Unplanned Roads

"It's better to burn out

than it is to rust."

Neil Young

 

Today is supposed to be one of those rare cycling days with moderate temperatures and light wind, so I decide to try to preride my upcoming club century to check for any route issues.  I worry about flooding from all the rain and quickly find out that I am correct.  700 is underwater.  But I will not let it ruin the day, and head toward Medora (which I also expect to find flooded) by a different road.  I am hoping I can see if there is road construction near the bridge as while the flooding might recede by then, construction would mean the century is a no-go and I will need a substitution. 

 

As I ride, I wonder if I will remember the old way there: but it is a non-issue.  The road unfolds in front of me as if I just traversed these roads last week instead of a few years ago.  The flatness of the route appeals to me today.  Normally I head toward the hills knowing that riding only flats saps leg strength quite quickly. 

 

 The sun has not yet come all the way out and it is quite strange to find that on my left there is sunshine and some blue sky while to my right there are just gray clouds, thick and puffy and cluttering the sky.  They actually look threatening, but I know it is not supposed to rain.  As an experienced rider, however, I have learned that supposed to doesn't always count.  I briefly think of the Medora Century two years ago where we left the parking lot in sunshine and then the rain started and stayed leaving us cold, wet, and weakened. The memory of how the towns people plied us with coffee and warmth brings a smile to my face.  They mothered us, and tomorrow is Mother's Day.  

 

 As I ride I think of how I miss my mother, more now perhaps than I did at first, or perhaps differently.  I just know that lately she has haunted my mind with memories and a longing to hear her voice and see her again.  I read an article recently whose theme was that when our mother passes, it is not just that she died that haunts us, but that she died without becoming the perfect mother and her death brings the realization that those needs we have that she did not or could not fulfill will now never be fulfilled.  I don't know if I believe this to be true, but it is a different way of looking at the passing of anyone really, not just our mother.  

 

 I arrive at Medora and find it is flooded and the flooding is too far out from the bridge to really know about any construction.  I decide to go try to find an old, closed bridge I found once a number of years ago.  It was not only closed, but had a huge blockade, but some lady came out of her home and handed me my bike, crossed the bridge with me, and handed me my bike on the other side as the barrier was too high for me to lift it over and set it down.  Again, kindness in the world.  

 

 I never find the bridge, maybe because many of the roads are blocked by flooding.  I suddenly realize I really have no idea where I am.  Wahoo sucks for this type of riding since it does not identify road names or have an option to route to a store or town, but I don't have a Garmin anymore.  I know I am on Wheeler's Holler Road and that I eventually reach Lick Skillet (where did that name come from).  I smile thinking of how I used to tell Grasshopper that if you rode long enough, you would come out somewhere, and I head onward.  I miss seeing Grasshopper and the fun rides we used to have.  I think of riding with him to Medora one winter.  While we were eating our lunches, the snow started, huge flakes the size of a fist.  But we made it back to the start despite my misgivings. 

 

Eventually I give in and pull out my phone.  Just prior to this, my right shifter begins giving me problems and I decide I had better just turn around and go back the way I came. No century for this girl today.  I also eat my home made oatmeal blueberry bar and think how I will be a hungry girl with about 70 miles under my belt on one small bar and water. Still, I have ridden farther on less. If I remember correctly, the first PBP we went eighty miles before stopping. But perhaps my memory betrays me as it does more and more these days.  The hard drive is way past full and I am working on disc space I fear. If I think of it, I will have to ask Steve or Dave.

 

I do notice that corn has sprouted in the fields.  I don't see any soybeans and wonder if it is due to disrupted market chains or if it is too early.  I can't recall if it comes up the same time as corn or not.  The Catalpa trees, a favorite of mine,  are blooming as well, and occasionally their blossoms decorate the road as if the road were a bridal passage.    I notice how green and verdant everything is and that the daisies have started blooming.  I smile thinking of how,  when first married, I would pick them and bring them in to brighten our home.  I smile thinking of the wonderful Mother's Day bouquet I received from my son yesterday, so different with its roses and expensive flowers, but that I have to keep locked away in the bathroom or closet due to Murphy, jerk that he is, who knocks vases over. So many of the people I knew then gone:  my husband, my siblings, my parents, Dave, Henry, Mark....  But I push that thought aside making myself think if waters will go down in two weeks time and what century I will substitute for the club if they do not.  

 

I think about whether I want to try to do another overnight this year even though it will not be part of the TMD and will likely only draw a rider or two if that.  Or I could plan on riding it alone as I have done a few times. Still, I know my days of doing those are numbered.  I make a concerted effort to stay strong, but life will have her way.  We all have an expiration date.  But as Neil Young points out, "It's better to burn out than it is to rust."   I would like to go to Montgomery again, but it takes planning.  I thought I would have more time when I retire, and I suppose I do, but I waste much of it.  Some is a good waste of time.   I read more.  Some is not. I sit more.  But perhaps I will get it planned.  Time will tell. 

 

I am able to shift in the front to the small and middle chain ring, but not to the large chain ring.  In the rear I am limited to a gear.  Flats are slow and hills are hard but luckily there are no long and/or steep climbs on today's ride.  I am still on the back roads when a Jeep passes me with a man hanging out the window yelling that there are a hundred more behind him.  I lost count but I think he was being truthful.  I felt very vulnerable on the narrow, windy country roads with so many speeding past, not wanting to be left behind by their comrades,  and am glad it is not a large group ride as I think an altercation between rider and car would have been the inevitable result.  I breath a sigh of relief when I see the last of them and wonder about them.  I guess they must get the same enjoyment riding around in their cars as a group as we do on our bicycles, but I don't really understand how.  Then I think of my Uncle Victor and how he would take us for ice cream and "Spooky Rides" where he would turn the car lights off for a few seconds and tell scary stories.  So maybe it is not so strange. 

 

 I arrive home with 71 miles glad I didn't have to call Better World Club and find out how good or bad their bicycle service is.  I left AAA and joined Better World because you can buy a bicycle supplement to transport you 30 miles if you have a mechanical.    I will have to check my route another day.  I have no regrets other than my bike needing attention.  I remind myself of how blessed I am to have my health and a day meant for riding and how much I enjoyed being on roads and not being exactly sure of where I was.  I don't do that very often anymore.  Sometimes those unexpected things that happen on a ride are the best things, things we could not have planned better if we tried.  Gosh I love bicycles.