Christy Century Backward on a Blustery Spring Day

 "Rainy days should be spent at home

with a cup of tea and a good book."

Bill Watterson

(unless there is a brevet to complete or 

it is a gentle, warm rain good for 

riding in)

Me

 

On Thursday and Friday, I kept looking at the club calendar for a medium distance ride, fifty or sixty miles.  But nothing pops up.  The end of March is nigh and I only have one century under my belt, so despite  the wind prediction, I decide to put a century on.  There are reasons for this.  It has been two weeks since my last century and the endurance benefits are fading and I intend to ride next week-ends century.  It is only supposed to get down in the forties and there is supposed to be sunshine.  I have spent all together too much time inside this past week.  I know I will probably not ride an entire century if I ride alone and conditions get tough. And it is supposed to rain Saturday night and Sunday.  

I love it when it rains the day after a century.  It is as if God is giving me permission to rest and enjoy the fruits of my accomplishment.  I hold it similar to the way I would feel on a brevet when I would be riding alone through the velvet darkness passing houses where everyone was still sleeping and lights were out.  As if the world belonged to me and to me alone along with the rustling sounds that issued from roadsides.  The sound of a dog that you just can't place and that may or may not be a foe.  The deer that, startled, jumps from the roadside into the light of your hub light.  I rarely ride at night anymore, but I still remember it and cherish it.  And I cherish rainy days after a harder effort where you feel your rest is deserved.  God tells us, after all, that our body is a temple. 

I have my doubts as to whether anyone will show for the ride.  Most people in the club rarely ride a century anymore unless it is a Tour de Mad Dog Century, and this is not.  It is a route I have used before, but oddly have never ridden before because for today it is  backwards and has different store and lunch stops.  Strangely, that was not my intention when I put the ride on the calendar.  I intended to do the traditional Christy.  Then after either an email or text from Jon that he has decided to ride, I realize my mistake.  Despite the fact it is just more evidence of a mind sliding backwards, I see the humor in it.  And we run with it.

 

Jon does, indeed, show.  I make several trips over to the firehouse and see nobody.  Jon and I prepare to leave when Glenn arrives.  He says he had been there but left seeing nobody, then decided to do one last drive by and maybe try to catch me via his new GPS unit.  Like me, he has purchased a Wahoo.  Deciding what to purchase was a real struggle for me.  I really miss the street names that Garmin supplies and everyone I know who has one loves their new sun charged Garmin.  But my past experience with Garmin and their help desk soured me though I have heard from numerous people that it is now much improved.  In the end, I decide that I need something easy to use and this trumps all.   I still roam occasionally, but am more careful distance wise than in the past.  Anyway, the ease of use and the price distance were the final deciding factors.   Still, this Wahoo functions differently than my old Wahoo and I am still adjusting to the differences.  Some I like.  Some I don't.  

Glenn, Jon, and I take off.  I do worry about Glenn because I know I will be slow and Glenn is anything but slow.  He tells me it is fine and that he has been off most of the winter.  I tell him that is what Mike and Larry told me last century when they rode with my group rather than the front group they often ride with.  Winter was hard this year unless you love indoor training.  

 

It feels strange to be stopping for a first store stop at a bit over 16 miles, but as I tell Glenn, the next store will not be until the late forties or more in North Vernon.  The wind is strong and we talk about how we will have a long stretch right into it at the end of the ride.  Despite the fact it is supposed to warm ten degrees during the day and the sun come out, nobody takes off a layer throughout the day.  I came close, but am glad I didn't.  I never sweated heartily enough to justify stopping and I hate those rides where I have to stop and keep putting things on and taking things off.

 

Daffodils seem to be blooming everywhere and I love how they brighten the earth. Nothing screams spring so much as daffodils.  When I see the first one, I know spring is real and I made it through another winter.  The purple flowers that blanket fields are just starting, not yet brilliant but beginning to show in the way that makes you look twice to ensure it is not just your imagination giving you what it knows you want to see.   No Redbuds or Dogwoods yet and none were expected.  Fields remain neglected, remains of last years harvest on their faces, awaiting plowing.   I tell Jon it won't be long now and the farmers will begin.  Soil will be turned or no-tilled.  The greening of the earth is beginning, but it still lacks the brilliance that will come.  Trees are starting to bud out, but the green mist that will appear and burgeon has not yet arrived; it is only promised in the blurring of their stark outlines. 

