The Overnight to Gasth0f Amish Village

"He feels that there must be something

wrong when anything worth while can

be obtained without a struggle. Fighting his

way to triumph, overcoming obstacles,  gives this 

man pleasure. Difficulties are a tonic to him.

He likes to do hard things because it tests

his strength."

Orson Swett Marden 

I decide that I want to put on my overnight to Gusthauf Amish Village in  Montgomery, Indiana though it is not a popular ride.  Despite my fight against it, age is relentless sapping my strength, greedily grabbing more with each passing year. The best way that I know to battle this inevitable loss, to stick my tongue out at it  and to slow it down  is to assiduously push my limits as best I can.   And it is fulfilling to test limits, particularly if they have not receded as far as one thought they might. But this push needs to be balanced against being overly zealous and getting injured or destroying the love I have for cycling and movement.  Riding a bike should be a pleasure, not an encumbrance. And it is somewhat limited by the responsibilities that each of us must shoulder. In my case,  largely the cats:  a mixed blessing and curse.

 

I believe, when I first schedule it, that this will be my good-bye visit to this route.  It is a difficult route with quite a bit of climbing and some gravel, though not so much as when I first went exploring.  Each year it seems more paving has been done. Back to back centuries are always tough, and this is no exception.  I always wonder if I will be able to complete it again or will have to call in the rescue wagon.   I want to test my strength, to revel in what is left of it and to judge the rate it is receding.

 

 But as I get takers for the ride, something I rather did not expect, I see the gravel disappear to meet their desires rather than my own and I realize that while it is a good-bye, it is most likely a goodby to having company for the route.  I need a good-bye that includes the gravel and the little bits of scenery that shake me to my core sometimes even causing me just to stop for a moment in wonder and delight or to tear up with reverence and admiration for this world that God has bestowed upon us. 

 

Without a soul mate, I think, to leave this course behind, I need the ride to be completely solo the way the ride was originally done though perhaps without the surprises that  new routes often have, something that has always delighted me even while, at time, it worried me and caused consternation. I need to feel the route and yield to any urge I might have to loiter or to deviate and explore or to  take a photograph or rest in the shade for a moment or just think to myself, "I need to remember this.  I need to remember this minute and how I feel.  I need to be grateful."  

 

Lloyd would have somehow understood I think.  Or perhaps I phrase that incorrectly.  He may not have understood, but he would have understood that it was important to me.  And what was important to me somehow became important to him as well.  How I miss being homed in his arms.  How I wish he could have shared more adventures.  Recently I assured someone I have moved on, but does one ever truly move on?  Or do we just pretend because we can't change it?

Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled at the company and fine with the changes in exchange for the experience of sharing the road and my route with fellow travelers and lovers of distance cycling, at least this time.  But I have good-byes to make.  Perhaps, however, they are further in the distance than I anticipate.  Perhaps I will even do the trip again sometime with companions.  For while the course is difficult, particularly with my knobby tires and loaded bike, I never have any doubt of being able to finish and I manage to climb and not walk any of the hills.  Yes, I am tempted a few times, but I don't, mostly to prove to myself that I don't need to because there is, of course, no shame in walking at times.  Indeed, it can be the smart thing to do, the thing that allows success rather than failure. 

 

 

It turns out there are four of us that  head out:  Jon Wineland, Steve Meredith, and Glen Smith.  I have known Jon and Steve for awhile.  Both are strong and capable riders with a history of doing distance rides.  I do not really know Glen though I know he is a strong rider.  He has never done back to back centuries if I understand him correctly. 

 

Without the gravel, I am at a distinct disadvantage with my bike and the knobby tires and would, I believe, be able to ride faster on a road bike, loaded or not.   And my bike IS heavy.  I don't weight it, but I struggle to pick it up near the rear. The others are all on road bikes.  The others are younger.  The others are male and stronger.  But I am okay with that.  And weather permitting, I may veer off the beaten path for some gravel.  For me, it is not about the speed. The only time the speed bothers me is knowing that my slowness bothers others.  Other than beating the storm the second day, on this trip I have no need to hurry.  I don't want to hurry.   I want to soak in the surroundings on what I believe to be one of the most scenic routes offered by the bike club. 

