The Kentucky 300K 2016

"Hello darkness my old friend,

I've come to talk with you again..."

Paul Simon

 When I arrive at registration, I tell Steve, the RBA, that I very well may DNF. For some reason, I did not sleep last night other than a two hour nap. Oddly enough, while I know about the wind prediction, this has nothing to do with it. Well, maybe it has a little to do with it, but I normally don't fear wind.  Wind just makes you accept that the ride will be much harder and you will ride much more slowly. I just don't want to do this ride for some reason.  I am not sure I will ever want to do a long ride again.  It is just something I have been struggling with recently.  I am hoping, however, that once I get started I will find myself enjoying the ride as often happens. While it is supposed to be VERY windy this afternoon, with a wind advisory in effect from 1:00 p.m. until 10:00 p.m., it is supposed to be sunny and it is starting to be green.  

Steve pooh poohs my pronouncement, and I know nobody believes me.  And maybe they will turn out to be right.  But maybe this time they will turn out to be wrong.  I have told myself I will ride far enough to get my April century completed, and go from there.  I know it is hard to complete a brevet without really having some level of commitment.  I try to carrot myself with the thoughts of a trip to Colorado, but the tax shock of being widowed and filing single is still being processed.  My life is just so very different.  I am just so very different.

Bill and I start the ride together at the back of the pack and this is a comfort.  Perhaps we can pull each other through what I know will be a rough day.  Wind always makes things more difficult, and these winds are supposed to be unusually wicked and strong this afternoon. I think Bill is with me, when suddenly I am alone.  I hope he did not have a flat or a mechanical that I did not notice. I briefly think of how very much I enjoyed riding in Texas with Bill, Steve, and Dave.  It was almost like old times before the changes came.  But changes do come, and they are not good or bad normally, just different and unfamiliar.

I settle in to the old familiar sound of wheels turning and the feeling that the darkness has me cupped in the palm of his hand.  Sometimes it is almost as if I am the only one in the world, alone in the darkness on a journey that will hold who knows what surprises for me.  I guess it could best be described as being cozy. Women have often asked me if I am not afraid out here on  strange roads, alone in the dark, and I can honestly say that normally I am not.  In fact, normally I am content in the dark so long as my bicycle is well lit and it is not exceptionally foggy or rainy and I am outside of a city.  There is beauty here that I see all too seldom. Maybe I am just too stupid to be scared and I should be.

Once we leave the small town the ride starts from, there is nobody.  Occasionally I see a bicycle light in front of me, a red siren disappearing over the crest of the hill and reappearing only to disappear again.  The words of Paul Simon's song come to mind and I find myself softly singing to myself, one of my very favorite songs and very appropriate right now. Riding in the night is one of the best parts of riding brevets, there is no doubt about it.  It gives me time to think and process things. I hope Bill will soon catch me and I soft pedal for a bit, but he does not appear and I later learn he DNF'd.

I must admit I do enjoy this first part of the ride, and then the part where you suddenly notice the dark is not so all encompassing, that light is stealthily creeping into the world, blackness yields to gray which in turn yields to color.  You begin to see the occasional car, to see lights come on in a house you pass, and I think of families sitting down to breakfast together.  I think how I miss that, nurturing my brood. But life moves forward.  I try to understand why I have been struggling so with my desire to do long brevets.  One day I have some interest and the next I am completely disinterested.  I tell myself that I will quit, and then I have some wild plan to ride somewhere I have never been before.  I do not come up with any answers other than perhaps depression is playing a role here.  When I talk with my doctor about depression, though, she just tells me to ride my bike.

As I ride, I notice that I am struggling to maintain much of a pace.  I attribute it to lack of sleep until mile 62 when I realize (duh, dummy) the sound I have been hearing is not the sound of my tights rubbing against my bento box that I normally don't ride with:  it is the sound of my front brake rubbing.  I fix this right before rolling into the control.  I really have no desire to ride more, but I decide I will have something to eat and then make my decision.  I eat and then call the RBA, Steve Rice, leaving a VM that I am turning around and DNF'ing.  200K is enough for today.  

