A Perfect Cycling Day

"I can not endure to waste anything so precious

as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house."

Nathaniel Hawthorne

The weather prediction is such that no true cyclist could resist going for a ride, a long leisurely ride, the kind where you begin to soak up the color and warmth to hold close during the coming dark and cold months.  Yes, it is to be a tad on the windy side, but other than that the sun is to shine and the temperatures are perfect.  It would be an absolute sin and a shame to waste such a day doing housework or the myriad other chores that really need to be completed before winter. There is a slight chill, a hint of the coming fall, in the morning that can be easily managed with a vest and light arm warmers that will be shed later.  And today I am alone.  I briefly debate the 60 mile club ride, but decide against it with no regret. 

I decide to head toward Story as I have been wanting to test some modifications to my original route.  Sometimes it is hard to find those roads that I love to ride, the scenic ones with little traffic.  And this route has more state road on it than I normally like.  They are not particularly busy state roads, and they are mostly scenic, but still I prefer to haunt those back, meandering roads.  There are times, however, when the roads just aren't there.

I am mostly satisfied with the first half of the route.  It takes awhile to get off the main road, but once I do, the roads are lightly traveled.  I come across a fawn who freezes as he sees me, his white spots just faintly visible as he becomes a youngster rather than a babe. He edges the bordering forest, uncertain as to his best move.  Should he freeze and hope I don't see him or run? He does not move as I ride by and our eyes meet briefly. I tell him he must be afraid of me for his own good for hunting season approaches.  Being so young and so small still, I would not think he would be much of a target, but what do I know of hunting?  I have friends who are hunters, but it never appealed to me.  My husband used to talk about bow hunting and killing a deer.  He said that after he looked in its eyes as it died, he was never able to  hunt again.   I think of his gentleness and how it was hidden under such a stern, frightening exterior presence at times. Oh, I miss him so and I suppose I always will. How glad I am that I bypassed the surface and saw what was underneath.  As they say, there is more to a book than its cover.  I think of how these quiet solitary rides, so misunderstood by others, allow me to see things and think about things in a way I would not if I had company.

The first store stop is in Freetown.  I think of how I wish I had written down the history of the town that an old man was kind enough to share with me when I stopped there once in the past.  Sometimes I think I should carry pen and paper with me.  So many things happen on rides, and my memory is not as it once was. In college, I would wake up able to recite certain parts of the text I had been reading verbatim, but anymore I am lucky to remember why I left the couch to go to the kitchen. The town, per this man, originally had another name, a name that escapes me, but was made to change it as there was already a town in the state with that name.  My memory betrays me.  I laugh about it because there is nothing I can do about it, but I don't like it.  Sometimes it scares me.  

While I am at the first store stop, sitting at the picnic table studying a map because of an expected detour, a group of cyclists pull in.  I still am not quite sure why they stop as I did not notice any of them going into the store, but perhaps they did and I did not notice.  They are from Columbus and they are going down the road to another small town: Cortland.  I tell them I don't know if it is still there, but there was a little country store that had the best homemade pumpkin bread.  I remember sharing a small loaf with Grasshopper on a ride years back, the smell of the bread rich and savory, the slant of sun resting on our shoulders as we ate content in each other's company in the way that good friends are.  We had been to Surprise earlier, but surprise, there was not even a pop machine.  I briefly think of first meeting Grasshopper, of how he, like so many of my friends, had to initiate and almost insist on friendship. I suppose that, like Woody Allen, I sometimes wonder who would want to belong to a club that had me as a member.  And I suspect we all feel that way at times.  I miss seeing him, but I understand that riding was no longer for him.  I am glad he has found someone to renew his smile. 

They tell me the store still is there and now the specialty is Peanut Butter pie.  We are heading in the same direction, though I will turn off before reaching Cortland, but they are not quite ready to leave when I take off. I think that they will probably catch me as they are a group and will be drafting, but they do not. I am not going particularly fast, but I don't loiter as I know there is a detour and I don't know how I might have to modify my route to get home or if I will have to modify it.  Despite the fact it still stays light fairly late, I want to leave myself a cushion.  I have not yet put the light on my bike that stays there all winter for those "just in case" rides.

