The Red Barn Ride in Autumn

"I hope I can be the autumn leaf

who looked at the sky and lived.

And when it was time to leave, 

gracefully it knew life was a gift."

Dodinsky

 

 

This is probably not the wisest thing I have ever done, not canceling my 64 mile, moderately hilly ride, but I am so looking forward to it after a hiatus from the bike due to illness and then injury.  And I have been conservative up until now, sitting around the house reading and using the computer and watching television until I want to scream.  I learned a long time ago that trying to ride or work out through injuries normally backfires and costs you even more time off the bike and more time unable to work out.  I have always believed that things happen to us for a reason, that there is something we are supposed to learn from the experience, so perhaps it is to aid me in acquiring more patience, a virtue I lack. 

 

 Yes, I rode a century two week-ends ago, but I was off the bike with a stomach bug that caused me to  lose 7.5 pounds in two days prior to that (negative COVID test)  and did not ride afterward as I developed an injury of the neck/upper arm/shoulder.....still not really sure or sure what caused it.   Per Gabe Mirkin, whose newsletter I adore, in just two week of inactivity we lose a tremendous amount of strength:  https://www.drmirkin.com/fitness/inactivity-causes-muscle-loss.html.  I believe him.

 

When making my decision, I decide that if I find I am in pain after a few miles, I will turn around and sweep the route by car.  I truly don't want to miss what is left of the fall.  I hope to see it from the seat of my bike, but if I have to turn to my car to see it I will.  What a wonderful thing eyesight is.  I think of my mom and how macular degeneration changed her life.  Before she developed it, I had never heard of this cruel disease that steals the central vision leaving only peripheral vision.  Better than total blindness, but still such a loss.   How important it is to squeeze every drop of beauty out of life while we can and to savor it and hold it dear, to look at the sky.  Our time is so short. 

I change the start time to a bit later due to the predicted cold temperatures.  Still, it is in the 30's when I arrive at the forestry.  I think how each year I have to relearn how to dress for cold weather riding.  I tend toward overdressing and that causes dehydration problems.  Drinking is always hard in the winter when it is cold and that exacerbates any overdressing.  One would think that I would learn, but it never seems to sink in.  I relearn this lesson every fall when the temperatures drop, just as I later will remember that there is beauty in the stark quietness of the winter landscape. 

 

With the frigid weather and a century on the schedule, I wonder if anyone will show despite the fact it is supposed to warm up to the sixties. I always wonder that, as if I could not ride on my own and enjoy it. Yes, regardless, I will ride.  Today is the Red Barn ride, and I like the route.  I suspect that Eden and Delaney Park roads will have some color to them.  It has enough climb to be interesting, one hill that is challenging, and scenery ranging from forest to farm land.  Plus, it is low traffic. 

As it turns out, there are ten riders.  Two of them I don't know very well.  We have met on prior rides I have put on the schedule and spoken a few words, but never had a true conversation.   Four of them I don't believe I have met before.  The two I have met are very strong riders, and it obvious that the group of six know each other and plan on riding together.  Despite my urging them to feel free to start ahead of the scheduled start time, something that is allowed and even encouraged by the club due to COVID and trying to keep groups to small sizes, they wait and we leave together.  But that is the last we see of them.  By the time we reach the store stop, they are long gone.  I am so glad that there was a group of fast riders because I know I am NOT going to be fast and I don't want to hold anyone back. And I don't want anyone riding alone unless that is their choice for the day.

I end up riding the entire ride with Mike Crawford, John Pelligrini, and Paul Battle.  I don't know if I am riding better than expected or if they are being kind, but they match my slow pace.  I strongly believe they are being kind as I know how powerful each of these men are on a bicycle. I grow slower in the fall every year, and with being off the bike for three and half weeks I am slower than normal. But we all seem comfortable with the pace and with each other.  We discuss politics and other issues and the miles simply fly by.

 

Paul mentions how different the course looks when we pass fields that have been harvested.  For some reason, the stubble always reminds me of a man who shaves regularly but has missed a day or two, perhaps because he is on vacation.  Suddenly I am back in the mobile home we lived in when the children were little remembering how when my son was small, he loved it when I would let him put shaving cream on his face and use a razor that was covered to shave himself.  I see him at the mirror, as serious as can be, as if there were even a hint of fuzz on those smooth cheeks, patiently shaving.  But with company, there is not much time for reflection.  