The wind slaps me soundly as soon as I make the first turn, and I find I need to put my jacket back on.  It becomes progressively worse.  I later hear it was 45 to 55 mph.  My bike begins to move when there are crosswinds and I am unable to stand and pedal or to take my hands off the handle bars to drink.   I need the weight on the bars to keep my front wheel steady.  I keep wondering if I will fall, and there are times when it moves me very close to the edge of the road despite my best efforts to keep it steady.  Branches blow and occasionally hit me.  In places, loose gravel pelts me like sand paper.  I find myself using my granny gear on a brevet course that I would normally call fairly easy.  Today, in this wind it is not easy.  In two places, trees have fallen across the road and I have to get off my bike to get around them.  

Since there is little traffic, I try to ride on the side of the road that has less trees or that has no power lines.  I think of a ride where we came upon a motorcyclist trapped under a tree that happened to fall as he was riding by. I pass a power line that has snapped and is waving in the wind.  I don't know if it is live, but I don't intend to find out.  All I want is the security of my car, though I must admit I am concerned about driving in this wind.  At one point, I think it is going to start hailing, but only a few, hard, cold rain drops pelt my face.

At what would have been the last control I think of calling my daughter to come get me, but I can't stand the thought of putting her at risk driving in this because of my own stupidity.  I doggedly move forward, one pedal stroke after another, trying not to fight the wind and just accept it.  Roads signs are wildly waving and it reminds me of riding Hurricane Ike with Mike.  Trash cans blow across the roads.  A flag has broken lose and is held only by the cords whereby it is raised.  It is standing straight out, flapping wildly, but 10 to 15 feet away from the pole. I am averaging only 10 mph and often going more slowly.  At one point, the best I can do on the flats into the wind is 4 mph.  It is going to be a long day.  Shelbyville seems as far away and as elusive as the North Pole.  

Eventually, however, I reach my car. I briefly think of giving it a big kiss, but restrain myself. My knees ache and I am tired and very, very thirsty from not being able to drink during the ride.  I quickly put my bike in and drive slowly home, aware of the wind even in an automobile.  I think about whether I could have done the extra 60 miles, and decide that had I wanted to, I could have though it would have been very painful and slow.  The fact that I did not want to, even before the wind became a reality, worries me, but I will deal with that on another day.  I feel lucky to have made it safely in and safely home to warm p.j.'s and a warm bed.  

Kentucky 200K Brevet 2016

"The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; 

he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me.  The

rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to

fit them." 

George Bernard Shaw

I have vowed I am NOT going to ride the brevets this year if the weather is bad, but the forecast does not look so very awful.  There is a 20 per cent chance of rain.  So I prepare my bike, but not so carefully as I would if there were, say, a 50 per cent chance of rain and if, say, I intended to ride no matter the weather.  I know the start will be cold, near freezing, but it is supposed to warm up near fifty degrees.  If it does rain, surely it will not rain for long.  Not my favorite riding temperature, but bearable if one is dressed appropriately. So I am surprised when I wake up, spend time convincing myself that I really don't want to go back to bed with a cup of coffee, a purring cat,  and a good book, open the door to take my bike and put it in the car and find a steady drizzle.    I suppose that what I am trying to say is that right now in a very roundabout way is that I am struggling with whether I want to continue to participate in brevets or if century rides are enough.

I am trying to find joy in things that meant something to me once, like looking in the face of an old lover searching eyes for a hint of a former attraction,  but I am not the same me anymore and I don't know if I can put the pieces that were shattered back in the same order.  Time, loss, and experience has changed me as it has us all.  Or perhaps it is that I no longer wonder if I can do it and wonder is no longer part of the equation.  Worse, perhaps I worry that I can't do it anymore, and not trying and failing would be more difficult perhaps than just taking a step backward.    

I have registered for the Colorado 1200 to try to motivate myself, but I don't yet know if it will work.  Yes, I definitely would like to see Colorado for I have never been there.  At times I am excited about it, and think of how to prepare.  But do I want to see it on a brevet or as a different, more relaxing and less taxing way when effort and sleep deprivation have not robbed me of some of the appreciation of the scenery whispers through my mind. The traditional nightmares....getting hopelessly lost, having a serious mechanical....wind through my thoughts despite my telling myself that these are minor matters.  It is not like I will perish in the middle of the wild wilderness that is Colorado if any of these things happen.  It is, after, 2016 and not 1816.