 

 Glenn rides ahead and we don't see him again until the next store stop in Vernon.  I am glad he feels he can do this.  I tell both him and Jon about my granddaughter at the museum last week-end.  We were passing some ancient pottery on display and I hear her tell her little sister, "These are really, really old.  They're even older than Grandma."  How I laughed.  And the point of the story is that I don't want anyone who rides to feel they have to stay back with Grandma.  Grandma put this route together and is very familiar with the roads and when I point them together, I was alone. Indeed, while I love to share a course I put together, I would rather ride alone than have someone have to ameliorate their pace to match my slower one.  I was once fast enough to know how painful that slowness can be.  

 

Before the lunch stop, Glenn begins to fade and asks me to reach and get him a gel.  I suggest we stop and he get it not saying but thinking it would not be good if I knocked both of us down onto the pavement trying to reach into his pocket.  While we are stopped, I think of one brevet where Steve Rice was too cold to retrieve his gel and how I had to help him since his fingers were no longer working the way they should. This leads to the time I could not get my gloves back on my damp hands and he put them on me as if I were a child.  We are very near lunch when this happens and we reach the lunch stop with no issue.  Unfortunately, the restaurant is not yet open but the winery is with a reduced menu.  I tease Jon about my being right about the opening only to later find neither of us was right.  The opening was not this week-end as he believed or next week-end as I believed, but this coming Wednesday. 

 

The waitress is familiar with us as we ride there in the summer quite often and brings a round of water with lemon for everyone without even asking.  The food is delicious though a bit on the pricey side.  Surprisingly, service is quick despite the nice size crowd there when we arrive. Lunch seems to revive Glenn and while he stays with us the rest of the ride, he could obviously drop me if he would like as could Jon.  

 

After lunch the sun is out full blast, but the wind has not dropped and remains strong, flags whipping out wildly.  At times, it is slow going,  but if you are going to ride, you have to accept that there will often be wind trying to push you backwards.  On the reverse side, there are times when it pushes you forward, but not on this ride, at least at this point in the ride. Toward the end it is all headwind.  We decide that with the late lunch, we don't need another store stop and finish the ride out.  The last half mile or so is the only little bit without a head wind and it is good to turn and have just a crosswind.  It is even better to see the end.   I have enjoyed the ride and while I could ride further if necessary, my strength is ebbing.

But I like knowing that I did not waste the day and that I have prepared myself for the next century.  The wind made the preparation even more valuable as it tests not only the body, but the mind, and in distance riding one's mind is just as or more important, that ability to work through the times you want to stop but really don't have to.  Maybe life is like that at times?  Anyway, it was good to see spring. And now I can sit and read and write and listen to the rain outside with the satisfaction of knowing my body really does need the rest and recovery and that I did not waste the week-end and what turned out to be, following a cloudy morning, beautiful spring day.  Even though I am not as old as the pots in the museum, I still am old. The day is coming when this door will also be closed to me, but not yet.  I am blessed. 

 

 

Paulhenge Century and New Roads

"The most splendid moment of an adventure

is not always the moment of fulfillment, not even the

moment of conception, but the moment of first

accomplishment, when the adventurer sets

his face toward the new road, knowing that his

boats are burned."

Katherine Thurston

I am looking forward to the new century route designed by Jon Wineland.  Looking at the GPS file, I know I have been on some of these roads, but many are completely new to me.  It is always so interesting to me how roads lace together running here and there but often coming together and emptying into familiar places.  "Why", I ask myself, "is there often a tendency at intersections to turn in the old familiar way?"   Is it just me, or do others find themselves doing the same, thinking that time is slipping by and there are miles to travel.  But then I realize I don't always do this.  If I did, there would never be  new routes. 

 

Though it is not a route I designed, I am enticed with the thought of the new roads. It is a longish drive for many to get to the starting place, Madison:  about an hour from Louisville.  I wonder how many will show.  I think how different we are.  The drive does not seem too much to me to see new places and new things.  Still it is for some, and   I also know that there are  those who, after viewing the  GPS file, will use the drive as an excuse to avoid the climbs.  There are easier pickings century-wise on the club schedule to finish out the tour and the cycling year, to do rides that "count."  How sad that we have come to this.  But as Amelia reminds me during the ride, there are those who must negotiate this precious time on the bike with spouses or significant others that don't ride.   As I have thought so often in the past, how lucky I was that Lloyd always supported my riding though I feel certain there were times when he would much rather I had stayed home.

