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.