So I went to bed at my normal, early hour only to find that I was troubled about something and that sleep evaded me. Lloyd always used to be able to tell if something was worrying me, consciously or unconsciously, as I would not sleep well. Finally it hit me. Frog Pond Road was water covered during today's ride, so Medora, part of tomorrow's century ride, the third store stop, would most likely be flooded.
So I pop out of bed, change the route on the club calendar, and do a cue sheet for a ride I had changed to try to a. take us off so many of the same roads on another version of the ride and off the state road earlier and b. stay away from areas that flood easily. The original Orleans has Medora as a first store stop, and if there is rain it seems the road to Medora is always flooded. While I don't expect anyone to show to ride with me, one person had said she might so I felt like I needed to be prepared.
At the start time, I take off on my own. A part of me, of course, is disappointed that nobody else is going to ride, but oddly enough a part of me is quite glad that I am the only one to worry about with the sun and the heat predicted. And it will give me time to think about issues in my life right now. I think best on the bike or when doing something for some reason. Running, I miss running because of this. I hope the day will hold some challenges other than the heat, that the ride will become an adventure where I have to use my brain as well as my legs. It is already quite clammy. The news person said it is not as humid as yesterday, but despite the lack of fog today (it was quite thick yesterday), for some reason it feels more humid.
Because there are new roads on this route, I am not sure what climbs there may be having not really paid much attention to the little chart at the bottom of the page, but I know the first part of the route as I have not changed it and there are a couple of nice climbs. It is what it is. When I need to climb, I climb. When I am by myself, the climbs come easy. Or should I just say easier. No need to press the pace. Climbing is always easiest done at one's own pace. To try to go faster or slower is difficult.
I wonder about the dogs at the top of Liberty Knob. There are so many of them and they are always coming out. They have never offered to bite, but biting is only part of the damage dogs can do and they act like they might bite. If they hit your wheel, down you go. The owner of these dogs does not care that they chase cyclists. I have talked to him and others have talked to him. Because there are so many dogs, one day they may, like humans, do things as a group that they would not do as individuals. But I am not willing to yield the road and quit riding it because they have an owner who refuses to control or discipline them. He doesn't understand, evidently, that his rights end where mine begin. And it is a public road.
Today they are not too aggressive. They come out, a pack of five from two different households, but when I stop and begin squirting my precious water at them, they back off. I move on without being further terrorized.
The quote above pops up in Facebook when I am sitting by myself at the first store stop drinking a container of grape juice and my homemade blueberry oatmeal bar that I often take on rides. I think it is quite appropriate for the day. It seems such a long time since I have done a solo century. When I retired, I had great plans that did not materialize. But I am thankful that I can still complete them and that I have not lost my love for distance. And I know I will spend part of the day thinking of people that ride or used to ride and how deeply I care for them. I actually spend a good part of the day thinking about how grateful I am that I can still ride and that I am not wasting today. I might curse the sun at times, but it is the first time in weeks where I have ridden in strong sunshine, the kind that makes the skin on your face feel tight after a ride no matter how much sunscreen you use.
On Martinsburg road, I am briefly awed by my surroundings. At the top of the ridge I look out and see hills and trees sprawled before me. The sides of the road hold Queen Ann's lace and the last of the Black Eyed Susans. Sweet clover is beginning to blossom along the hedgerows. I pass one flower whose name I don't now but I have learned is an invasive plant. It seems I missed so much of the beauty this year. Part of the time due to injury, part due to weather, and part due to myself. June slipped by without even a whisper. And here it is July, half done.
I am surprised at how good I feel. With having ridden a tad over fifty miles the day before, albeit at a slow pace, I thought I might have nothing in my legs. But I am moving down the road at a reasonable pace.
I reach the lunch stop which is near 60 miles in and sit down next to people who want to know how far I have ridden and where I am going. They notice my Louisville Mad Dog jersey and want to know if I am riding back to Louisville. They are astonished when I tell them I have already ridden 60 miles and have 43 left to go. They also seem to think I am a tad on the crazy side, and I am okay with that. I have always said the distance cycling does draw a rather odd group of people together.
So many memories flood my brain throughout the ride. Memories with old friends and memories with new friends. After lunch the sun really begins to feel hot, demanding his due. My pace slows but while some of the roads are new roads I am not familiar with, I find that there is not too much climb until Salem. I stop the store stop I have chosen for a group ride and go to the bakery. Dessert is a brownie, thick and chocolatey. And then home. On the last stretch, I see what I think must be trash up ahead only to find that the rain has brought out a large group of mushrooms. I laugh thinking that eating them would be one way to get out of the heat, take some photos, and pedal home in love yet again with cycling and with many of my cycling friends. It was a good day. As I told a friend recently, we only have so many cycling days left in our cycle. Glad I didn't waste this one.
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