The weather prediction means that the weather will be a bit sketchy in the afternoon:  a fifty percent chance of rain and thunderstorms.  But are we Mad Dogs or Pampered Poodles?  There will be no cancellation of this ride because it "might" rain or it "might" storm.  Not that I don't respect storms, and even have a healthy fear of them.  But during brevets I have ridden through plenty of them. But if one is not careful, fear can bind you more tightly than any ropes and keep you from living.  I am reassured in this decision as the riders begin to arrive, adults, capable of making their own decisions.  I know all but one and there is another I am only a little familiar with, but they are strong, capable cyclists.  Indeed, I am, perhaps, indeed mostly likely, the weakest of the lot.  I am okay with that as well.  I intend to lollygag and not push the pace today and I announced that in my ride description. 

As it turns out, there are eleven of us:  Jon Wineland (Course designer), Fritz KoPatz (back from his broken ribs), Tom Hurst, Amelia Dauer, Steve Meredith, Larry Preble, Thomas Nance, Samuel Bland, Clint Phillips, and Steve Draper, a visitor from Illinois who is working in Shepherdsville and found out about the ride on line.  We head out and are barely a half mile or so from the start when someone's bike begins making a metal screeching sound that I have never heard being made by a bike before.  As it turns out, Fritz's crank arm has cracked right off.  The  noise is the metal dragging on the ground.  I've never seen this happen before.  Someone later says it was probably damaged when he crashed and broke his ribs and they are probably right.  Regardless, Fritz has to turn around and return to his car.  His ride for the day is done. I am sad for him, but so glad that he didn't have a tumble. 

The rest of us follow Jon's advice and walk our bikes over the gravel bridge over the creek before heading up Heritage Trail, the first climb of the day and a long climb, but certainly not the toughest climb of the day.  At least the rest of us other than one rebel;-)  If I remember correctly Thomas rode over the bridge and down despite the rocks and pitted earth.   Some stop halfway up the climb to take photos.  Three of the riders take lots of photos so I don't bother knowing their pictures will be shared on Facebook.  

The first part of the ride is pretty flat and the pace is quicker than I had anticipated, but I have no trouble keeping that pace though I fall back a bit in anticipation of what is to come.  At one point, I tell Steve Meredith that the flatness is worrying me because I know the amount of climb in the ride.  Jon warns us that the last part of the ride is hillier than the first.  It is lovely to be out on roads that I have not ridden before or that I have not ridden so often that I know each turn and bend and bump, but I am not as strong as I once was so I exercise caution.  

I expect the group to fall apart at the first store stop as Jon has said he would like to have breakfast there and I have agreed to join him.  It is new to me, ordering breakfast this early in a ride.   Normally I eat a blueberry oatmeal bar I  make at home or buy a little something, drink, and head on.  But instead, I order a short stack of pancakes which is actually a pretty big stack of pancakes and I eat every bite.  I expect that many riders will take off since they have cue sheets and GPS tracks, but when I leave the store after eating breakfast, however hurriedly, they are there.  They leave when I come out, however, Jon is still inside.  I wait a moment and stick my head inside the door to find him, but don't see him.  I know that if I don't leave, I will never catch the group in front of me but that Jon will.  So I would either ride alone or Jon would mince his pace to match mine.  

So I head on knowing he will catch us, and he does...much sooner than anticipated.  It takes me quite awhile, but I do finally catch the back of the pack. I am glad Jon catches us quickly because otherwise I would have wondered about the buildings we pass that look as if they are half torn down.  As it turns out, it is the Urban Training Center where armed forces train for combat in an urban war zone. It makes sense to have one, but I never knew one existed.  I suppose I had never thought about it though I knew Lloyd had flown different places, including Colorado, while in the service and training.

 

 The others have taken off before then and by the time we reach the first covered bridge, it is just Steve and I though Jon is waiting at the bridge.  I want to walk through the bridge but Steve does not so he rides on.  Jon walks through with me.  I note that the bridge does not use arches like the covered bridge at Medora.  Instead it uses Howe trusses though not metal trusses.  Per Wikipedia:  "A Howe truss is a truss bridge consisting of chords, verticals, and diagonals whose vertical members are in tension and whose diagonal members are in compression. The Howe truss was invented by William Howe in 1840, and was widely used as a bridge in the mid to late 1800s."  

