The Christy Century

"A great wind is blowing,

and that gives you either imagination

or a headache."

Catherine the Great 

My heart sinks as the date for my century approaches and the prediction for wind increases and the prediction for temperature decreases.  Steady winds of fifteen miles per hour with gusts up to possibly fifty.  Temperatures to decrease throughout the day until the wind chill is thirty eight degrees.  The day before was lovely. Light winds and low seventies.  The day after is predicted to be nice.  But not the day I have the ride scheduled. And my imagination is giving me a headache as I imagine myself buffeted by winds until all my strength has ebbed and left me stripped bare, humbled by weakness, embarrassed in front of friends who are stronger than me.

 

 A part of me longs to do the easy thing, to cancel the ride.  As I recently told  a friend, I fear I have become a weather wienie.   A part of me wonders if even the few who said they would show will change their minds.  A part of me wonders if I will be capable of completing the ride in these conditions.  It is only my second century of the year and I am not as young or as strong as I once was.  But a part of me remembers that it is the challenging rides that bring the most rewards, that there is a satisfaction in finishing a difficult ride that does not come with an easier ride.  That the hard rides play their role in making for future rides.  "But nobody wins afraid of losing, and the hard roads are the ones worth choosing, someday we'll look back and smile, and hope it was worth every mile." (Chris Stapleton) 

 

And so I center my imagination on a successful if difficult ride to win over a headache.   The only way I know to delay the coming of a time when I no longer can ride the distance and fight the wind is to fight the battle for as long as I can.  Strength ebbs quickly, more quickly with age than with youth, when unused. And it becomes much harder to regain that which has been lost. The battle is mental as well as physical, and sometimes it is harder to win than others.  But for today, will triumphs.

Five others show for the ride:  Jon Wineland, Larry  Prebble, Mike Kamenish, Thomas Nance, and David King.  All are strong riders.  All are capable of exceeding my pace and dropping me with little effort.  At the ride start I tell them that I am fine with their going ahead and that I don't expect them to hang back at my pace, but they don't listen well and we start off as a group toward Commiskey, then Vernon, and lastly Crothersville.  The wind is from the North West and our journey stretches to the North East.  There will be times of respite  with a tail wind, times of crosswinds, and times of head winds.  The fact that the route zig zags favors us for it gives us breaks, but the first time we head full face-ward into the wind doubt enters my mind.  The wind is incredibly strong emphasizing what it can do to a puny mortal.  I am pedaling with all my strength to maintain a bit over 9 miles per hour.  But I remind myself that it blows not just on me, but the rest of the group and I was the one who did not cancel.  

At least for part of the ride there is sunshine.  With the daffodils dancing, it is hard not to notice the beauty of the season even in the midst of adversity.  Spring is so long anticipated and so short lived after gracing us with her presence.  Larry has asked that we stop at certain intervals so that he can send up his drone, and the group willingly complies.  Despite knowing that it adds a bit to the time of what we all know will be a long day, it also adds an additional short breath to allow muscles to recover before once  more straining against the wind.  It seems it is rarely a tail wind and more often a cross or head wind, but I remind myself it always seems this way.  Additionally,  Larry is quite the artist with his videos and photos and I think most if not all enjoy watching them.   As we ride along, I notice that the creeks are swollen and the water is encompassing tree stumps.  This worries me as one time there was a flooded road on this route that I had not expected.  I did not think we had gotten that much rain, but doubt floods my mind as I see water stretching further up tree trunks than it should, challenging the sides that contain it, swirling with mud and debris.

At lunch I share the concern with the others along with advice on how to bypass it; however, nobody takes the bypass and we find that the way is just fine with no flooding.  I breath a sigh of relief knowing nobody would want to add another few miles onto the 102 we were already riding, particularly as it would mean more headwind.  Everyone but Jon and I eat at Subway.  Jon and I eat outside having brought our lunches.  But during lunch I notice that it is obviously colder.  I brought a string pack with some extra clothing and slip on a vest wondering if it is a mistake.  So often one chills during a stop but then warms up quickly once back on the bike and pedaling.  But I am never sorry for putting it on, even during the climbs.  