 

Originally I thought I might veer off at least to Brooks Bridge, one of my favorite gravel stretches.  But it is not to be.  The others offer to wait for me and urge me to go, but it is on the return leg and the weather is too questionable. There are others to think of and to plan for and the storms are due in Scott County around four.  Being  a ride captain does tend to make one feel rather responsible.  I would feel terrible if we were needless caught in a dangerous storm and someone was injured.

The weather on the return leg is a huge issue for this ride as the forecast changes almost hourly as the dates approach.  A decision has to be made that would allow people to cancel room reservations without a penalty.   And the second day can't be easily canceled as it is far from home and nobody has a car.  I waiver back and forth, but decide to roll the dice when the probably is forty to fifty percent.  I do  have two drivers as back ups that would come to the rescue if absolutely  necessary, but it would have to be dire straits for me to impose on their good will. And, depending upon where we were when it hit, they would be useless, for much of this route is on lightly traveled country roads.  

 

Briefly I think of the kindness of Raney Self when I first designed and rode this route by myself shortly after my husband passed.  She, as well as my friend, Diana,  offered to come if I had any issues.  Knowing they had my back made being brave a bit easier.  Diana again steps forward as does my daughter.  It  warms my heart on the Tuesday after the ride when Paul Battle says he almost called me on Sunday to see if I needed a ride home.  Friendship is such a blessing.   The kindness of others always undoes me.

The ride almost ends as it just begins for me as a few miles out from the start, a huge dog chases Jon slamming into my front wheel.  Instinct makes me clip out on the right side and lean using my foot as a brace.  Somehow, I manage to remain upright despite the impact.  Only later do I think how lucky I am that  my bones were able to stand the impact of the bracing as my foot hits the pavement.  We ride on but I decide that after our journey is over, I will return and leave a note for the dog owners just in case they decide to be responsible in the future.  That is the frustrating thing with dog encounters.  The fault lies in the owner.  The dog is pretty much doing what comes naturally.  But this makes it no less dangerous for the bicycle rider. I hope that I did not hurt the dog by slamming into him.  Afterward he seemed okay as he raced back to his yard.

The first day goes by quickly.  Medora is the first store stop and up until that time, the route is flat.  Garmin will later show that day one has 107.7 miles of climbing and almost 5,900 feet of elevation that day.  (Thanks, Steve M. for posting that data). After we pass Leesville, store sadly still closed, I laugh when, after warning people of a climb ahead, Steve tells me that he reads 18 percent grade at one point but that Garmin does not count it as a climb.  I think the rest of us, all except Jon, seem to feel it is a pretty demanding climb.  It will be the same with the heat this first day.  Everyone is feeling it other than Jon who does not think it is that hot.  How different each of us is. 

The lunch stop for the ride is at  Mitchell.  Here Jon and I get our wires crossed.  I think he is taking us to the small cafe in town and he thinks the cafe is elsewhere.  As he did a modified version of the route to avoid the gravel, and that is what everyone is following, we miss the cafe.   We end up eating at Kentucky Fried Chicken because it is close and available.  The gas station literally had nothing worthy of lunch and smelled of cigarette smoke.

 

After lunch, the heat begins and we have a number of miles before Shoals and the next store. Steve runs out of water and starts having cramping.  I share with him, then we both run out.  I normally don't need huge amounts of water and speculate that it is the salt from our lunch stop.  Very rarely do I eat high salt foods. Whatever the reason, while I don't cramp, I am  very thirsty. Jon shares with us, but we are out with about 8 hot miles left to go when Steve finds a church with a spigot.  The first church we approach has a spigot, but it does not function.  The second one, however,  pours out cool, lovely, water.  And we rejoice.   

 

The only issue is that Glen did not see us stop  and has been dependent upon Jon for directions as he does not use a GPS and does not really seem to use a cue sheet, so he sails past our next turn, probably because, while RWGPS says it is paved, it is not.  I have cell coverage so I call him and, luckily, he answers.  Jon waits for him, and they later catch up just at the time when we make the turn to the store stop which is a bit off the course.

Despite the heat and the climbs, the scenery is spectacular.  Just outside Mitchell, we come upon the largest field of Black Eyed Susan's I think I have ever seen.  It is laced with Queen Ann's Lace and some small white flower whose name escapes me. Despite not feeling as if I can truly stop and loiter, I do take a photo.  In other places orange and red day lilies, some call them Tiger  Lilies, line the roads, their faces turning to the sun.  The occasional daisy remains though their time is about over and they look a bit spent.  Trees grow right up to the edge of the road in some places and in other places there are long vistas.  Everything is green and fresh and I am so thankful to be alive and on a bicycle. 