 

John mentions the woolie worms that seem determined to cross the road to wherever they are going and how many there are, but I think they are small in number compared to a few years ago.  I wonder if a new pesticide is what has decimated their ranks.  We certainly have not had exceptionally cold weather the past few winters that would have done this.  Always they are a sign of the coming winter and the change of seasons.

As usual when I ride with company, I don't notice my surroundings nearly as much as I do when I am alone, but it is pleasant being with friends and occasionally the beauty of a particular view takes my breath away.  This is the case on the descent down Old 56, a long, slow 2 mile descent near the end of the ride.  I seem to be in a tunnel with walls made of yellow and orange.  The wind tosses leaves like confetti. And in the midst of the beauty I realize I am really tired and my neck in starting to hurt a bit.  I am glad we near the end and slow further worried that pushing may hurt more than it helps.  I counsel myself to patience.  

It is no longer cool.  I am not sweating, but I think I would be if it were not for the strong wind.  The sky has been blue but is beginning to cloud over, but still is it a gorgeous fall day.  The company and the scenery did not disappoint.  Life is, indeed, as noted by Dodinsky, a gift, as is friendship and and the autumn of the year, and of course, bicycles.  Yes, I hope when my time comes, I leave gracefully, grateful for my time here.  But I also hope that time is many, many years away.  I have more living I would like to do, much of it on bicycle. 

BMB: No Bonking This Time Around

"Fear keeps us focused on the past or

worried about the future.  If we can 

acknowledge our fear, we can realize that

right now we are okay.  Right now, today, 

we are still alive, and our bodies are working

marvelously.  Our eyes can still see the

beautiful sky.  Our ears can still hear the 

beautiful voices of our loved ones."

Thich Nhat Hanh

Despite BMB being a rather easy century, I fear it.  I fear it because I have bonked on it numerous times.  Last year I bonked spectacularly.  Each pedal stroke took tremendous effort,  both mentally and physically.  Each climb, no matter how short or lacking pitch became the tallest mountain.  I hurt.  And I was slow, spectacularly slow.  This is bad when it happens near the end of the ride.  It is a living nightmare when it happens near the start. 

 

 Don't get me wrong, for some reason, I always slow down when fall gets here.  The desire to ride hard or fast rarely hits me.  I think that it is, perhaps, because I don't want the comfortable riding season to end. I will miss seeing friends regularly and hearing their voices. But this was a new low.  Dave King was the ride captain and patiently swept me and another rider in that year despite my pleas to just leave me be.  Brevets have taught me that I can go on, even when tired, even when discouraged, but it seemed terribly unfair to saddle another with the depth of my bonk.  I would make it in.  That was not the question.  The question was when.  That another rider was also struggling did not penetrate.  It was, in my mind, just Dave and me, and Dave could have ridden much, much faster.  But being Dave, he didn't.  Dave is the man who waits in his car while I finish out the last mile of a ride to ensure it is a century because he does not like the looks of someone sitting in a car who he feels might be a danger to me.  Dave is the one who has a conscience.  Dave is, indeed, one of my favorite people in this world for so many reasons.  He makes me laugh.  He gives me hope that there is goodness in this world. And it is for all those reasons as well as because he is a friend  that I don't want to be a burden to him.

 

I decide that I must do the ride if for no other reason than my fear of it.  It makes no sense to fear it.  It is not among our more difficult rides.  But having dealt with fear before, I know the best way to conquer fear is to face it down, to stare in its eyes and tell it you will not let it have power over you any longer.  After the pit bulls attacked me, it took me quite awhile to feel safe riding with others.  I made myself ride past the place where I was bitten by myself, tears streaming down my face, until I could hold my line, until terror did not make me stiff and until tears were on hold.  Don't get me wrong.  I still fear aggressive dogs that rush in the road.  But I hold my line and don't endanger others because of my fear.  Today is no different.  I am not terrified in the same way, but I fear bonking, that feeling of weakness, of hopelessness. But today Dave is not the ride captain. Paul rides with me, always patient, always interesting to listen to and talk with.  This may be more amazing because of our different backgrounds.  Bill once said that he had noticed that women always like to ride with Paul.  So maybe there is something about him that is comforting.  I think he is like Dave in that I can count on Paul to do the right thing.  But for whatever reason, he is a favored riding companion. 

