First Time Dillsboro Century

"I don't let my age

define me, but the 

side effects are getting

harder to ignore."

Anonymous

 

I have to admit, seeing the climbing profile in Ride With GPS (which turned out to be much higher that the actually climb recorded with my Wahoo on the ride), I was a bit hesitant about this ride, particularly in the heat of summer and the threat of possible gravel.  (RWGS showed 17 miles of gravel and it turned out there was none as Jon predicted).  It is not that I won't ride gravel:  I do and enjoy it at times.  But taking my gravel bike would slow me down even more than my already slow pace this year.  And there is no denying it.  I am riding MUCH slower than last year.   But the words from Lee Ann Womack's song, "I Hope You Dance," float through my brain....."May you never fear the mountains in the distance, Never settle for the path of least resistance."  And so, I decide to dance.

Because I initiated the ride, and it is with two much stronger riders than I am,  Jon Wineland and Chris Quirey, I tell them I will leave a half hour early and allow them to catch me.  Neither seems particularly bothered by this which makes me glad for I know that I will not enjoy the ride nearly so much if I am having to push my pace.  I will worry that they want/need to go faster.  Together they will do well.  Their paces are similar.  And once they catch me, we will ride as a group.

And so I take off into the deceptive chill of morning, a morning that is hiding humidity that will raise its head later in the day though, mercifully, not as badly as in previous weeks.  As the ride starts in Madison, it also starts with a climb.  I am glad it is not Thomas hill.  It is a long hill, but the climb is gradual and never gets very steep.  I know steeper hills are coming, but by then my legs will have warmed up more.  Another consequence of age, I suppose, is that I do not warm up as quickly as I used to.   

The sun is out and the recent rain has greened the countryside back up.  Almost immediately, a herd of deer cross the road in front of me, melting into the trees that line the road, wraith like.   I notice how the muscles in their haunches, so very powerful, coil and uncoil as they bound effortlessly,  rippling their fur. Once the sound of the leaves under their feet is gone, it is as if they were a dream.  At China Manville Road, I notice another deer, solo, pausing to watch me as I cross the bridge.  I am surprised it holds still long enough for me to photograph it and, after taking the picture, warn it that this behavior will not be safe in a few months when hunting season is again upon us. 

In just a bit, I startle two groundhogs who scuttle under a fence and inside a barn.  This rather surprises me, but I can only surmise that they have established a hole inside that barn that serves as their home.  Do groundhogs share a den if they are mates or only if they are still children sharing their mother's den?  Later I look it up and find some interesting facts about groundhogs.  They are also called Whistle Pigs and are a member of the squirrel family.  They have two dens:  one for summer which is usually in an open, grassy are and another in winter which is usually in a wooded area.  These are probably either siblings or a mother/child as mating season is in the spring after hibernation has ceased and the family disperses in the fall.  Regardless of all this information, I just know that they are quite cute so long as they are not digging in my yard and they bring a grin to my face.

Further up the road, my grin fades as I see two dogs up the road.  One is sniffing another dog who is lying in the road as if he is dead.  Sadly, I think the dog in the road was probably hit and this is his buddy, mourning him.  It makes me think of Susie and Laddie, dogs our family had when I was a small child. I don't remember Laddie, but I was told they were adopted together.  Someone hit Laddie with a car, killing him, and Susie was never the same.  She aged that day.  A smile of gratefulness reappears on my face as the lump in the road moves and rises, not dead but eagerly awaiting my passing so he can bark at me.  These are among the first of what turns out to be a rather doggy ride, but none that left me scared or worried about being bitten.  

I reach the first store stop without the guys catching me and eat my home-made energy bar, then head back out sure they will soon arrive for my pace is even slower than it normally is anymore.  I begin to stop and take photos when I pass a small, rather neglected looking graveyard surrounded by a crumbling stone wall.  There are many such walls I will pass today.  As Robert Frost noted, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall, that sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, and spills the boulders into the sun..."

While there are some fields, many of the roads are my favorite kind with trees that overhang the road and little traffic.  This does, of course, often means hills, land that is there undisturbed because it is harder to build on hills.  But I knew there were climbs coming into this ride, and it is not so hard on me with the guys still behind me.  

When I reach Friendship, I think for sure I will be climbing to get out, but instead it is a lovely, narrow lane.  On it is an old school, and I lay my bike down to take a peek inside despite the no trespassing sign.  I have no intention of going inside.  I just want to have a peek through the broken window.  The floor is partially gone and the smell is musty.  There is an old vanity inside and a few other objects.  All remnants of it being a school, however, are missing.  There are no old desks or blackboard.  Not even a stray pencil left behind.  I continue on thinking of how different life was then.  The school closed in 1925 so even the stories my husband told me of his one room school may not have applied here.  

I then pass an old house, long abandoned. As I ride on, as usual, I wonder about the people who lived there.  At what point do you decide a house is no longer worth keeping up and move on?  I have noticed in the past few years how many older people's homes deteriorate and am beginning to understand it.   There are thing a person could once do that they can't safely do anymore, and help is not only hard to find, but expensive if you do find it.  And as I climb, I notice that they guys are behind me.

I grin when I realize each of us has worn the same jersey:  the orange Mad Dog jersey Steve Rice designed all those years ago.   Together we ride on to the lunch stop in Dillsboro:  Janet's.  It is later in the ride, near 60 miles, my preference.  When we first enter, I worry a bit as it is so very crowded and there seems to be only one waitress.  But she gets our order and we get our food in good time and everyone seems satisfied. At one point I have to laugh and point out that we are a bit weird, coming out to ride 100 hilly miles on a hot day.  They also see the humor in this. 

 

 

 On the way out, I notice a board that I have only read about and never have seen first hand.  It has receipts on it.  People donate a meal, pay for it, and someone who is hungry can come in and will be fed the meal that is on the receipt.  It warms my heart when I see such kindness in the world, something that seems to be in rather short supply at times. I later regret that I did not contribute to it though it seemed to be overflowing with receipts.

Chris is interested when we pass an old missile silo that Jon found out about along the route.  Jon tells me that someone bought it and put a home underground in it that even contained a swimming pool.  I think of what it would be like living underground and don't think it would be for me, but it is good it was not wasted.

Despite our varying paces, we end up finishing the ride at about the same time and I appreciate their patience.  I would have been fine had they ridden on, but it was nice of them to share a bit of the day with me for I know I will miss this, the feeling of knowing that others are traveling the same path.  Age slows you down, has slowed me down anyway.  I have more trouble in the heat than I used to and I assume that, also, is age related.  But how blessed I am still being out here, on a bike, exploring and at peace in this beautiful countryside.  And what a nice century Jon has put together.