The pack breaks up after the lunch stop, but I am fine with that.    People have things they need to do, dinner plans, places to be.  And it is definitely colder.  I know I have to keep a steady pace to finish. Taking off my gloves at the third stop is a mistake and I am glad I still have my barr mitts on the bike while they warm up again.  And we really only pause as chill sets in the longer the stop. When we reach the intersection of State Road 39 and State Road 256, I know the head wind is finished.  It is  like a gift from God.  Success, barring a freak accident or mechanical, is almost assured.  And we do finish in good spirits, weaker but knowing that weakness will contribute to greater strength a few days down the road, and satiated with the company of others who love cycling as much as we do.   And satisfied that for today, at least, we conquered the wind and our fears.  Thanks, guys, for sharing the roads with me.  Thanks for coming out to play. 

 

The Simple Things Bicycling Brings

"To find the universal elements enough;

to find the air and the water exhilarating; 

to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening

saunter....to be thrilled by the stars at  night;

to be elated over a bird's  nest or a wildflower 

in spring - these are some of the rewards

of a simple life."

John Burroughs

 

I am looking forward to today's ride.  Jon and I are riding out of Madison toward Dupont to check out a change I made to a century route and then just plan on doing my favorite thing:  wandering.  Each of us has packed a lunch to eat somewhere along the way.  We meet in Madison and are on our way quickly, starting the day with the big climb into and through Clifty Falls from the south entrance heading north. The day is sunny and already pleasant, but chill enough that I have brought a light string backpack, a Hell Week remnant,  to carry my lunch and any clothing I may decide to discard along the way. 

 

 At one point, I see a bunch of daffodils lining the roadside.  They are so bright and beautiful, almost screaming, "It's here.  Spring is here."  I exclaim, "Pretty."  Jon does not understand for he is riding next to me and on his side of the road there is a junky house.  We laugh.  I think briefly how confusing life can be since each of us has our own, unique, different perspective that can be influenced by a small change in circumstances.  No wonder the world has so many problems, particularly if people don't talk.  I have often been accused of being too blunt, and I think, perhaps, people are right:  but speaking out also has its advantages.  Still, I think that often our failure to put thoughts into words combined with the inadequacy of words when we do leads to so much misunderstanding.  But sometimes it is so hard to put thoughts and feelings into words.  And sometimes it is dangerous or injurious leading us into places that perhaps we do not want to go. The words from an Adrienne Rich poem float through my thoughts, "Our words misunderstand us."

 

Before you know it, we are in Dupont and the road I have chosen to replace the previous gravel road included in the route is paved.  Before proceeding and finding this out, however, we sit on a bench outside a closed store and enjoy our lunch in the warm sunshine.  We see a cat, black and rather lanky,  just up the road, lolling in the sun, as appreciative or more so than we are of the suns warmth.  A small boy on a blue bicycle is in a nearby yard along with other children whose laughter and childish chatter floats out a bit across the air.  A grown man calls to a neighbor asking for a bit of help.  The weather has called us all outside honed by winter with a new appreciation for sunshine and warmth. A friend of Jon's that also rides pulls up in a car and chats for a bit. It is with some difficulty that I drag my lazy self off the bench and back onto the bike.

 

The new road is rough, chip and seal pavement, but not the gravel that bothers so many.  Neither of us has ridden it before.  It is not spectacular scenery wise, particularly as it is marred by obvious poverty and neglect along the way, but it serves its purpose. We end up back on my original route in San Jacinto.  I smile inwardly remembering when I first came upon this spot.  There is now a plaque where the school used to stand.  Strangely, I don't remember if the school was still standing when I first cycled past or not.  I do remember puzzling quite frequently over the name.  One does not really expect a town in the middle of conservative Indiana to carry a Hispanic name.  After this ride, I finally look it up and find the town was named after the battle of San Jacinto.  And so, I need puzzle no longer.

That is, however, one of my favorite things about rides:  the puzzling about things.  Was this old building a store?  It looks like it may have been from the construction.  Or a church?  Who lived here? How did they make a living?  Why did this town die?  How do the people that still live here make a living?  Where are the children?  The lack of children or any other people outside on a spring day like today is an indicator of the health of a habitation for it is not a day to be indoors following winter.