 

While we are there, Larry rides up saying the front group went off course.  So only Steve M. is ahead.  But Larry is alone because the others did not turn around with him.  Slowly the group regathers as the others find their way back on course.  On person, I think Steve, the other Steve;-),  says his GPS automatically reroutes when he goes off course.    

 

Right before lunch the group does a short out and back on a busy road, 50, to see Paul Henge, kind of a stone henge made from concrete slabs with shapes cut in the middle to tell time.   Laughingly, I ask Jon not to look at his watch and to tell me what time it is.  Appropriate photos are taken and we head back out, laughing and joking. 

 

We reach the lunch stop with no sign of Steve M.  We passed him on the out to Paulhenge so he must have ridden on to McDonalds. Everyone goes to the same place, Crossroads, but three decide to eat in under the air conditioning while the rest of the group eats at a lovely, covered patio outside.  It is interesting because the fan has smaller fans rotating and blowing on us.  And it is quite comfortable out there.  I am not hungry because of the pancakes and that is a disappointment.  I order scrambled eggs with toast because I know I will need fuel, but I wish I were hungry and felt I could eat one of the other selections.  Lesson learned.

 

We just finish lunch when the storm moves in.  At first we are going to brave it, but then the rain begins in earnest...not soft, gentle drops but hard, angry blobs of water pelting at full speed and angrily pummeling us.  We decide to wait it out on the covered front porch.  While there, Clint discovers an issue with his tire and changes it.  The first attempt is unsuccessful and the tube valve gets stuck. I have never seen tubes like this, bright colors and ultra thin. Luckily I have the multi tool I found as road treasure years and years ago with me.  Clint uses the pliers and a knife to remove the valve and the next insert is successful.  

 

By then the rain has passed and we head out crossing the second covered bridge at Versailles park: Busching Covered bridge built in 1885.  This bridge one can ride through and we do.  After that, the climbs begin.  The rain has stopped but the roads are wet with steam rising off of them.  As we climb, the sweat stands on my skin and does not seem to evaporate.  It is  hot and humid. Welcome to summer riding.

 

 We meet Steve M. at last store stop.  He has had an issue with his bike but it is now resolved.  He takes off ahead of the rest of us.  The last part of the ride is a blur as one rider becomes ill, cramping and vomiting.  With the constant stopping,  it is a race to get to the parking lot prior to the coming storm and we just make it as the wind begins to blow in earnest.  The rain begins to pelt down and I am thankful we are in because there would be no way to ride in this hard, blinding rain.  I assure the ill rider that it could happen to any of us.  That is part of riding.  But we finished, new roads with boats burning behind us.  And I look forward to doing this ride again.   

The Crawford Century TMD Ride: 2022

"Action may not always bring

happiness, but there is no happiness

without action."

William James

 

I am looking forward to this century though wary of the heat.  It takes awhile for the body to adjust to  heat, but the only way I know to make that adjustment is to ride in it and be outside. At least I don't puke normally like some people.  As with most things in life, you have to pay your dues.  The cost for some appears to be higher than for others, but I suppose in the end it all equals out.  I am looking forward to seeing everyone.  I am looking forward to  a new century route.  And I am looking forward to riding my bicycle.  

 

  When asked, I tell Bob Grable that I will be riding more slowly than the last century, a century where I surprised myself with my speed.  No, not a blazing fast pace, but faster than I expected and faster than I should probably go today.  

 

 

It is a good group that shows.  All strong and seasoned riders as best I can ascertain though there are two or three I am unfamiliar with.  They look fit.  And I do start the century at a reasonable pace, only to find my speed increasing as I warm up.  I have found that it takes me longer for muscles to warm up than it used to....they need a bit of coaxing and convincing before they concede that they still can do what is being asked of them. And today is no different. 

 

Still, I feel stronger than expected today. Can a vitamin B12 shot be responsible for how I feel?  At a recent doctor visit, Sara took blood and told me my levels were low and advised that  I needed a shot after questioning if I had gone vegetarian.  (I have not though I have significantly lowered my meat consumption over the past few years, particularly red meat).  The day after I felt as if I were twelve years younger.  Such a relief as I believed my fatigue was age related.  