 

The decision to ride the ride was made more difficult by Jon's offer of an alternative ride that would definitely suit my fancy because it involved: a. eating lunch at one of my favorite places that has outside dining, and b. stopping at a book sale.  Had I known earlier, I would perhaps have made that choice, but the die is cast and probably for the best.  I need to get over my fear of this course.  I will add that when I neared the end of my ride, Jon HAD to rub it in by sending me a picture of not one, but TWO, blackberry ice cream desserts;-) And I later learn he found not one, but FIVE books at the book sale.  Can you say jealous;-)

 

A large group of riders gather at the ride start and take off.  It is a cool, crisp morning with a bite to it.  Vests, knee warmers, jackets, arm warmers, and full fingered gloves are making their appearance on almost every rider.  And we are off into a bright morning where the sun is shining so brightly my eyes ache despite my sunglasses.  Dew shines on the fox tail.  Fields of yellow appear beautiful to my eyes if not helpful for my sinuses. Paul occasionally points out a beautiful vista knowing how much I appreciate scenery on rides. This is definitely not the most scenic course, but it does have it moments.  Conversation floats through the air before we split into groups.  Spirits are high and there is laughter.  Paul and I soon are bringing up the rear.  I tell both him and the captain that there is no need to stay back with me.  The ride captain moves on.  Paul stays. 

 

The ride is largely on main roads.  At times traffic makes it difficult to maintain a conversation.  But I see side roads with no yellow line and wonder where they lead to.  Paul tells me that Duc would know and I realize he is probably right.  Like me, Duc seems to prefer being a bit off the beaten path or perhaps he is just curious.   In Texas, there was a ride called "Fred's ride."  Evidently it was the favorite ride of someone named Fred.  But when we rode it, we wondered about Fred because the route was mainly heavily traveled roads, none of the side roads that I and those I ride with preferred.  Still, I know everyone has preferences.  I think of how Grasshopper enjoyed city riding.  I think of how last week on the century another woman said she could never ride a century alone because she would be bored.  Such comments used to hurt my feelings.  Now, as I told a friend, I look at it differently.  I like chocolate cake and others don't.  The difference is not bad:  just different.  I suppose our differences keep things interesting.

 

Mark drops back and rides with Paul and I for awhile and it is nice to have someone else to talk with for a bit. Mark is funny and often makes me laugh.  Mark, along with Jeff Carpenter, helped plan our bike trip from Washington D.C. to Pittsburgh last year thus becoming a friend.  But at the next stop, he is off with a faster group.  I briefly contemplate chasing knowing Paul is more than strong enough to follow suit, but I decide to continue to ride cautiously, something I do throughout the miles.

The ride ends with my never having gone fast, but also with not feeling worn out and exhausted.  The groups ahead of us are mostly still in the parking lot enjoying the beautiful fall weather sampler and enjoying the refreshments the ride captain brought. I talk for awhile before climbing in my car for the ride home, a ride during which I can think about the things that were said and that I saw during the ride.   But I am glad I faced my fear.   The only regret is ice cream swimming in blackberries that went into someone else's tummy. As Mr. Hahn noted, "My body worked marvelously" today.  Thanks, Paul, for the support and the company, for not minimizing my fear of this course when you know I have ridden many far more difficult.  I value our friendship more than I can say.  And I value bicycles:  the friends I have made through them and the places they have taken me.

Just An End of Summer Ride: September 2020

"Summers lease hath

all too short a date."

William Shakespeare 

 

It can't be September, but yet it is.....summer again has slipped past me in a blur.  Soon it will be time for nature to dress herself in russets and oranges and yellows. Her multicolored skirt will rustle and swirl, patchwork, in the swelling winds of fall.  Green grass will fade and yield to brown, lusterless dullness. Fields will be harvested, broken stalks whiskering the ground, a reminder of what was. A promise of what will be again.  Bicycling will mean arm warmers and jackets and morning air crackling with crispness as breath becomes visible as we speak and laugh. 

 

But not today.  Today is overcast and misty, unseasonably cool and unusually humid, but it is still summer and I cling to that. Twelve show for the ride,  more than I expected.   It makes me a tad nervous.  I hope they like the course. The ride is short, only 47 miles, but I think it is a nice course. It has two nice climbs on it:  Liberty Knob and the ironically named Flatwood.  Most of it is on little traveled roads.  Pavement is good in places and acceptable in others.  Few of the roads we will travel are in need of repair.  Smiles still dance across faces and the pace is relaxed with none of the intensity that seems to come with colder weather.  Even those who normally ride hard, and will do so later in the ride, stay together.  Perhaps the fog, perhaps the camaraderie.

