Summer Time 2020

"Summer afternoon-summer afternoon;

to me those have always been the two most

beautiful words in the English language."

Henry James 

 

Two glorious days of riding despite predictions earlier in the week for a mostly rainy week-end.  Summer time.  Perhaps not as hot as the past few summers the last couple of weeks, but certainly more humid.  Recently the weatherman said we were up seven inches of rainfall for the year and I believe it.  But still, while not my favorite season, I love the summer despite his occasional brutality.  Previously I wrote that August is a male month:  hot, steamy, demanding.  I stand by those words.  Riding is difficult in August, particularly when it is hot and humid and the sweat stands and beads on your skin rather than evaporating. Lungs gasp for usable, refreshing air and pull in syrup instead. But the rain combined with the heat and humidity has caused everything to stay green and lush.  Mowing my yard has been more like preparing hay for baling. The green is beautiful appealing to my eye and providing a nice background for the flowers that I pass.  I had thought the Black-eyed Susan's were gone, but find there are still occasional patches littering the roadside.  Queen Anne's lace is blooming and the Golden Rod begins.

Yesterday was a club ride that had two climbs but was otherwise flat and fast.  I spent the first part of the ride talking to an old friend as the road unwound before us.  Time changes us and changes others, but I suppose it cannot change the past though perhaps it tempers how we view it.  Links forged through hours spent traversing different roads leave their  marks as do rifts in that chain caused by the choice of different roads.  Friendship is such a valuable thing.  It is a shame that so often we allow it to lapse.  Memories are good, but better when combined with the making of new memories.  But life changes.  We change.  And the world changes around us. Paths diverge and sometimes lead in different directions.  That is okay.  As I read recently, it serves to remember that not everyone deserves a seat at my table, nor I, perhaps, at theirs. 

 

Later in the ride, another friend and I escape potential tragedy when a delivery truck tries to back into a driveway hooking two electric lines.  As the lines strain and appear to be on the verge of giving way and breaking, the driver luckily realizes there is an issue and stops.  Had he broken the lines, I feel certain they could have/would have snaked around and hit us. The incident reminds me of a class at the Y where they had us put elastic bands around ourselves and someone tried to hold us as we ran.  Mine snapped and hit the woman holding the tube, bruising her knuckles and causing her to cry.  I felt so badly for her and was thankful that nothing had broken.  Despite the fact it was totally unintentional, I felt so guilty and responsible, particularly since she had young children with needs to tend to. 

 

Today's ride is from Madison and is not a club ride. Jon and I head out from near the Ohio River for Vevay.  Because we are not taking the busy road bordering the river, this means the ride starts with a climb.  It is long but not really steep. I think that Jon has planned this route to avoid too many hills to test my legs but this is pure conjecture on my part.  I don't yet know him well.  We already have a pace difference and hills accentuate that difference.  The roads he chooses are lightly traveled and so beautifully rural.  We meander along creeks and pass areas with field stone walls.  One is being repaired and the others not. Both need it. The words of Robert Frost come to mind: "Something there is that doesn't love a wall."  Still, I love the stone walls even half fallen.  The effort someone took to erect them, hauling stones from the field and patiently putting them together.  I picture him, sweat dripping from his brow, hands roughened by the constant contact with the rough stone, back bowed by effort.  Prying stones out of the field. Trying this stone, then that stone, trying to make the best match, one that will resist the ground swell. And at  home, she waits, tending to the children, baking the bread, hauling water from the creek for water to wash in.  The people who built this country were truly amazing people, strong people, determined people.  Making do, creating something from nothing. Finding ways to use that which surrounded them. But I ride with someone.  My musing ends.  Focus.  

We stop in Vevay and both purchase drinks, sitting outside and eating bags of snacks we have brought.  It is so different from club rides or from brevets where there is an emphasis on downing a quick drink and snack, then getting back on the bike.  Today there are no controls and no hurrying.  But as we sit, clouds roll in hinting of rain.  I use my phone and see that there really is nothing locally, but up north it apparently is storming.  We ride out into the grey sky and increasing wind.

