovely roads that Jon has chosen and with people. How I have missed people in my isolation. Often there are creeks, gurgling and shining, at the side of the road. At one point I wonder what it will look like here when the spring wildflowers arrive. It must be soon. My early flowering daffodils are pressing up through the ground at home, promising me beauty and color.
The ride seems to end all too quickly, but 45 miles is really the perfect distance for my current fitness level. I tell Jon I want to ride Telegraph Hill, just not today. I think he is, perhaps, disappointed, but my legs are feeling the climbs we have done. I end knowing I could have ridden farther, feeling as if I got a workout without feeling absolutely exhausted. Ken split off for home prior to the last descent, so the ride ends just Jon and I and after putting up our bikes, we walk up to Main Street to find drinks: coffee for him and hot chocolate for me. But the road will call again soon, shouting its welcome. Of that I have no doubt.
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