On the way to the brevet, I think of turning around as the rain continues.  "How does Steve do it," I ask myself.  "What are the probabilities that he can pick another day for the Kentucky brevet series where it rains?"  Because of my indecision about even driving there, sans rain, I am a bit late at the start.  When everyone leaves the parking lot, I still am deciding what to wear and what to carry, but I am not far behind.  I know how it goes anyway.  Everyone will pedal as if they are going to finish with the top group, and the majority will not be able to keep the pace.  When I register, Bill and Steve assure me that the weather man just said the rain was "out of here."  Typically, I believe them and end up doing something I might otherwise not do.  You would think that after awhile I would wise up.  Guess the old adage is true:  "There is no fool like an old fool." 

The rain continues, a cold steady drizzle.  Initially I think I am overdressed, but as the rain continues and I gradually become damp, that damp that I can never figure out if it is from rain and my raincoat isn't keeping me as dry as it might or if it is from sweat or if it is a combination of the two, I realize that I am probably dressed just right unless it turns colder.  Of course, I assure myself, if it turns colder it will become snow.  And I always carry my emergency poncho which would do in a pinch.  I pass the spot where, for some reason, I remember Susan and I stopping to put on our reflective gear on a brevet years ago.  Sometimes I wonder what makes us remember the moments that we do and forget others. 

On the way to the first control, Bill has chain issues.  I turn around when I see he is off the road, but he tells me to go on and so I do.   Being a woman, I wonder as I ride whether he really meant for me to go on or whether he was just saying that because he thought he should.  Overthinking again, I tell myself.  I try to ride hard, but at a pace that I will be able to maintain to the end or near the end.  At the first control, Steve Rice tells me the rain is supposed to get worse before he pulls out.  I complain to Steve Mauer who said he thought I liked rain.  And sometimes I do, but not today and not when it is cold despite the fact that these two conditions probably end up helping me complete this course more quickly than normal. Today I am fighting the depression of a recent anniversary that never was, that never saw life.  Today I am fighting my lack of control over things.  Today I need sun and brightness and happy thoughts. 

His words, however, do help me to see the some of the beauty around me, at least for a brief time.  The rain persists until after the turnaround, at one point becoming so stinging that I wonder if I will need to stop to protect my eyes.  I have never really found a good eye glass solution for very rainy days.  The brim of my cap helps, but glasses just don't stay dry and seem more of a problem than blurry vision.  I am concentrating so hard and looking so inward, that I almost miss the secret control.  Mark hollers, "Where are you going?"  Fortunately for me, I recognize his voice, for normally when men yell at me I put my head down and pedal harder, afraid that they are a threat.  Cat calls, whistles, and yells from strangers just have always struck me that way, rightly or wrongly, cause for concern rather than something that brightens and lifts and attracts. Pedal, pedal faster, take control.  I fight this instinct, turn around and have my card signed before continuing onward.  The world just seems more dangerous now that he is gone.

Daffodils promise to bloom and to make this a lovely ride for the 300.  The route winds along the Kentucky river and by creeks and everywhere there is the sound of the water that will turn this into a paradise of green lushness in the coming spring.  Spring provokes and tantalizes, but will play the tease for a few more weeks I fear, until I can barely stand it and think I will explode if she does not show me herself in all her glory.