I am glad Jon is patient with my pace for he is a much stronger rider than I am.  I suspect it helps him having ridden a solo century yesterday after his run the day before while I was at the club ride. Energy has been drained. It is nice to be on new roads but it would not be nearly so nice if I had to push myself to ride faster.  The course he has plotted is overwhelmingly beautiful and at times he has stories to tell me about them, stories of memories from previous rides for these roads are not new to him as they mostly are to me.  At times I worry that I will drive him crazy with my chattering and questioning, but he takes it good naturedly.  Perhaps he is like Paul who I find often only is half listening, or perhaps what I have to say interests him.  I don't know him that well yet.  We are new friends tentatively finding our way and making memories. Needless to say, since I have no idea where I am or what road to take next, he can't in good conscience ride off and leave me though with a GPS and phone I would eventually find my way back.  As I told Grasshopper long ago, if you ride long enough you come out somewhere.  

As we near the end, Jon points out that there is a plane parked behind a church we are passing.  We decide to turn around and look.  When we arrive, we immediately are asked if we are from the press.  While it seemed half joking, it also seemed half serious.  Evidently the plane, a small two seat Cessna, was losing oil and had to make an emergency landing.  The men were getting ready to remove the winds and load it on a trailer to take it for repairs.  We chat for a few minutes before moving on and finishing our ride both glad that the landing was made with everyone being safe.  I think how odd it is, a plane down in the middle of nowhere.  The pilot was lucky to have a rural area with some open fields.  

When we return to Madison, we have lunch down by the river before parting ways.  While sitting there, an older man informs us that the city has taken over responsibility for the pavement on the hill and trucks will not be allowed.  He expresses concerns about the finances required to keep the road usable. But of course, neither of us reside in Madison. The skies have cleared, but the wind remains. It is a good day, a summer day, and there are no so very many summer days left in 2020.  Here's to bicycles, rural roads, and friends, old and new.  Here is to summer. 

 

An Autumn Day

Is this not a true Autumn day?  Just the 

still melancholy that I love - that makes

life and nature harmonize.  The birds are 

consulting about their migrations, the trees

are putting on the hectic or pallid hues of decay, 

and begin to strew the ground, that one's very 

footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth

and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect

anodyne to the restless spirit.  Delicious Autumn!
(George Eliot)

It would be easy to talk myself out of riding today.  There is a prediction for rain all day long.  The radar shows spots of red both above and below where I want to go today.  Friends are tied up and I will be riding alone left to my own devices if the weather becomes intolerable.  I just had my wheel worked on and I will not trust it until I have some miles on it.  There is a ride scheduled for tomorrow that is a club ride and I have a century on the schedule for Wednesday and next Saturday and I could just ride then.  There is housework that needs doing. All these arguments run through my head as I fight with myself on whether to grab my bike and head out the door.  But  the sun shows signs of shining, shyly peeking through pink and purple tinged clouds.  It holds promise just as the day does.  The weather is warm and if it rains I will not be cold.  I have not ridden all week due to work and other appointments.  And I have a "restless spirit" today. I know I will regret wasting this day if I stay home, and so I head out, camera in tow, everything vulnerable to water wrapped in plastic baggies.  

I think of how many of my friends cannot understand the delight in riding a century on one's own.  How do I explain the freedom that this type of ride brings?  I can ride at my own pace, fast or slow, and I can pause when I want.  I can take any road I fancy.  I can stop at store stops or ride on if I am not hungry.  I can think of problems and blessings in my life  and my contemplations are not often interrupted by a need to think of others.  I can sing or quote poetry or stop and do a little dance.  I can splash in a creek I pass if I am hot and nobody will sigh or look askance.  In other words, it is a selfish day.  Everyone needs selfish day every now and then, particularly if they are a caregiver.  It is a day to renew my spirit. 

All around me, both people and animals seem to be preparing for winter.  I pass farmers harvesting their crops, once green corn and soy beans now a dull brown,  tractors droning heavily in the autumn air. The husky sounds of chain saws fill the air and pick up trucks are filled with wood needing to be stacked nearby to  heat homes and cuddle loved ones.  I remember the pride in splitting my first log, the smell of wood smoke snaking through the air, the chilliness of the morning when the stove had gone out, and the warmth once it was refilled.  I remember the rustling sounds of my husband in the mornings filling the stove, gently covering me, kissing my forehead, ensuring that I would not chill when I got out of bed, and I treasure once again that feeling of not just being loved, but being tenderly cherished by a man whose past wounds made it difficult for him to be tender or to cherish anyone or anything.  I remember the smell of our mingled scents as I snuggled deeply into the bed that was our nest, content and happy.  I think of how life can harden or change people as they move to protect that soft inner core.  And I am glad that I chose to ride.