I come across the Shields covered bridge and stop to photograph the work that has been accomplished.  Nearby, a farmer has made the last cutting of hay and the day has warmed enough that the smell wafts through the air and I wonder if it is the last time I will smell that smell this year.  I even come across a field where corn is being brought in.  Other corn fields are still a bright green: nowhere near harvest.  As the wind picks up, I notice the rustling noise through the corn, a fall sound. At Waymansville, at least I think that is the name, the store remains closed and it saddens me.  Everything changes,  and I am changing.    I wonder if it is visible to others, this change in me, or if I am deluding myself and have not changed at all.  Like the bridge, I assume my structure will remain basically the same, reinforced by life events.

I eat outside of Story in the horse place, but I do stop briefly at Story.  There is music and I briefly wish I had someone who I could sit with and share a glass of wine or two with, but I waste little time on fancy knowing the detour remains ahead.  I find that while the road is closed, the bridge is completed and nobody is working so I am able to cross with no detour.  I take a side road trying to find how to get off the main road and  wonder if I will miss the big climb on the main road only to encounter a hill that makes the other seem mild, a wonderful, cursed, terrible, magnificent hill.  Still recovering from a virus I had a couple of weeks ago and still rather weak, I drop it into granny and make my way, cursing, sweating, and grinning because this will be a good modification when I want a harder ride or to torture a riding companion.  A woman stops at the next intersection telling me she is a cyclist and asking if I need direction, and I thank her and send her on her way.

In the end, the change ends up adding a mile so I end up with a 104 mile total for the day.  I see so much beauty.  Everything is still green with just the faintest hint of the coming fall.   I am glad I did not spend the day doing the chores that need to be done, that I spent the day on my bike doing something I love.  It is not good to "waste anything so precious" as a perfect cycling day. 

Midway Century Ride

"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth

find reserves of strength that will endure as long as

life lasts.  ...There is something infinitely healing

in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance

that dawn comes after night, and the spring after winter."

Rachel Carson

Murphy's law of bicycling:  if the club ride you want to do is scheduled on Saturday, the weather on Sunday will be more inviting and vice versa.  And this week-end is not different. It does sometimes seem that way anyway.  But I set my alarm and prepare as much as possible the night before the ride so as to give myself a bit more time in the morning.

I know this ride and I know that it will be demanding.  But summer approaches and it is time to pull myself up and out of the melancholy and the winter doldrums.  It would be easy to sit at home on the couch and dwell on past misfortunes and losses, but that is not the way forward.  Sometimes I think you need to reach for happiness to grab it.  Past experience has taught me that, but despite having had the lesson, it is not always easy to apply.  I know there is beauty on this ride, though until I am on the bike and on the route I forget how much.  I also know, greedy gut that I am, that there will be a delicious lunch.  Ride to eat or eat to ride or a combination of the two. 

It is a small group of people that show, but I did not expect a large crowd.  It is early in the season, and this route has lots of climbing.  The weather is deceptively mild and windless and later I am so glad that I listened to the forecast before leaving for the ride because the temperature does not rise, maybe even drops a few degrees, and the winds pick up and become quite boisterous.  In fact, there are times I wish I had left on the additional layer that I shed prior to the ride start.

The four of us head out, chatting, joking, and laughing the way old friends do when they have not seen each other for awhile.  I have overwintered without seeing Dave, and have seen Steve only once.  Tony I have seen more frequently, but there are lots of topics to be covered and lots of miles to cover them in.

The sun that graces the morning hides behind the clouds early in the day, mocking us as the winds rise.  But there is beauty everywhere on these back roads.  Stones show in the fields in a way that they will not once the grass greens and rises.  On hills, the water has carved various paths. A few brave daffodils remain and I think it is the in-between time.  The daffodils, at least the early bloomers, are finished, but other flowers are not yet showing themselves and the red buds and dogwoods do not  yet appear to be blooming.  I love the places we pass that have old, deserted dwellings but are surrounded by daffodils.  A thing of beauty left behind, a reminder that people lived here, loved here, fought here, and perhaps died here. 