We ride on roads that I have not ridden for awhile, many from past brevet courses and occasionally memories of past rides tease me.  I push them away.  Today is not a day for dawdling and reminiscing. I think of Dave King and Steve Meredith, both doing the Kentucky 400 K today and I wish them strength and a successful finish.

 

 

 Everything is green and lush:  summer creeping in and taking over.  There are still a few spring flowers scattered here and there, but they are obviously on the decline.  Daisies are starting and the honeysuckle is in full bloom, perfuming the air whenever we pass. If I were by myself and/or going at a slower pace, I would notice more, instead I find myself pushing, monitoring my breathing, monitoring my legs, thinking how best to put 100 miles behind me without ending the ride wishing I had been left in a roadside ditch somewhere.  And I find myself singing.  I am happy here in the heat and sunshine rolling along on a bicycle with friends.

As usually happens with larger groups, and there are  probably 19 riding, not large by normal TMD standards but large for this calendar year, we split into groups.  Bob and I are together at the first store step.  Ned is close behind us, but for some reason does not stop at the store with us.  I worry a bit but assure myself that I am not responsible for him or any of the others.  Steve Rice and Mark Rougeux, another group, are already there.  They head out shortly before we do though both Bob and I gulp our drinks quickly and head out. 

 

The lunch stop offers two possibilities, a gas station and a restaurant.  The majority opt for the gas station.  I am surprised at the number of people eating inside, not merely due to COVID but because the temperature outside is pleasant and there is a covered area with picnic tables.  I take my chicken salad sandwich outside and eat giggling again at the thought of another year of the finest in curbside dining.  At least there are picnic tables here.  

 

After a quick lunch we take off.  No lingering after this meal.  And our average speed continues to climb until the third store stop.  But the pace is beginning to tell and Bob and I, still together, decide to slow it down a bit, particularly knowing there is a huge climb that lies between us and the finish.   And huge it is.  Halfway up a man working in his yard grins at us and says something about the climb.  I tell him we have this in the bag.  And we do.  We end together, pleasantly tired but not completely spent.  And I am happy.  Happy for the day, for the ride, for friends, and for bicycles.  James is right.  I find I am rarely happy without action of some type, mental or physical, and today I have had my fill.  The day is completed when some of the men in the front group comment on how strong I am this year.  Their words are music to my tired ears.  And for today I am sated.  And as always, I am thankful....thankful for bicycles, thankful health, thankful for friends, and yes, even thankful for hills that serve to humble and strengthen us. 

 

 

Short Frankfort: Century of the Week 2021

"What makes something special

is not just what you have to gain,

but what you feel there is to lose."

Andre Agassi 

 

The night before the ride, I wonder if the century will be a go as there is talk of severe thunderstorms and high winds, but things sound a bit better in the morning with most of the bad weather staying north.  So I leave early for the ride start as it is quite a drive for me.   I am looking forward to the ride.   It has been awhile since I have ridden these roads.  Since I am playing with centuries this year, I am trying to vary the ride starts so it is not always a long drive for the same people, but when I think about it the participation has mostly been varied this year.  And today is no different.  There are five of us that are going to ride, and only three of us have done a century this year.  Tom Askew, Larry Preble, Gail Blevins, Trey (last name unknown), and I head out into the cool of the morning well aware that it will not last and is supposed to get into the ninties.

At first I think that the group will split early into two groups because of the different ability/fitness levels, but it turns out to be one of those special days when everyone seems content to ride together and enjoy each other's company.  There seems to be no rush to get anywhere or to finish.  We proceed not at a break neck pace, but we aren't crawling along either. People  talk to each other for a bit, then talk to someone else in the group, and when the group does split a bit on a hill or when someone is feeling their oats, they  stop and allow the others to catch up and regroup.  

 

I love these types of rides, the rides where there is just the company, the scenery, the challenges, and the bicycles.  The type of ride where nobody is in a hurry, where everyone seems to know that no matter their level of expertise of fitness, what is important is the overall experience of the ride:  the sound of conversation, some serious, some frivolous, the sound of laughter, the sound of wheels turning, the look of smiles on faces, the startling greenness and lushness that surrounds us, the feel of the wind caressing our faces,  the wonder of being alive and being on a bicycle.  I hold these things close, treasure them, memorize them, hoping to use them as a shield when the day comes when I can no longer participate.   As Agassi says, I am gaining from this ride, but the appreciation also comes from knowing what I, and the others, will eventually lose.  I send up a silent prayer pleading not yet, not soon, well aware of my selfishness for I have been given so much.  How grateful I am for this day and these riders.  How cognizant I am that these types of rides can't be forced.  They either happen or they don't.