When we reach Shoals, I see a rider that is not with us.  I then notice his jersey and ask him if he is Bill Watts, the RUSA coordinator for Indiana.  He says that he is and is on a brevet.  I think of asking if Matt is riding, but I am not sure if that is kosher so I don't.  Later I found that he did, indeed, ride completing the 600 K in preparation for PBP. We chat only briefly and then head out.  All of us are tired, heat, distance, and climbing have sapped our strength,  and ready for the hotel.   Steve mentions about being too tired to eat, but I caution him he will do better eating before going to sleep so his body has time to store the fuel he will give it.  

 

Leaving Shoals, we avoid the gravel hill that I have never been successful in climbing.   Not only is it steep, but the rock is just too thick and lacks the tire tracks necessary.  My wheels inevitably slip and my front tire lifts off the ground when I try to stand.  In the past I have balanced the possibility of injury in the midst of nowhere against the victory of completing the climb, and safety has won.  Today's route is a bit hillier and longer, but it is a lovely variation and eventually intersects with a route Steve has put together in the past.   We do hit a bit of gravel not far from the hotel and, unfortunately, Glen goes down.  He is not hurt, however, and we are all glad to see the hotel looming in the distance, a safe haven for the night before heading back out. 

We all go to dinner together at the Amish restaurant.  The food here is always good.  There is fried chicken, ribs, pulled pork, fish, and on and on.  And there is fresh, home made bread.  The only change from when I first came by myself is that there is no longer pie at the dessert table.  We ask the waitress about it and it is something that changed with COVID.  You can still get pie, but it is extra and not included in the buffet price.

 

At dinner, we talk about when to leave.  Since I am normally up at five (without an alarm), I tell them I will check and call or text the time we will leave.   Jon wants to leave at eight.  The others want to leave at first light.  Glen and Steve opt to go to bed.  Jon and I continue our tradition of having a few glasses of wine outside in one of the hotel gazebos as darkness gathers.  A tiger kitten joins us, obviously not neutered, and spends his time begging for attention until we return to the hotel and our rooms.  While I worry I won't sleep, I do and rather quickly, the strains of the day taking their toll.

When I arise, early as usual, after looking at the radar and reading predictions, I text and tell the group that we are eating and leaving.  The others meet me in the dining room, but Jon has not responded.  I then call Jon to no avail and  finally knock on his door.  Again, no response. I determine it is too dangerous to wait to leave and am just getting ready to ask Steve and Glen to go ahead and leave while I wait when Jon texts.  

 

Dawn is just barely breaking when we  head out and I ask if everyone will turn on their blinky lights.   Everyone but Glen has brought one and does as I suggest.   As we leave, dawn breaking as much as it can with cloudy, gray skies and the occasional rumble of thunder, I think how much I miss riding out in the early morning during overnight bike trips.  There is just something special about it, being out here while most people are still sleeping. 

We do get rained upon.  Mostly it is a light drizzle, quite pleasant, but there are a few spurts of harder rain.  It never, however, is hard enough to impact vision and we keep moving.  The world seems so fresh and clean.  It brings back to me how enjoyable it can be riding in a light rain when it is warm outside and the world is so very verdant.

Because of the weather, I decide to cut 8 miles off the course to shorten our journey and increase our likelihood of getting in prior to the bad weather that is predicted.  The loop I cut off is at Shoals.  While we sit and talk about it, we eat the home made bread and apple butter we brought with us from breakfast.  As always, it tastes like manna from heaven.  I think briefly of my first solo ride here, and how I stopped and just sat in the road and ate the traffic was so light.  My stop at the store that day was only for sunscreen, something I had forgotten that year.  Someone points out a man in front of the store in a truck totally passed out.  As I walk by, I actually wonder if he is dead.  But he awakens and drives off only to drive back and park yet again.   The group consensus is that it was a late night with too much alcohol, but who knows.

 

While I ponder the best way to rejoin the route while cutting off the eight miles, Steve says he knows a route that will will get us to the lunch stop. Though it has about five miles of main road, I decide that in light of the weather this is the wisest choice.  Also, it is still early and the road is not likely to be too busy.  Interesting, as Jon will later point out, three of us contributed to the ride.  And Steve's route is indeed lovely and intersects with my traditional route further up the road.  

