"Spring drew on...and a greenness
grew over those brown beds, which,
freshening daily, suggested the thought
that Hope traversed them at night,
and left each morning brighter traces
of her steps."
Charlotte Bronte
Finally, a day that offers a healthy dose of sunshine as well as warmer temperatures and a lighter wind. As I age, I find myself less and less able to convince myself that I want to do a hard ride on gray, cold, gloomy, damp days. It is not so much that I can't do them anymore, I can albeit slower than in the past, but that I have no desire or need to do them. I would rather paint or read or go hiking on those days knowing that more comfortable bicycling days will arrive. And spring, of course, offers many of those days. This year, perhaps, more than normal with lower than normal temperatures and extremely few peeks of sunshine.
When I saw the forecast, I immediately put the century on the schedule, not just because of the forecast, but because they are starting major road construction on the expressway between Louisville and many of my ride starts next week. I fear that it will cause such traffic congestion, that few will want to head this way for bicycle rides and run the risk of a long sit in the car on the way home.
As it turns out, it is one of those rides that I definitely favor. There is a small group, only four of us, and nobody seems to be in a rush. Everyone seems content just to enjoy our time on the bikes, the lovely spring weather, and the company. I believe we are all glad that the self-imposed isolation of winter is drawing to a close and understand that spring is, indeed, a time to build strength in the legs and lungs. It also is also a time to renew friendships and rejoice. The pace can slow a bit because you don't have to push so hard to keep warm. While the start is cold, in the thirties, it is sunny with little wind. And it is to warm to the 60's later in the day. Steve Meredith, Dave King, Jon Wineland, and I head out toward Medora, the first stop on this journey.
I am comfortable during this first leg other than my fingers which are cold. I try to protect them a bit by holding onto the handlebar in such a way that my fingers are sheltered a bit from the wind by my handlebar bag. I know the discomfort is short lived, and I am glad for that. The discomfort is overridden by the joy of being on a bicycle in the spring with the sun shining and the joy of being with people that I have not seen in for what seems like ages. At some point, and I can't exactly pinpoint when, I realize that I have warmed and my fingers are no longer little popsickles.
The miles pass quickly with everyone catching up. Steve and Dave are both doing the Kentucky brevet series and we talk quit a bit about PBP, a ride Steve has not yet done and has expressed an interest in. As I do with everyone that is capable, I encourage this interest because, at least for me, PBP was such a unique experience: both times I completed it. Each was different but each was special in its own way. Yes, I remember those hard moments, but mostly I remember the highs or the things that surprised me, like one woman at the start saying she brought her makeup because she thought it might make her feel better. Those who know me well know it is only on very rare occasions that I don makeup, and it never in a million years or a million miles would have occurred to me to bring some along on PBP or any other long brevet. How different we all are. Vive la difference!
But back to Orleans. The first store stop is in Medora. While in town, I seek out and we find the new cafe that Lynn Luking was kind enough to tell me had opened there, because everything had gone out of business other than the new Dollar Store. I think how I will be happy to ride back here one sunny afternoon for lunch to check out the selection and quality of the food they offer.
One of my favorite sections is immediately leaving Medora and riding alongside the railroad track all the way up the Devil's Backbone and then down Tunnelton past the magnificent mansion that originally was built for Masonic widows and under the railroad tracks and across the bridge. And today it does not disappoint. There are many wildflowers that grow there that have not yet bloomed, but the daffodils, while some are a tad faded, seem so beautiful and cheery. I think how I adore it in the spring when the Earth wakes up, stretches her arms, and drops blobs of color everywhere. Purple grape hyacinths at times accent the brilliance of the daffodils yellow. Redbuds are blossoming. And everything is growing so green, so very green.
Interestingly, on the climb up the backbone, Steve notes that a white truck went over the edge at some time or another and down the steep embankment toward the valley and creek. I worry that someone might be hurt in there as you would not be likely to spot it in a car, but they assure me that it has been there awhile and we ride on.
Dave stops on the bridge, and those of us who have ridden with Dave often know why, but still I ask to ensure he is okay. He is and I ride on knowing Dave will catch me. Jon gets a chuckle when learning of Dave's habit, initially thinking he is joking. I assure him such is not the case and we enjoy a shared grin. We all regroup after the long climb that is challenging only due to length as there is not much steepness to contend with. At this point, people begin shedding layers, but I decide I will be fine until we reach Orleans, and I truly am. I often seem to run a bit colder than others though I suspect my house is kept at a colder temperature than most.
At this point age comes up. I am the oldest and Dave the youngest. I find it amusing to find that we are all 5 year increments apart starting with Dave who is 50 and leading to 65.
People are also beginning to get hungry, and Dave's face is priceless when he learns lunch is not until 63 miles, but the lunch stop more than makes up for his dismay at having to wait. Personally, I prefer lunch a bit later on a century. But I knew it was going to be late. It is different, I suppose when it is a surprise. The wind has cranked up and I am glad we are going into it knowing that after lunch we should have, at least for awhile, a sweet tail wind. By the time we reach Orleans, everyone is ready for a break.
We stop at "Speak Easy Pizza" and their pizza has been delicious each and every time I have stopped there. Today, however, it seems even better than usual and I remember, as I always do, how much riding distances improves the taste of food. So often I eat without truly being hungry because my body has not been challenged. Steve gets a salad and says that it is as good as it looks. I realize he is not just saying this to be polite when he makes a comment about having to bring his wife here sometime. Dave is impressed with their selections of beer and whiskey though none of us indulge. The owner comes out to inquire about our riding and, along with a few customers that question us, seem to be impressed that we are riding 104 miles today. I remember how glad I was during a ride to find this place as most of the eating places in the town had closed. I have entire routes that are difficult to ride anymore due to store closures, but this, fortunately, is not one of them.
We leave and see another cyclist on our way out of town. Despite the sweet tail wind, we don't quite catch up to him before our turn. Orleans used to have a paid ride in the spring, The Dogwood Pedal. Despite that, I have never seen another cyclist during my trips to and through Orleans on rides.
By now, all of us have shed layers and are feeling the blessed warmth of the day. The miles to the last store stop in Salem seem to roll by quickly and despite all the moaning and groaning over the hills on Bee Line and full bellies from lunch, we all relax unhurriedly on the curb in the sunshine.
As always seems to happen on my centuries, one road is closed. This time it is 56, but it is an easy workaround. We roll through the town square and then cut over. I grin to myself because Steve mentioned the detour when he arrived today, but it just didn't click until we actually neared the detour. Oh, well, nobody seemed overly put out over the extra half mile or so it adds to our journey.
When we pull on Quaker Road, we pass someone on a recumbent going the other way. I don't recall ever seeing a recumbent in this area before unless it was someone on a ride with me, so this sticks in my mind. It becomes even more of a puzzlement about 10 miles later when we pass another who is dressed in the same bright green and greatly resembles the first cyclist. In my mind I go through all the roads in my mind and know that there is no possible way it is the first cyclist. The others confirm this.
And then we are finished. It is pleasant to end a century feeling sated but not spent. It is pleasant to have spent an entire day on a bicycle in sunshine that is bright but not searing with people who also love riding and don't get mad or upset when there is an obstruction on the course. It is pleasant to share an unhurried lunch with those same people. It is pleasant to have friends. And it is pleasant and more to see the annual spring greening and to think that I am still healthy enough to ride centuries and to have hopes of riding many, many more. How blessed to have hope.
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