Despite the temperature being in the nineties, the  cloud cover and wind make it seem like it really is not overly hot.  Even the long climb into Frankfort, not steep but long, does not seem overly demanding.  The only disappointment is, upon arriving at Qdoba, the traditional lunch stop for the Short Frankfort, they are not open due to staffing issues.  We eat, instead, at Panera where Gail keeps everyone in stitches throughout the meal.  I don't know if she realizes how funny she is, but everyone is giggling and enjoying themselves.  Larry takes photos.  As for me, I try to make an image to retain in my mind.   I try to memorize the sounds of their laughter, the timbre of their voices, the ways their  lips curve when they smile.  And I know, despite the fact nothing unusual has happened, that I will remember this day and this ride.  

Perhaps if all rides were like this, they would not be so special.  They would become ordinary...mundane...repetitive.  But most rides are not like this, not with the differing levels of ability.  Like everyone else, I have days when I want to ride  hard, to feel my lungs heave and gasp for oxygen, to feel my muscles burn, and other days when I want to poke along at a snail pace, stop and take photos, lollygag.  But for now I am glad for this day, for these people, and for bicycles.  It is practically guaranteed that I will, eventually, lose contact with most if not all of them.  I have watched it happen before.  It seems a lot to lose. The thought makes my heart ache,  but oh, how much I have gained from this day.  And I am grateful:  grateful for the laughter, for the camaraderie, for our health, and this gray day that sheltered us from heat that could easily have stolen the laughter and turned it into curses.  Once again I am grateful for bicycles. 

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.

The Last Vacation Day

"That old September feeling left over from school

days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, 

obligations gathering, books, and football in the air....

Another fall, another turned page: there was something

of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last

years mistakes had been wiped clean by summer."

Wallace Stagner

One more vacation day, I think as I arise, and there is so much work that I should be doing, but it "is" vacation and so I will not.  Instead, I will ride my bike.  I may do a century or I may not:  it is all dependent upon how I feel.  I slip out into a cool, morning where the high humidity is not yet a concern.  Just my bike and me.  Responsibilities be damned.  Sometimes there is a need inside to do what you want to do rather than what you should do, and today that need will be satiated, at least temporarily.  Yesterday, after my morning ride but prior to the afternoon time trial, I changed the oil in the lawn mower and cleaned the air filter, a chore that traditionally belonged to my husband and that I had put off far too long, but today, despite the long list of things that should be done, I am doing what I want to do.  

I decide that I will ride to Norman Station and have lunch at Jiggs.  If I am tired at the first store stop, I can turn around and make it a 50 miler, but I am beginning to feel more like myself though I still need to drop 10 extra pounds that I picked up during my down time when I hurt too badly to ride.  The sun is shining, the day is mine, and I am on my bicycle.  

When I reach Medora, the first store stop, there is a man at the register who is obviously high.  He is shaking so badly he can barely tie his shoes. He keeps glancing from side to side surreptitiously and I am reminded of the movie "The Exorcist" and think that it would not surprise me to see his head  swivel completely around. While he looks as if he once was an extremely good looking young man, he appears ancient despite his obvious youth.  The lady at the register is obviously frightened and calls for the store manager, but he leaves without incident.  I see him drive away and worry about who he might hurt, himself included, in a car.  But I really don't see anything I can do.  It is a small town, and I have never seen a hint of law enforcement on my trips through that town.  The woman at the check out are talking about all the town "crack heads" when I leave, and I am thankful that I did not go down that path because I easily might have.  Thank you, Dan Gorjanc, though I assume you long ago departed this earth, for your guidance when you were my college guidance counselor.  Both in the guidance office and in the class room you did your job:  you made me think. Odd how God sprinkles people in our paths.  Though I did not spring from his loins,  he cared at a time when my father did not, could not, and he wanted nothing, expected nothing in return. Family, it seems, is not always biological.