 

The bike I normally ride needed a new middle chain ring.  One of the teeth had worn to where on a steep grade, it would jarringly drop to granny making my knees ache and causing me to lose my rhythm, and so it is being repaired.  Luckily for me, despite the age of the bike and the components, a  part was available.  So I am riding my old Trek, the aluminum bike that got me through my first PBP in 2007, a bike my husband bought for me.  The lights I used on that ride are still attached, and I do not have the heart to take them off as my husband was the one who put them on for me. No, they have not been on there since 2007, but they have been on there for a number of years.  It is an old hub generator, the kind with no battery, and on that PBP when I would climb my front lights would go out as I was not pedaling fast enough to power them.  If I remember, he reattached them for me to use for the occasional trek to work.  But they were his hands who placed them and so they remain.  I don't think I have ridden this bike outside since his loss.

 

I think how lucky I am to have them as we roll out into a dense fog: they will come in handy.  Switching bikes, I forgot to add a tail light.  Fortuitously, Larry Preeble has an extra that he loans me.  So I have lights both fore and rear.  It is foggy, the kind normally described as being thick enough to cut with a knife.  And it does not appear that it will lift early or be burned away.  The prediction is for cloud cover most of the day.

 

The fog does not overly trouble me once we get off the main road out of the ride start as I know from there on out, there will be little traffic, but I still remain cautious.  While we are on Bloomington Trail, Mike Crawford's chain slips between the cassette and his frame.  I can see John look and struggle with his decision to move on, but it does not take all of us to work on this and it is the right decision.  To my surprise, Mike does not have a quick release in the back and the screw to loosen the wheel appears to be stripped.  Three riders approach that were not with our group.  They are on an unofficial SIW ride to Leota and Little York.  They kindly stop and assist.  The wheel is loosened enough for the chain to be pulled back out and the ride is saved.  Thank yous are given and we are on our way, our paths soon diverging. I wish I could remember their names, but I don't.  I could blame the lack of memory on age, but I have always struggled with names. I would, however, know their faces if I saw them again, or so I believe.

 

As we climb up Liberty Knob, the first of the two main climbs, Paul tells me his legs have not recovered from Saturday.  Eventually, however, he finds that the problem is not his legs, the problem is that his rear wheel is rubbing against the rear brake.  Briefly I think of a 300K where that happened to me.  I was almost halfway into the ride before I figured out I was not just having a bad day.  It has always struck me as odd how you can prepare for a ride the same way, eat the same the evening before and the morning of, get the same amount of sleep, but one day you have a strong day and another a weak day.   Sometimes it is something like a brake rub, but sometimes you just aren't strong.  I try to make it a habit to check both my front and rear brakes before each ride, but sometimes a rub appears later regardless.  Anyway, it is a good feeling when you find out that was the problem and that  the problem was not with your own motor.  

 

Most of the others have waited at the store stop, but we intend to stop for just a bit and send them on. I think of how much more comfortable I am doing this now that the majority of riders ride with a GPS unit.  It also is so much easier to design a route, though I will always be fond of the days I grabbed my bike and headed out onto unknown roads armed with sidewalk chalk to help me find my way back home.  I will always be grateful to my husband for encouraging me even on those days when he was lonely or in pain, preparing me for the independence we both knew was coming however undesired.  

 

As we head down Bartle's  Knob, I am glad that I remembered to warn people to ride with caution.  A smile flirts across my face as I think of Roger Bradford and how he almost went down on that descent after his rear wheel skidded in a turn.  He was already so proud of completely the Mangler successfully, and then to pull out of a skid with no injury, let me just say he was beaming.  I am glad I got the chance to know him and to watch him complete the Challenge Series I used to put on.  

 

The ride ends and a few are waiting.  None of us eat inside restaurants anymore, but we get Subway sandwiches and sit and dine curbside, sharing a few more of those last of summer moments, heading home reluctantly to do chores.  Shakespeare was right.  While it is not my favorite season, summer does not last long enough. It is not the fall I fear.  I love the fall.  It is what comes after, now made harder by the Pandemic.  I know my grass is waiting and want to get it cut before the predicted rain. And as strange as it sounds, I will miss that as well.  But the world turns and season change.  It was a nice if uneventful ride shared with friends.