After showing Jon a barn nearby that has always intrigued me because of how it is built, using stone to level it on side rather than building on flat ground or using fill dirt, we decide on a route that may or may not have gravel.  Jon knows it did in the past, but it seems, at least at first, to be paved.   I have ridden just a short way up this road before, but never the whole road.  I remember pausing and seeing a deer further up the creek pausing and dipping its head for a drink and thinking how beautiful it was. It sensed my presence somehow, turning its head toward me before bounding away.  I don't remember why, but I turned around that day.  Perhaps fate was saving this road for today. We soon come upon a creek crossing.  We decide to proceed.  Jon rides through.  I carry my bike and walk.  The water reaches my ankles in places.  It is frigidly cold water, but my wool socks are warm enough that it is not an issue once I reach the other side.  Jon pauses to wring out his socks.  I just ride ahead. At the top of the hill, the road becomes gravel, rough gravel.  I start walking but since Jon proceeds by bike, I also begin to pedal until it just becomes too rough and thick for either of us.  I suggest we just walk and enjoy the spectacular scenery.  

As we are walking, a car comes by, slows and stops.  A woman tells us that just up ahead, a cow has given birth.  She tells us, "The blood and everything is hanging out of her butt."  As we round the corner, we see the cow and calf.  The calf has not yet stood and nursed.  The placenta is, indeed, still visible.  The mother  licks the calf who makes an awkward attempt to stand forgetting that he/she has to use front legs as well as back.  On the second attempt, the calf awkwardly stands, teetering a bit but becoming more sure by the second.   Mom  nudges him/her in the direction he/she was already headed, toward the teat.  Umbilical cord still dangling from his/her chest, the calf nurses taking his first meal.  I am in heaven at being treated to such a show.  Another truck comes by, this time with the owner of the cow and calf who says she will tell her husband of the birth.  And we move on.  Immediately past the pasture is paved road though we were both fooled into thinking there might be much more gravel when the truck came from another direction which may have been a long drive or a different road than we were traversing. 

We stop for a snack at a small lake with a dock.  People are fishing across the way.  Frogs are calling, telling the girls that they are pretty and should be the one chosen.  The sun is hot.  The deck is warm.  I could stay here until night falls, but Jon has a chore to run and I have things I should do so after a long break, we move on.  It is hard to get back on the bike and I find I am growing tired.  I wonder if it is related to my second COVID vaccination  last Thursday.  But I am able to continue content with the day, the conversation, the company, and the sights.  Despite my fatigue, I feel satiated with all that has happened, filled to the brim with sunshine and warmth, not just that of the sun and scenery, but of friendship and conversation.  Tonight I will sleep soundly and my dreams will resound with the beauty of this day and I am glad to be alive.  

 

 

Larry's Buckner River Dance Century

 "A daffodil pushing up through the 

dark earth to the spring,

knowing somehow deep in its roots that spring

 and light

and sunshine will come, has more courage and more 

knowledge of the value of life than any human 

being I've

 met."

Madeleine L'Engle

 

I am not sure I am ready for a century as I have been hiking more than riding throughout the winter, but there it is on the newly opened ride schedule, as tempting as the apple in the Garden of Eden.  Larry "Gizmo" Preble has scheduled his "Buckner Riverdance" century, not one of the hardest but not the easiest century.  The weather, while far from ideal, does not look to be too challenging but will be cold enough to ensure that the crowd should be small.  The decision is made.  The bike and necessities such as helmet and shoes are packed the night before to try to leave a bit of extra time for sleeping.  

Of course, since it would be wise to have a good night's sleep prior to riding the (gasp) first outside century of the year, I suffer from insomnia, tossing and turning and last looking at the clock at 1:00 a.m.  This from the woman who always goes to bed early.  Oh, well, when morning does come, I awaken before the alarm to find that I really am not feeling poorly or excessively tired.  And so, I head out to the ride start hoping that I don't regret my decision.