At the turn around, I quickly down some fried chicken and a biscuit, then head out before my chilling becomes worse.  Chilling is, I know, the enemy.  Wool and my rain coat will keep me warm enough, but only if I keep moving.  My gloves are so wet that I need to wring them out before I put them back on.  Normally I carry spare gloves and socks to change into mid way or if rain stops, but I really had not expected this.  I am glad I had the foresight to put on my bar mitts.  I remain amazed at the warmth they provide for my hands.   I dream for miles of a bath tub filled with hot, steamy water and the delicious scent of lavender and how I will soak until every joint in my body is seeped through with warmth. I dream of warm, stretchy pajamas and furry slippers and the afghans I keep on the couch to snuggle in on winter evenings.  I think of other things, of course, and puzzle over things that have been said to me, like the girlfriend who told me that the local men are scared to death of me, something I need to ask about because I totally don't understand.  Or of where I want to go on my bike this year other than Colorado.  Of what I will do if I don't ride the series and qualify and if there is enough of the old me in the new me to even be bothered by it. 

Dustin is at the store stop, and I see him shivering, but he said he is not going to eat until the next stop and that he is not leaving the store until it stops raining.  I leave hoping for his sake as well as mine that the rain stops soon, and it eventually does, but not for many miles.  I curse the weather man in my mind.  "Twenty percent chance of rain, my ass," I think.  And I wonder briefly if God and my husband are up in heaven laughing at me, thinking what a silly predictable person I am and knowing that this was where I was meant to be.  The depression I had sunk into since our wedding anniversary last week has receded.  I am tired, bone weary at the end.  My right knee hurts.  But I am alive. And life is what is and what is missing is missing and won't return.  But life is pretty darned good sometimes.

The rain eventually stopped, one of the two main obstacles on this course.  The cold never did.  I don't believe it got much above the low forties the entire day.  There was, however, and I am thankful for this, little wind.   Actually, all considered, it was a fairly easy brevet for Kentucky. I don't know how many finished, how many states were represented this year.  This brevet was a mostly solitary ride as my life is mainly a solitary life now.  But it is okay and I am okay and things are always changing. Perhaps next year it will be dry.  Change, after all, while inevitable, is also not always a bad thing. 

Spring in February

"May God grant you always

A sunbeam to warm you,

A  moonbeam to charm you, 

A sheltering Angel so nothing can

harm you. 

Laughter to cheer you.

Faithful friends near you.

And whenever you pray,

Heaven to hear you."

Irish blessing

 It is one of those rare and magical winter days that is a gift from above: mid-February yet it is predicted to be at or near seventy degrees by days end instead of the typical thirty degrees.  It is one of those days where you aren't sure if it lessens or intensifies your longing for spring by gifting you with one less day of true winter, yet leaving you yearning for the surely impossible:  more.  Perhaps it is my nature to be greedy and want more for I am but human.  I only know that I yearn for spring and for sunshine, blessed sunshine, warm, brilliant, and somehow or other uplifting.

And what is more, another gift, it is a week-end.  I do not have to work and I can ride my bicycle.  Not only can I ride my bicycle, but I am meeting friends for a century ride.  And if I have my guess, it will be one of my favorite kind of rides:  roads I don't normally travel with nobody in the typical hurry of a true winter day when weather hounds and chastens you to quicken your pace.  Time apart means there are new stories to hear and to tell as we catch up. 

And it is just such a ride.  All of us, so changed yet so much the same.   Soon enough we fall into our old patterns.  There is laughter and a few shared memories.  The first chorus of frogs timidly splits the air sounding as glorious as a symphony and so full of promise as to what is to come soon.  The  strict, harsh, clearly defined edges of tree branches beginning to blur with the promise of leaves to come.  The promise: sometimes I think that is what gets me through these last cold, dreary days that follow the Christmas holiday.  The appreciation of the ride and the weather honed to a fine edge by the understanding that there is always the possibility that this could be our last such ride.  Life has taught me that as well as that I cannot love them well enough, and I do love them for what they are and what they have been to me.

 If only the brevets could have such glorious weather, but this is Kentucky and I have come to expect wind, rain, and cold for the brevets.  Oh, well, I suppose it toughens you.  Looking back, those rides, the difficult and challenging ones, are the ones I remember best if only in snippets.  Wind blowing snow sideways and so loud that we could not break up the tediousness of our journey with conversation with a sudden magnificent and unexpected lunar eclipse.  Another ride shivering while a friend helps me put on fresh gloves that my hands, so cold, are unable to manipulate.  Another feeding a friend a gel because his hands would not work.  So many memories, more than I could ever relate.  And I suppose if I am truly honest, not all of them are memories of hardship for there are memories of rides with jokes and laughter.