I pass ducks with babies and then come upon a totem pole that someone is creating.  "The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls." (Picasso)  comes to mind, and I think that perhaps this is also true of a bicycle ride.  I round a corner and come upon a deer lazily crossing the road and note how quickly he shifts modes from meandering to intense evasive action.  I warn him it is hunting season both with words and thoughts.  

The first hints of autumn color the scenery, not yet the blaring farewell of late October but restless whisperings of the fanfare to come.  Leaves fall and swirl in places and in others remain firmly in place, refusing to yield to the inevitable fall from grace.  The first geese of the fall fly overhead, raucously  calling to each other as they navigate the sky to find a resting place for the coming cold.  And the sun reluctantly yields to the clouds,  the rain starts to fall, gentle but persistent, never quite demanding enough to require my full attention though I do turn on a taillight. 

I stop at an old graveyard near a log cabin that has drawn my interest before but where I have not stopped.  Someone has lovingly mended tomb stones.  Some still stand, some have been placed leaning against trees and I suspect that nobody was sure where they belonged.  I wonder if any of them lived in the log cabin nearby. I wonder what their lives were like.  I speak to them telling them that I hope they were well loved, that their lives were not too hard, that they were remembered with tenderness and love by those left behind.  That they were missed and mourned, but not to the point where life for their living loved ones ceased to bring happiness, disappearing into the grave with them.  Because this is what I hope for myself when my time comes:  to be remembered with love but also with the idea that my life was well spent. To be remembered with the feeling that I did not live life as a spectator, but as a participant.  That I rode my bike long and I rode my bike well because it was something that I loved doing as it shows me that world. That I loved often and I loved well and that I was well loved.  But not to take those left behind to the grave with me, but rather to have been an example in some small way. If I can do this, it doesn't get much better than that. 

New Bicycles, Brevets, and such

After thinking that I was not going to have my new bicycle for Hell Week, I was pleasantly surprised to get a call on Tuesday that it was completed. I arranged to take off work on Friday so my husband and I could make the trip to Tennessee. I am excited as we head out. My husband is excited for me as well. The sun is shining for the first time in weeks, and I do have some regret that I am spending the day in an automobile rather than on a bicycle, but it will be worth the sacrifice. During one of his many hospitalizations when they told me he would probably not recover and the sadness drowned me as if I were covered by an ocean and would never surface to breath or see the sun again, one wish he expressed to me was that I get a custom bike just for me. I still don't exactly know why he had this wish except he knows that one day, when I am free of work and other responsibilities, I hope to take off on my bicycle and tour the country. I also know that he likes to see me happy and I am rarely happier than when I am on the road on my bike. On the way down we pass a Christian billboard that lists some of the commandments. I grin and tell him that I guess I am going to cause some people to break one of those commandments. He looks puzzled and asks what I mean. I grin and tell him that the commandment says "Thou shalt not covet," but there will be people coveting my brand new Lynskey bicycle. He finds this amusing and laughs. It is good to hear his laughter and see the man I married before the pain and illness began their onslaught on our lives. One of my favorite movie scenes if from "Hook" where the little boy looks into Peter's eyes and says, "There you are."

We get to the bike store a bit early because I have forgotten about the hour time difference, but my bike is ready. It is beautiful. Lynn tells me it is unique, that the frame was made this way to meet all the things I said I want in a bike. It will even hold three water bottles. Steve told me one thing he learned from one of his bikes is what he doesn't like in a bike, but I already know that I love this bike. With any luck, this bike will take me to Paris in a year. With any luck, this bike will know laughter, adventure, and friendship. When I take it out, there is some noise in the front as the spokes settle in, but it goes away. I have never had hand built wheels before. I wonder how it will climb as there are no hills here to try. Unlike the last time, the store is very busy. Two other people are picking up their bikes, beautiful Pegoretti bicycles. They have waited much longer for their bicycles than I have for mine. Joking, I ask one of them if they had to be bitten by a pit bull to get his bike. He grins and tells me that he didn't. I see the pride of ownership in his eyes and I understand. While I must admit I did feel selfish when I thought of all the money I was spending on a bike when there was such tragedy in Haiti and other lands, I also felt the pride of ownership. I will never attain being what I would like to be, but then I am human.