Midway in the ride, we pass two riders going the opposite direction and Steve recognizes them.  We turn around and find it is indeed Johnny Betrand and Steve Wyatt.  A brief hug, a short bit of a chat, and we are back on our way.  They are on their way to Lexington for lunch and we are going to Midway for lunch at Wallace Station.  It seems forever before we arrive, and the line is out the door, but there is really no place else to eat and who would want to forego the delicious food.  There is a reason that the line is out the door.  Still, I find myself shivering until we are able to enter the building, and I find myself dreading heading back out into the cold.  At first I am so chilled that I put my gloves back on to hold my water.  Steve manages to nab one of the scarce tables, and the food and company warm me.

Hill after hill assaults our legs and my thighs begin to warn me that they really do not appreciate the demands that are being made on them.  And then it happens.  My bike shifts itself into my granny gear and will not shift out of it.  This has been an on-going problem for me since last fall.  I try to remember how many times I have taken it in to the shop to be fixed.  At least three, possibly four.  I have even explained how important it is that I have a dependable bike as I really do not have much of a rescue squad.  I can limp home in the small ring, but it will be slow going.  Steve is able to loosen the cable, manually place it in the middle ring, and tightened the cable back.  He issues a strong warning not to shift and I pray that I remember.  I also hope I remember the fix because I no longer feel confident that my bike will be reliable even after I take it to be repaired again.  I hate not being able to trust my bicycle. 

I need to learn to do this for myself, to figure things out and fix them, but it does not come naturally to me.  This mechanical has sapped the joy from the day until I determine that I will not let it.  Sometimes all the things I have had to learn to do since Lloyd died seem overwhelming.  A few tears seep out as I hate being a burden, but it is just the way it is, at least for today. The ride has become grim, however, as much from the cold and the wind and being tired as it is from my issue that was quickly resolved. Chatter lessens.  There is no more laughter.  I force myself to remember the beauty that surrounds me, to listen for sound, the sign that spring nears, but rather than birds or frogs I hear wind in the leaves.  Still, there is a melody here and once again I begin to sing softly to myself.  Wheels hum.  On hills, the sound of our breathing, so symbolic of life, is clearly audible as none of  us are in prime riding condition.

I can't say that I am sad to see the parking lot as I am after some rides, and I am tired, but I feel better than I thought I might with the physical demands of this course.  And that is a comfort.  Spring IS coming.  There will be warm rides, maybe even some of those slow, intimate rides with close friends that I treasure so, the ones where you talk about anything and everything without being judged, the ones where  you laugh and stop to take a photograph of something that draws your fancy. The ones where speed isn't an issue and there is no hurry to finish what is a lovely day.  And rides like this will make me ready. And the beauty of the day, despite a few snags. has left me oddly refreshed and temporarily sated.  Spring WILL come after winter. 

Kentucky 400K Brevet

"Love only what you do,

and not what you have done."

Adrienne Rich

The weather promises to be gorgeous, as if apologizing for its temper tantrum on the 300K.  Yes, there is wind, but it is not the cold, punishing, in your face wind of the 300K but a kinder, gentler wind that will test us on the way out but will also reward us by a push home. More importantly, at least to me, there will be sunshine, glorious sunshine, in the world today; and there will be color from leaves and from flowers stirring, shyly pushing up through the ground, glorying in their rebirth.  Spring has finally graced us with her presence after the winter that would not quit.  Greedily, I anticipate a sumptuous feast for my eyes and my soul.  The world is callow, fresh, and like a newborn baby, there is something quite special about it:  a whole world of possibilities lies ahead and each bend of the road could conceal a surprise.

Susan is kind enough to ask me to stay  the night so I do not need to rent a room the night before the brevet or drive so far in the morning.  As always, she is the soul of hospitality.  Only a midnight phone call from the motel I had cancelled reservations with on Wednesday asking if I was still coming left me befuddled and  marred my sleep once it finally arrived.  I still haven't figured that one out. I decide not to let it upset me for there is nothing to be gained in that direction. While I have found that it is quite nice to get some solid sleep the night immediately preceding a brevet, it is most important to sleep soundly the night BEFORE the night before.  Realistically, leaving at 4:00 a.m. how much sleep can one get?  I will my body to lie still and rest and prepare for the effort that will be asked of it the coming day.