I am the first to arrive at the start and re-check to make sure I have not made a mistake about the time, date, or starting place.  I haven't.  I am just early as I almost invariably am for any planned activity or appointment.  But cars soon begin dragging into the parking lot.  I am surprised to find there are nine of us, most of whom I have not seen in months and months.  I am super-excited when Dave pulls in and sorry to hold him at arms length when he comes to the car for a hug, but I am not fully vaccinated yet and he is not vaccinated at all. It would be the height of  irony to pick the virus up or transmit it to someone I care about when I am so close to being finished.  I have had my first shot and have warned my children to prepare for a bout of excessive hugging.  How I have missed the warmth of hugging.  

There is a new century rider at the ride today:  Wei Zhao.  It is nice to see a female face in the crowd though we really don't spend time talking.  It is just too chilly and I never do well with strangers.  When the ride starts, I ride harder than intended to warm up, and at stops I don't linger due to chilling.  I ride for a short time with Mark who I don't think I have ridden with since last spring.  Then I catch up a bit with Mike Kammenish and Thomas Nance, but of course they pick up the pace and I cannot stay with them.  Mike says he has gotten a gravel bike and talks about how much he has enjoyed the gravel rides put on by Ridenfadden, a bicycle club in Louisville.  I decide I will try a ride or two with them this coming summer, though of course not in the fast group. Jon Wineland and Tom Hurst are also  up there, both strong riders.  Jon rides off but I know it is temporary as we have dinner plans. I appreciate the others moderating their pace a bit to take a few moments to catch up.  Dave King and I ride into the first store together. Larry, of course, is riding at the back as ride captain.  

While riding, Dave and I reminisce about old memories and at one point I think that I have been riding with Dave since 2004.  Very few of the people who rode centuries then still ride them.  I try to think of those that do and come up with a blank other than Mike and Dave. I remember how Mike was one of the first people kind enough to make an effort to talk to me on my first club ride. I keep hoping that the sun will pop out and warm us a bit, but it never does.  The long climbs after lunch do warm me up, but they make me sweat which then causes me to chill again once I am back on flat ground. I become very excited, however, and warm enough upon spotting the first of the daffodils braving the gray and cold to color the world.  Jon says there were some earlier, but I missed them.  How beautiful they are!  How they brighten the day.  What promise they hold, springing up each year full of sunshine, breaking winter's hold on the earth and setting her free. 

When we near the end, Jon makes a sudden turn around and heads back in the direction we came from.  I ride ahead knowing that he will catch me and having a pretty good idea what he is doing because I am getting to know him.  The next thing I know he has caught me and has a large, shovel sized tool strapped to the back of his bike on the rack he always has attached.  He says it is a edging tool.  I am pretty sure I have one out in the shed that was my husbands unless I donated it, but I did not know what it was.  Dave is surprised.  I am not.  On an earlier ride this year, Jon found and polished and gave me a pair of wire cutters  he found lying along the side of the road.  There are treasures, including daffodils, for those with the eyes to see them. By then Dave has caught back up with us and the three of us ride to the finish.  Dave makes a change to the route that allows us to miss a few traffic filled roads and we all agree that is a wonderful change and that it has been a delightful day and a good course.  

 

I am pleased and thankful for how my body serves me today.  I am tired, but not exhausted.  The last ten miles are a bit of a push, but I also know that, if necessary, I could ride a hundred more.  Not too bad for a woman who shortly begins her eligibility for Medicare.  Hopefully like the daffodils I have many years left to roam the roads by bicycle, to watch spring take hold, and to enjoy friendships that the miles have forged.  The future is dark in that I cannot see or predict it, but I hope I continue to push stalwartly upward toward light. Hopefully others had a slightly brighter day because I was along on the ride and they enjoyed my companionship and chatter as much as I did theirs. It takes courage to continue, to fight the years and time, just as the daffodil needs courage to continue to bloom each spring, to struggle and push upward toward light, and to make promises.  I suppose one day it will take courage to quit, to recognize an ending. And I hope that I realize that the ending is also a journey toward light.  Until then, ride on.  Keep riding on.  Keep blooming.