Perhaps we will have good weather for the brevet season this year.  If you can sit outside a store stop by choice in February because it is warm and the sun feels delicious, perhaps you can occasionally have weather for an early spring/late winter Kentucky brevet that is not so challenging.  Perhaps this year, heaven will hear me.  The words above may be an Irish blessing, but they are so suitable for brevets.  May all have a successful, memory making brevet season, a season that toughens the legs, but warms the heart and makes you aware of your blessings.  Rides end.  Memories don't. 

Brevet Season Approaches: Thank You January.

 "Behind every beautiful thing,

there is some kind of pain." 

Bob Dylan

It is one of those rare, winter days that is a gift from the cycling gods:  blustery, but blessedly warm after a cold start.  Of course that always means that there is gear to take off and carry as the day progresses, but I can't complain about that.  I am thankful that I have friends to ride with, that I have a bicycle to carry me, and that I can get another January century in.  It is not every year that weather allows three January century rides.  And it is nearing brevet season.  These miles and these leg hardening hills will make the brevets much less painful.

Oh, I don't delude myself, I know that the brevets will hurt.  Kentucky courses are always challenging, and due to the rides being early in the year, weather is inevitably an issue.  But brevets, at  least longer brevets, inevitably hurt at some point.  I suppose that is one of the delights of brevet riding, as strange as it may sound, the challenging yourself to tough things out, to work through the pain, mental and physical, to prevail.  If you do, you have the thrill of the victory, knowing that you finished what you started.  If you don't, even if this was the wisest course, and it often is, you deal with the questioning of yourself, your decision, and your ability.  I suppose if it were easy, it would not be so satisfying.

I meet Steve and Bill at McDonald's and we head out on the Lawrenceburg Loop.  As we ride, it is like old times:  I have ridden so many miles with these men.  Things have changed, we have changed, but some things remain the same, and despite the time that has elapsed when we rode regularly together, I have memories with them, ties to them that cannot be denied.  I remind them of the caterpillar who did not make it across the road while we waited for a flat tire to be changed, of Bill's comment to Larry about his camera.  Past moments along this course flood my brain.  And more memories will be made today, like the store clerk grabbing Bill's arm and saying that while he is old, he is sooo strong;-)  As always, Bill takes our teasing with good grace and humor. 

Coming out of the first store stop, layers begin to be shed and it is a treat not to have a cold, wintry blast slap your face making you want to retreat back into the warmth of the store.  The miles pass and I realize how much I have healed since the last time I rode this course.  Time undoubtedly is a balm to all wounds.  And bicycling has  played its role.  Thank you, love, wherever you are for buying me my first bicycle.

The day ends too quickly for my mind, but  not for my legs which are begging for surcease, for rest to heal and strengthen.  Now if only February will cooperate.  Brevets are coming, and despite my moaning, cursing, and complaining, brevets can be beautiful things. 

Winter Sloth: A deadly Sin but like most sin, quite alluring

"He who conquers himself

is the mightiest warrior."

Confucius

 I think it is time to pick a new goal and move forward.  It is always so very difficult to motivate myself in winter.  I hate the indoor trainer, but it is COLD outside and the wind whistles and howls bragging of what she will do to me once I am at her mercy.  Without a goal, it is too easy to grab a cup of tea, a book, a cat, and vegetate. Yes, conquering myself and my own tendency toward sloth, laziness, and poor eating:  that is the battle. 

I have been internally debating about what I want to do for a few months now.  Do I want to do a long brevet, a triathlon, or turn to bikepacking?  I am unsure if my hip and foot will hold up to the rigors of triathlon training, but I do miss long runs and the solace they bring.  Should I begin and see what happens?  A friend e-mails about possibly riding the Colorado High Country 1200, and the die is cast.  At least, I will register and see how the qualifying brevets go.  I have never been to Colorado and the photographs are beautiful.  Perhaps this will be the goal that is the turning point for a return to myself.