Riders gather in the chilly darkness outside the hotel room where the sign in is being held.  17 of the 18 who registered are here, and all but two will finish. Four states are represented: Michigan, Kentucky, Ohio, and Indiana. Some of the riders I know, and some I don't.  I am the only woman riding this time, and yet again I think of what Steve Rice said when I once wondered why more women don't participate in brevets. "Most women," he said, "have better sense."  I grin to myself thinking of a past on-line discussion on this issue  and how that discussion was dominated by men, most of whom seemed clueless and not at all receptive to the females who posted ideas of why more women do not ride brevets. The men seemed to think they knew why women rode or did not ride better than women themselves. Dan Driscoll, if memory serves, came closer than any man who posted to at least finding a solution though I don't know the man and have no idea if he really had an  understanding the need. I briefly wonder if any of the other women or men reading the thread noted the irony. I wondered if any of of the other readers noted that the lack of African American riders at PBP and other brevets, male or female, and other minorities was not addressed. But that, perhaps,  is another discussion for another time.  How often we, and I include myself in this group, fail to listen.

Briefly I wonder why I am here and not tucked snugly in my own bed lost in dreams.  But as lovely as dreams are while you are sleeping,  pursuing dreams and living dreams while awake is much more satisfying.  And I realize that there is a part of me that loves this: the anticipation of effort, of laughter, of introspection, of companionship, of loneliness,  of desperation, of all those emotions and thoughts that happen when you are riding 252 miles even if it is lovely day and it is finally spring in Kentucky. And I have an entire day to do nothing but ride my bike. The words of Adrienne Rich, quoted above, come to mind.  Perhaps she is right and it is the doing that is the thing.  And while I can't say that every time I prepare to ride a brevet I am brimming with anticipation, it will be time to quit when I no longer love riding them the majority of the time, at least until the pain and weariness kicks in and changes my attitude so that I vow I will never ride again.

I wonder who, if anyone, I will ride with or if I will make this journey alone.  As always at the start of any brevet, but particularly a longer brevet, there is that tinge of self doubt and of worry haunting the dark recesses of my consciousness that I must shoo away before my imagination takes hold and inflates them into something much larger than what they are.  And the only thing that mars my contentment today is that Bill Pustow is not here, for I have traveled many miles with Bill and we often match in pace and temperament and I was hoping he would ride and share today's adventure with me.   I respect him: his commitment to his daughter and family let me know that his priorities match my own, maybe even serve as a role model for me upon occasion. And he is such a wonderful story teller and he makes me laugh.  As Sancho says about Don Quixote in The Man From LaMancha,"I like him".  And I miss him.  Thankfully, after a serious fall caused by loose dogs, he is riding again, but we have not yet resumed our easy companionship and I grieve and miss him.  I hope that he, like so many others that I have cared for, has not become a person from my past who is not part of my future.  Life is so very fragile, and friendship, though the shared miles with the laughter, confidences, and challenges forge it as strongly as steel, is the same.Even strong friendships require regular maintenance.

After checking in and deciding what to carry and what to wear, I ride around the parking light trying to determine if my light is set correctly so as to throw the best light pattern while on the road.  And then it is time to leave.  People are dressed so differently: one young man is wearing only a his short sleeved jersey and shorts and  others are wearing balaclavas and jackets and arm warmers.  Not being a weight wienie, I have arm warmers, knee warmers, and a light jacket with  my dirt rag for my head.   Though the prediction is for low eighties today, it is now in the high forties and I detest being cold  unless it is for a very short period of time.  Being cold uselessly robs me of energy and always makes me ride harder at the start of a ride than I should unless it is going to be a short, quick ride.  And I do not anticipate either shortness or quickness to be part of today's repertoire.  Little do I know what is ahead and that Dave King will attempt to kill me and two others, Tim Argo and Mark Rougeux,  the last 15 miles or so into the last control.

Within minutes the lights of the city fade into the background, and I am struck by the loveliness of the ebony night sky bejeweled with countless stars that far outshine any diamonds.  For some reason, "She hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel upon an Ethiope's ear (William Shakespeare) flits through my mind. The sky is  littered with stars, and I briefly mourn the lack of time and intellect that has kept me from pursuing their study as a hobby.  The conquered moon, orange and crescent shaped, is beautiful, and I am glad that I am here in this crisp darkness on a bicycle conquering my own obstacles, both internal and external. 

