"Time is the coin of life. It
is the only coin you have, and only you
can determine how it will be spent.
Be careful lest you let other
people spend it for you."
Carl Sandburg
Nobody in their right mind can complain about the weather we have had recently other than the dire need for and lack of rain. Temperatures have soared above normal to the low to mid seventies. Skies have been sunny and largely cloudless and the sun still carries a kiss of warmth with his touch. His caress is more moderate than it is in summer when he is strong, demanding, and forceful, but it is there though without the threat of burned skin. Less demanding and more comforting, lacking the passion of summer but gaining substance, as love between couples seems to deepen when steeped with years. Even morning temperatures have been moderate. In other words, it has been perfect bicycling weather. Yes, one still has to layer a bit, but to end the day in comfort in shorts and a jersey in November.....well, it doesn't get much better than that.
I had been excited about a planned new century route that Jon had put together, but my car is on the fritz and so I bowed out. I certainly don't want to break down on the way home in the dark and with no shoulder to pull off on. I thought he might ride it on his own, but instead he elects to drive here to ride to Orleans with me. For we are both celebrating and mourning, or I am. I am celebrating that it is going to be a perfect day for a ride with mild winds and temperatures in the seventies and mourning that it is going to come crashing down and the forecast shows highs in the forties and lows in the twenties for at least a week after tomorrow. Time, I suppose, to switch to hiking, or to mostly shorter rides. I do not have the fortitude to face cold weather than I did in the past. Mental, physical, or a combination of the two.....I still do not really know.
We start at a faster pace than I like for this time of year, but there is a bite in the air and the pace helps to tame it. About a mile in, however, Jon notices that his headset appears to be loose. We return to the house and he attempts to fix it. It tightens and seems tight, but then for some reason loosens again a few miles down the road. I ask if he feels safe riding or wants to back up and punt. He opts to ride.
The fields are mostly bare, stubbled like a man's beard when he needs a shave, almost desolate looking. I suppose it is that lonely look that fields take on when winter hits as if they mourn the flowers and greenness that adorn them in the spring and summer months just as I do. Farm houses stand alone, isolated, shielding those within from the winds that have no barrier to soften their blow. Even the grass along the side of the road looks finished and disheartened, hopelessly clinging to a bit of green but mostly brown and withered looking. In the areas we pass that have trees, they are mostly bare and seem taller somehow. The sycamores, my favorites this time of year once the maples have lost their leaves, look lovely and graceful, their limbs like those of a dancer. What, I wonder, do trees think of winter? But I suppose trees don't have a brain, at least as we know it, or think.
I have two routes to Orleans, but I have chosen the more moderate of the two for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I have chosen it because it is more moderate though it is 103 miles (and will be 106 today with turning around to fix the headset and uncounted mileage out to the dollar store in Medora). Secondly, I love the stretch between Medora Tunnelton Hill, including the descent on Tunnelton that S curves under the railroad by a narrow lane. Or I should say I allowed Jon to choose, but had I ridden alone this was the route I also would have chosen. The stretch winds past the ancient and no longer functioning Medora Brick Plant and follows the railroad. I think briefly of Packman, for he was the one who told me of the railroad tunnel I have never found and the reason I came this way. He is gone now and hopefully at peace. I think of how in the spring this stretch will explode with color and spring flowers, delighting my eyes, a painting just waiting to be captured on canvas.
This route has a late lunch stop, and with the extra miles it is later than normal. Both Jon and I are famished when we arrive at Speak Easy Pizza. They still have their tables outside and the day is beautiful, and so we sit outside and eat our pizzas and share a few thoughts before heading back through Salem and home. As we leave, I realize my legs are a bit tired. I tell them to quit complaining and a bit of spinning convinces them that they are okay and will make it with no problem. Sometime I wonder about Jon's willingness to ride with me because he is capable of a much faster pace, but I am grateful for his company. I think of past riding companions. So few left that ever ride a century. So few that I ever see anymore. But I refuse to let sadness seep into this beautiful day. Instead I think how lucky I have been to have known each of them and created memories that I hold dear.
As we near Salem, Jon points out a huge cloud of smoke and asks me if there is a power plant nearby. There is not, at least to the best of my knowledge, and we both wonder what is on fire that would cause such smoke. We never have our curiosity sated. And before you know it, we are at Casey's, our last store stop. I opt for a soft drink, something I have pretty much given up other than occasionally on a ride. I wonder what Jon is up to, go outside and find he has been cornered by a stranger as so often happens on rides. I chuckle a bit and drink my soft drink. He enters the store and comes out with nothing saying that when he got in there, he realized there was nothing he wanted. They have no small cans of pop. Everything is large sized.
We leave the route for a bit of a work around due to road construction but soon are on Quaker Road heading for the huge descent. On Old 56 I see a young Amish boy, maybe five or six, a straw hat perched upon his tiny head and a grin plastered across his face in the field with five or six ponies furiously waving at Jon who does not see him. I wave back and he smiles. Further up the road we come upon a mini Amish cart driven by children pulling out of the drive along with a full sized car driven by adults. There is an Amish woman on a bicycle with no pedals, powered by her legs and and any downhill slant in the road. A grin lights my face and I remember how much Lloyd admired the Amish and the simplicity that seems to be their lives. Idealized? Most likely. But he always longed for simpler times, something perhaps we all do at times. I think of my mom in her nineties one time telling me that she just didn't want to have to deal with any more problems. The world does, at times, already seem too much to handle. And I only have so much coin to spend, and I want to spend it wisely.
This ride today was wise, almost sophic, in some ways. I have no regrets for how I spent today's coin, on the road with the simplicity of shorts and jersey (back pockets stuffed with layers from a gradual strip tease). I have no regrets for the too much pizza I ate at lunch or the aches in my thighs and the stiffness in my movements that reminds me that I am, indeed, aging and that will impact the soundness of my sleep tonight. While I do not delude myself with the belief that I have not and will not waste some of the coin that has been allotted to me, I try my best not to do so, to hold the moments more dear. And this is one thing that becomes easier with age and the realization that there is, indeed, a last time for everything. I am indeed blessed and have been for many, many years. And I am grateful for the day, the company, bicycles, and the coin that I have already been given.
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