It is not too long after we turn off the main road, that I spy a trailer hitch someone has lost along the road.  I pick it up as Jon mentioned only last night that a racoon had carried his off.  I am amazed at how heavy it is and give it to Jon to carry when we get to where he is waiting.  Glen teases and says to find a few more to slow Jon down.  Steve tells Jon of all the tools he has found in this area that have bounced out of trucks.  At one point, I do insist on a group photo though, not being much into selfies, it does not include me.   Then Steve takes one that includes me.

We reach Orleans a bit earlier than I originally planned on due to the route changes and the Pizza place is not yet open so we eat at the cafe.  As always on such journeys, there are people who are curious about where you are riding and how far.  One man even pulls up a chair and sits with us for a bit, a cyclist who wants to tell us he has done the RAIN ride.  Steve is training not only for RAIN, but he is riding to and from the start from home.  Steve  does not mention this nor the fact that he has done the ride before as the man tells us about the course. Or that he has completed a 600K in Kentucky where brevets are known to be difficult.  The fellow cyclist is surprised we are not riding the state highways home, but I tell him I try to avoid those roads and stick to the back roads.  I, in turn, am surprised that he would think we would return home on those roads rather than less traveled country roads. 

 

As we approach Salem, a road that I did not believe was gravel becomes gravel.  Jon and Glen are ahead.  After a mile of gravel, Steve and I see  a dog ahead that appears to be aggressive: a BIG dog.  I text Jon and Glen telling them to meet us at the store and we detour around us.  Even as we do so, the dog is bounding across the field coming toward us.  Jon later says that there were two dogs, both aggressive, and that the owners were very nonchalant about their aggressiveness.  He said they went for him but Glen said they did not bother him.  As for me, I have had enough of dogs this trip though actually, as I think about it, there were relatively few we ran into considering all the miles we traveled.

Salem is the last store stop and Jon and Glen are there when we arrive.  It is busy getting to the store as the state road is closed for repaving throwing all the cars onto side roads.  At the store, Glen finds that his electronic shifters have quit functioning.  He is not in the hardest gear, but I worry knowing the hills that lie between us and the end.  Yes, he is very strong, but he has a lot of miles and a lot of climbs in his legs.  Per Steve, day 2 will end with about 98 miles and 5,500 feet of climbing.  Less than originally planned, but still significant.   I look at the radar and think we are safe from the strong storms predicted, but try to get everyone moving.   Lunch was a longer stop than anticipated.  Jon comments that storms can just spring up, and he turns out to be right.

As the hills between Salem and Scottsburg pound our legs, the skies begin to visibly darken.  The wind, however, shifts from a crosswind to a tail wind which helps.  It now becomes a race to get in before the storms.  Jon and Glen are no longer waiting at turns.  Steve and I both pick up our paces.  I am, however, stopped by an overwhelming need to go to the bathroom so I send Steve onward.  I never quite catch him though I can see him in the distance, and we reach the end.  Nobody wants to linger.  All of us want a shower, food, and a bed.  I do text to see if everyone got home alright. Steve answers that he is home but has no power.  Since he is on well water, this means no shower.  But he is safe.  Jon finally texts that he is home and all is well.  I never hear from Glen but assume he made it to his home okay.  

This ride was a satisfying ride and I am glad that I put it on the calendar.  I am glad that people came and my hope is that they, too, found some satisfaction in its completion and enjoyed the journey as well.  It was not one of those special rides, the kind you think about repeatedly for long periods of time afterward or pull out of your memory from time to time to make yourself smile.  But it was a ride that I am glad that I completed.  I proved to myself that I could despite the fact that I knew it would not be easy and that it would test my strength, both physical and mental.  For as any distance cyclist knows, part of turning the pedals over and over is mental.  Maybe even as much mental as physical.  

Will I go back?  I hope to.  It is too easy to allow one's limits to shrink without really testing them to see where they currently are, whether they have shrunk or expanded, and then determine whether anything can be done if they have been reduced.   I do not delude myself that I will be able to do this ride until my time here on earth is done, at least unless I suffer an accident that ends me.  But I hope to maintain as long as I can.  It is just so damned beautiful out on the road.  And I am blessed to be there.