While the majority of the world sleeps, I am treated to what feels like a private light show,  and yet again I realize that despite knowing that there might be trials today, and possibly pain, I am glad to be here.  Indeed, I am privileged to be here, to have the health to be here. I sorrow for those who are ill and  have other obstacles that impede their wellness. And I am thankful for a spouse who is accepting of my being here, who encourages me to be here, even though he cannot and will never be able to ride a bicycle.  He is secure enough in our love to give me freedom, and that freedom ensures that I will always return for I understand the value of that gift and how very difficult and unselfish it is to bestow.  Sometimes I think it binds me more tightly than any vows. Those who ride without objections by spouses or significant others  should treasure the gift they have been given  for not everyone has been so blessed: it is a lot to ask of someone to have a brevet rider that they love.  The gift goes far beyond the hours of separation and includes worry. Those who have the health to ride should also be thankful for it will not always be so and is not so for so many others.  Time does have a way of moving stolidly, unwaveringly forward no matter how we drag our heels.

I am quite enjoying my solitude and the random thoughts it brings when I come upon Dave King paused along the road checking something on his bicycle. I am surprised to see him as he usually is farther toward the front, but he says he is fine.  I chuckle thinking that it is probably his miscreant fender. I would like to have a penny for every time Dave has had to adjust his fender on a ride, and I think how glad I am that the man who helped me put my bike together at Gran Fondo talked me out of getting them for I am not mechanically inclined.  Rather, I lean toward being mechanically disinclined. I must admit, however, that they do give his green Kirk a certain charm.

Dave and I often ride some together, even finish together upon occasion, but we  normally meet up later in the ride after the initial rush of heading out into the world has faded. Though I anticipate him dropping me somewhere along the many miles we have yet to travel I am wrong, and we end up riding the rest of the day together and finishing together. At times he even complains of  the quickness of my pace.  I know that riding with a companion will change the nature of the ride as I just do  not notice the scenery with the same appreciation when I am in the midst of conversation, but I enjoy riding with Dave. Like Bill, Dave can often make me smile even though I don't always speak Dave;-)

We stop briefly at the closed country store in Southville for Dave to fill the water bottles he forgot to fill before the ride start.   Hydrating will be  important today as it is predicted to get into the low eighties and none of us have acclimated to heat. He fills one bottle and says he will fill the other at Lawrenceburg though it is not a control on the 400K as it is on the 200 and 300.  Normally I  ride straight through until the first control, and I briefly consider this knowing  Dave will catch me if he wants to or I can just ride alone, but I stop as well.  Two stops before the first control:  this is something new. Just when I have lose my patience and am getting ready to head out on my own, Dave comes out of the store.  I find he also adjusted his cleats due to knee issues.  Other than one control and a last Lawenceburg stop, Dave will beat me out of controls all day.  Luckily for me he was not far behind when I do head out of a control alone because I missed a turn or I would have ridden much farther out of my way. Later, when we catch up with Steve Rice, I tell him about it and he must think I am complaining as he says he can't ride with everybody.  I tell him he can't cure stupid. I will always be directionally challenged, but it is nobody's fault but my own.  I particularly feel silly losing my way, however briefly, on a marked course.

 Being beaten out of a control would not be so unusual if we were not talking about being beaten out of a control by Dave.  Dave is normally the last one out of a control.  I think of one brevet where I was riding with both Dave and Bill and we stopped at the Lawrenceburg control.  Bill and I came out of the store and Dave had completely unpacked his carradice and had everything in neat piles on the ground.  Bill and I looked at each other, threw our legs over our bicycles and rode off. Controls are like transitions in triathlons:  there is a lot of time to be saved with little effort by doing a short but thorough stop. Still, I brood for a bit and wonder why Dave is doing this or if it is me that is taking longer than normal.