Despite stopping at Medora, something makes me stop at Leesburg as well, a feeling that Jiggs, like so many country stores and restaurants, might have gone belly up.  Years of experience has taught me not to depend upon these stores under challenging weather conditions.  Thank goodness I heed my gut, for the day grows progressively hotter and when I reach Norman Station, Jiggs is closed.  At least it has just changed its open days and hours, but I wonder what happened.  The owner was elderly, but a friendly sort, always welcoming.  Did he have a stroke, a heart attack?  I say a prayer for him and his family.  The older I get the more I realize how difficult old age is, not only for the person who is aging, but for his family who are gradually losing pieces of the person they love.  I am scared of getting old, and I renew my vow to myself to get back into better shape.  Goodness, a girl should be able to ride back to back centuries without blinking or a hint of tiredness, particularly at a slow pace. But injury combined with laziness has made me weak. I do not want to be dependent.  I know the day will probably come, but I steel my resolve to make it as far away as possible.

 I think of the small stores, nuggets of comfort in a beautiful but store barren land, particularly as I make the two water bottles I have last for nearly 50 miles, drinking them despite the fact they are as warm as the day.   I could say they are as warm as "piss" and be telling the truth.  There is  no enjoyment in the drinking, just the necessity of filling a need so as not to perish and to be able to continue to turn the pedals. I pass no churches where I could check for water spigots.

 Originally when I designed this route, we went to the 58 Cafe.  It closed after only a few trips there though I still have memories from when it was open.  For some reason, I see Mark in his chair, a big grin on his face, and I can almost feel the warmth of his laughter. How riding bonds us to others that we otherwise would have no connection to. We saw so many deer that day during our ride, but the hunters sitting in the restaurant were there empty handed.  I think of Medora. I used to stop at another store, now closed.  For a moment I am sitting there  in that then open store with Grasshopper, outside the snow is starting to fall, flakes as big as my fist, as I worry about how we will get back for with snowfall so furious the roads will soon be covered and we are on road bikes.  The inside of the store is warm, made warmer by the glow that old oak has, for this store was a wonder of aged oak, and made warmer by the company of a friend.  Someone once suggested it was an old hardware store originally.  And there are more, many more such stores, each with its own special character, not like the homogeneous 7-11 or Speedway, etc. Commiskey, two stores down, one store left to go. Each a remnant of the past.  Each a way station on my journeys and explorations, a source of comfort and nourishment and a part of my cycling experience.

Soon I am at the gravel hill climb, but as I make my way, my rear wheel slips and turns sideways, unable to find purchase.  Before I know it, I am on my side on the ground, laughing like a wild woman, gravel digging at me,  one foot still clipped in.  I am not hurt, just covered with grit and a bit bruised, including my ego.  I think that I  should have ridden my other bike as it is designed for this terrain and wonder why I didn't.  Or perhaps I am just too weak.  Just the other day I was wondering if I could still climb Fire Tower Hill on  my bike. But I don't think it would have happened on the Surly. Sometimes I just don't make good choices. Oh, well, if you are going to ride bicycles, you are going to tumble.  Any fall that you walk away from, that is a good fall. And if you are going to live, you are going to occasionally make poor choices.  That is how we learn.

 I still  know it is a good choice to ride today though by the time I reach Brownstown, I am out of water and very, very thirsty.  There is something out here that I need occasionally, the green landscapes, the solitude, and the time to think. Deprived I can become quite contrary. I smile and think of the times Lloyd said to me, "Uh, perhaps you need to go for a ride." When I ask for water with my sandwich, the lady takes one look at me and says, "You look like you could use our large glass."  I feel like a camel as I down glass after glass of cold water seeped in ice.......cold, beautiful, refreshing ice.  It is if I can feel my strength returning for the final twenty some miles and the one final climb. Again I realize how experiences are sometimes enhanced by deprivation. 

 I am home, tired but strangely refreshed.  My eyes have had their share of beauty today and my body is sated from physical exercise, exercise that will make it grow stronger. Exercise that will hopefully make me sleep tonight like a child, deeply and soundly.   Vacation is over for now.  I have more planned in October if nothing interferes, before the winter chill, when the world glows with color that we must cherish and hold tightly for a few months before the cycle begins all over. I have no regrets that chores remain undone, maybe because they never STAY done.  And after all, retirement is just a few years down the road.  "To everything there is a season."  Today's season is for bicycling, despite the heat and closed stores. And now to appreciate a cleansing shower.  God bless the people who thought of running water.