On the way home, my husband encourages me to ride the brevet tomorrow on my new bike. Common sense prevails and I resist temptation. I would like for my friends to see my new bike. I know that he doesn't understand the struggles, internal and external, that can confront you in a brevet. You really don't know a bike until you have ridden quite a few miles on it. Brevets are long and hard enough without the unknown. It turns out that I am quite lucky that I use common sense and the saddle on my new bike will cause me pain on my short Sunday 40 miler.

Friday night I don't sleep well as I fret about whether or not I should have switched lights and equipment so I could ride my new bike on the brevet. I fret about what I should wear as the temperature range is supposed to be huge and I don't want to freeze but I don't want to carry a lot of extra gear. Morning seems to roll around before I ever resolve any of these issues. When I arrive, the parking lot is crowded. I am always amazed at the number of people who ride brevets. I am surprised but delighted to see Susan. She had told me she intended to ride the brevets, but I knew she had not been riding and doesn't like cold weather.

It is light enough that we should be able to complete the course without lights, but I have them just in case. After asking everyone I know how many layers they are wearing, I decide on a light wool base layer covered by a short sleeved wool jersey, a wind vest, and a light jacket. I am chilled in the morning, but not terribly uncomfortable, and despite the forecast the weather never changes enough where I had to shed a layer. It was nice to ride in the sunshine at an easy pace even though it was a tad on the chilly side. Susan amazes me with how strongly she rides despite having not ridden a century for months. We are joined for awhile by one man from Michigan. His computer has broken and he has lost his cue sheet. Susan gives him hers. I am glad that Susan said we should wait for him earlier in the day or he would probably have gotten lost. Steve normally marks this course, but weather did not permit it this go round.

I worry that the guys rode the course so much faster than we did and I know they are going to hurt me badly in Texas, but I convince myself that we will adapt as we have in previous years. One of my greatest fears is the day when I can truly no longer keep up with these friends that I cherish. I tell myself I should have used the trainer more and eaten less, but it is too late for this year. Maybe next year I will be more disciplined.

Susan and I pull in a tad before dark and I head home. When I get here, I take a few moments to stare at my new bike and contemplate tomorrow. I have promised my husband to take him to the Maple Syrup festival in the morning for pancakes and freshly processed maple syrup, but I know there will be time afterward. As it turns out, he doesn't want to go as he needs to do some bee work while the weather is warm. This frees me to get out early, and I am relishing the coming ride.

I grab the green beans from last years garden out of the freezer and put them on prior to heading out the door. The first ten miles are like a dream. The bike descends like a dream, handles well, and climbs well. Then the saddle issues start. I had thought this saddle would work for me, and I suppose I can give it another shot, but I am really glad I did not take the new bike on the brevet. I will get the saddle issue resolved and there will be other, longer brevets to challenge me in the near future.

PBP 2007 8

We are back at the motel. The bikes are not allowed in our personal rooms, so there is a large room where they are kept. The carpeting is covered with plastic. The room is filled with bicycles and bike boxes. The boxes also litter the stairwells. When we take our bikes and check out, this is where our luggage will stay until our return. I feel very lucky that I never had to move more than five or six bikes to get to my own. I also am glad I am not neurotic about scratches on my bike like I am about so many other things. I learn so much by just watching the others. Many are veterans, others are new like me. I see different seats and different lights and different thingamajigs.

The other picture is the bar where people kind of loiter on the first floor. Only two more days and we will be leaving. Tomorrow is bike check in. I grow more and more nervous, but the good kind of nervous. I ask myself over and over why I want to do this and never do come to much of a good reason other than to see if I can. I am hoping for good weather, but I hear the forecast is for rain. (Boy were they right;-)