Before you know it we are descending into a solid silver wall of mist that seems to have appeared out of nowhere on an isolated, narrow country lane.  It is eerily beautiful, but  I remember what someone told me about it really not mattering too much about who was right or who had the right away if you are seriously injured or dead. I keep a close watch in my helmet mirror vowing to get off and stand by the road if a car comes for I don't believe they will ever see us through the thick, oppressive fog.  The temperature has dropped with the descent, and I am thankful there is a long climb ahead.   No car comes and as we crest the top of the hill the mist melts away as suddenly as it appeared, phantom-like.  Weather conditions the rest of the day will be as near perfect as one can expect in April.

There are wild flowers lining the road and the red bud clouds purple along the side of the road.   Snow white dogwoods are tentatively blooming, lacing themselves through the wooded side roads. Leaves tentatively peek from branches, a pale green, not yet darkened to the rich, mature green of summer.  Pastures are filled with mothers and babies of all kinds enjoying the warmth, newly green grass, and sunshine.  During the return journey, as evening nears, we pass roads where there is an abundance of rabbits scampering randomly here and there, white tails bobbing and whiskers twitching.  Dandelions seed pods line the fence rows, oddly beautiful, and despite being with company for just a moment I am a child again, gently blowing them or twirling in circles while holding them and watching the seed pods lazily drift through the spring air searching for a place to call home. 

After the turn around, two riders join Dave and I:  Tim Argo and Mark Rougeux.  I am surprised to find that while I am tired, I am not weary.  I wish I too had brought a camera or had a smart phone when Tim stops to photograph the small, now defunct Peckerwood Store in Knothole, Kentucky.  Just passing there inevitably causes a grin to light my face. Dave says he would like to stop in Lawenceburg at the convenient store and pick up a couple of chicken legs for the road and I agree.  When we stop, however, there is no chicken and I rudely hustle everyone out of the store and back on their bicycles.  There is still some daylight and I would like to get off the main, busy road before darkness falls.  We turn on our lights and take off, and I begin to dread what I know will happen when we reach Pea Ridge Road.  As the evening brings a chill, we stop briefly prior to Pea Ridge to put on jackets or arm warmers,  and I laugh when I find I have put my knee warmers on my arms in the dark not having paid any attention to which pocket I shoved them in when I took them off earlier in the day. Oh, well, they might look stupid and be a bit loose, but they serve the purpose.  For a long time, when I first started riding, I used my son's worn out tube socks for arm warmers.  Fashion is not my forte I fear. But I do fear Pea Ridge and what is coming shortly.

I have ridden Pea Ridge Road with Dave too many times to fool myself.  He might drag all day long, but when he hits Pea Ridge Dave begins to ride like a demon. Something about that darned road just causes him to go all out. Thankfully, Tim has given me his wheel during the past few miles so I am not as worn out as I otherwise might be; still, when we reach Pea Ridge I think, "Oh, God, here it goes." It begins. And this is where Dave tries to kill us.

Off he goes pedaling like a maniac, and Mark, Tim, and I, not being very bright, just follow along too tired to say Baaaa like the sheep we are;-)  Lungs burn and chests heave in gasping rasps as we race up and down rollers and a few nice climbs, pedals churning as if we were all on fixed gears.  It is then that I determine that Dave is trying to kill us, at least me. But I'll be damned if I will let him. That little competitive streak that I work so hard to rein in will not allow me to just let them go, particularly Dave, not after all these miles.   I am not sure what our average is over the last 16 miles of the course, but I know it  has to be over 16 mph despite the hills due to our finishing time. This is  not a tremendous pace perhaps, but a quicker pace than I would normally ride after being on the bike for over 230 miles. I even find myself not taking sufficient time at a stop sign to ensure safety.  No car is near, but it is certainly not a bright thing to do and I make a mental note that I must work harder to control that nasty little beast that pops up at times.  Tim Argo is the only one who shows some sense once we reach the city limits.  The rest of us are just lucky.  They say that God protects drunks and fools and I fear he had his hands full taking care of us today.

But it has been a good day, an easier day than expected.  And I have loved what I was doing.  But I am unsure that it is not also okay to love what you have done so long as you don't get stuck there in the past and so long as you learn from it.  Just remember that there is a tomorrow and there are more brevets and bicycle rides to complete and don't rest on past accomplishments.  "Tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway, so bring on the rain."  (Jo Dee Messina).