Solo Hardinsburg: Spring 2026

 It is so small a thing

to have enjoyed the sun, to

have lived light in the spring, 

to have loved, to have thought,  

to have done."
Matthew Arnold 

 

It is  going to be a spectacular day, one of those special days that seems to be a gift from above:  little wind and wall to wall sunshine.  A cool morning will gently release  her grip to a warmer day, so I carry my Texas Hell Week cycling backpack from years ago.  A smile crosses my face at the first pedal stroke and stays there most of the day.

 

I am riding my Hardinsburg Century.  I don't know where it falls in the list of centuries I designed, but I do know it was before I had much in the way of maps and before GPS.  My original intent was to eat tIn Hardinsburg, a town I had never visited before, but upon arriving for the first time, I found the only place open to eat at was an ancient Dairy Barn that looked as if nobody had done any cleaning in the past one hundred years.  Filth covered the outside walls and the building looked as if it were falling apart.  I rode on finally finding Little Twirl in Lavonia, a much more acceptable option.   Since then, Hardinsburg has gotten a gas station and a few other places.  The Dairy Barn is gone, merely a memory.  

 

Regardless, it is one of my favorite rides of my own design.  I have found century routes that one designs oneself to be like friends:  you love or like them all but sometimes for different reasons.  Hardinsburg is just challenging enough that you know you  will be tired at the end.  There are more rollers than significant climbs, but there are a few significant climbs.  Wahoo numbers them at 23.  It is a nice mix of farm land and of forest roads where the trees overhang the road leaving dappling shadows dancing upon it.  Today, in the forested areas, there seem to be suicidal squirrels, and I barely miss several that dart back and forth in front of my wheel. 

 

As often happens on rides, I come across something new.  Someone has started a trend of hanging old caps on top of fence posts in a field.  There are Santa hats and elf hats and ball caps.   It reminds me of the Shoe  Tree Century that I rode years and years ago that featured a tree numerous people had adorned with old worn out shoes thrown across its branches.  Who thinks of these things?  

 

When I arrive, Little Twirl is closed, but I expected this and intend to lunch in Campbellsburg at the gas station.  The hamburger there, while pre-cooked and wrapped in foil, is surprising good once they dress it for me and I sit by myself in the sun enjoying myself. Food always tastes better when I am truly hungry.  I smile thinking of all the new century riders that seem to have trouble with understanding the need to eat on a long ride.  I ask if there is a restroom and there is none, but the worker directs me to one that is on the Monon trail. I find it easily.   I cross the trail twice today and think how nice it will be once it is completed.  

 

While I ride,  memory after memory from this ride, both when alone and in company arise, and I think of how that is one thing I don't like about Zwift.  Yes, you can train well on Zwift.  You can ride at times when it would be challenging or impossible even to ride outside.  But you lose something.  While I have never been an avid Zwifter, I have used it.  And I can't think of one single memory I have from a Zwift ride other than when I rode a century on it and was worried the electric was going to go off as I neared the end.  I treasure the memories of rides with those who no longer ride or who now ride in a different group than me or who I still ride with or who mainly ride on Zwift.  I am glad it is their thing.   I don't think it will ever really be mine though I probably will sign up again some future winter that is stuffed with cold and wind and snow.  

 

As I zoom down Cox Ferry Road hill, a long, steep descent that ends opening into a large meadow lined with trees on one side, there are two large planes flying remarkable low.  They are not small Cessna like planes though not huge and they do not have the markings of Delta or Southwest or a major airline.  They are green and have a strip on the back that is white and black lines as best I can determine.  Puzzled, I head onward.  The first plane was so close to the tree line.  The second not so much. A truck passes me and the driver, an old man, waves.  I wave back but my thoughts are consumed by the long climb to get to the third store stop:  Red Barn Bait Shop.  Each year on familiar but tough climbs I wonder if this will be the year my legs fail me.  But not this year.

 

 

The climb does not seem brutal today, perhaps because I just climb at my own pace and am not worried about holding others up.  Or perhaps it is the weight program I have adopted.  Then I reach the store and say hello to Amos and his dog before heading for home one one of my favorite roads.  As I near the finish I wonder why I ended it with the roads I did for they are far more challenging than the alternate route.  But I suck it up and ride them, sorry to end this beautiful day, remembering what it was like to have legs that could go hundreds of miles without much rest or sleep.  This ride might have been a small thing, but it is my thing.  I am grateful that I can still do this and I am grateful for a spring day such as this.  I am blessed.