Bill has e-mailed about riding a century today, and it is cold and dreary.  Relief is not predicted.  The high is supposed to remain near the starting temperature of 32 degrees, and the sun is not supposed to bless us.  The winds are not excessive, but it will not be a windless day. 10 mph is predicted, but I also know how winter predictions go having been caught out more times than I can count.  As I struggle with the urge to e-mail and say I have changed my mind, I worry that I am not as tough as I used to be, and I suspect that it is mental, not physical weakness.  I have ridden centuries is much colder, windier weather, and I have done them back to back.  Still, I have not been on a bicycle other than a couple of spin classes since my century two weeks ago.  I talk myself out of being a candy ass and get ready to meet Bill.

We head out and soon are climbing Leota Hill.  As we do this first climb, I speculate that I am overdressed, something I never worry about again, even on tougher climbs later in the day.  Indeed, I am cold for quite a bit of the ride, even on climbs. In Pekin, I have a rear flat.  I had not realized my tires were so worn, and I just replace the tire only to find that the tube has a valve problem and won't inflate.  My hands are quickly becoming less and less nimble when a saint emerges from the book store we are stopped in front of and tells us we may come in to fix the tire.  Bicycles and books, some of my two favorite things.  In no time, it is fixed and we are back on our way.  It is so hard, though, to leave the warmth of the book store and face the road.

I can't really say that I enjoyed the ride.  Occasionally I would note the beauty of the winter landscape, but it did not reach my soul as it sometimes does.  I did enjoy Bill's company.  And I enjoyed the taste of the sandwich at the Mennonite Restaurant. But I was glad to see the ride end and I was glad to immerse myself in steaming hot water filled with bubbles to thaw.  Inside, there was a core nugget of self satisfaction that I had conquered myself, at least for today.  A long time ago, before my first PBP,  someone, and I think it was Bill, told me that if I weep in the dojo I will laugh in the battlefield.  May I continue to force myself to weep some more.  Thanks, Bill, for today.  It is good to have a friend that encourages you to push your limitations.

Christmas Century 2015

"How we need that security.  How we need

another soul to cling to, another body to keep us

warm.  To rest and trust; to give your soul in 

confidence:  I need this. I need someone to pour

myself into."  Sylvia Plath

Yesterday was my Christmas century.  Normally I offer breakfast before hand, and I have enjoyed the decorating, the preparations, even the cooking.  What is there about feeding people that gives such a feeling of satisfaction even if, like me, you are not a great cook and often not even a good one?  But this year is the anniversary of loss.  Can it actually be almost a year since he passed? I was recently told by a friend who lost a child that it gets easier after this, after most of the first times alone are done. 

Originally I contemplated not having the ride, but I know I do not need to sit around and mope. What is done is done and what is past is past.  So I compromise:  I hold the ride without having the breakfast.  I have mixed feelings about this decision, but I think it is the best one.  And so I put the ride on the schedule.

The original prediction was for sunshine and fifties, but of course that changed.  As light filters slowly into the world, I wonder how many, if any, will show for a ride in this fog.  True, Steve Rice and Bill Pustow had both said they were riding, and Tony Darnell had e-mailed, but still I doubt. There is a certain beauty here in this cold, misty, wonderland, but there is also danger but you can't see but a short space ahead and if you can't see, you know you may not be seen.  But six arrive (Roger Bradford, Lynn Roberts, and Thomas Nance) and we head out into the damp cold. 

The earth is lovely, a bride on her wedding night, dressed in white and shy about disrobing.  The branches of trees shimmer, frost so thick it looks as if it snowed.  I think how I love the gentle sound of chatting and laughter from friends that are gathered to ride despite the cold and fog, for it is below freezing.  How I love the sound of pedal strokes and wheels turning and the land unfolding before me, like a present that is constantly being opened.  Even by lunch the fog remains, not quite so thick, yielding in places, but ever present.  

We pass the brick factory at Medora and I am amazed at how much more you can see now that the foliage is denuded.  As always, I wonder why this factory failed when it once was one of the largest in the country.  I am thankful that Steve made me aware of this factory, for most of my rides do not go by it.  And it is the first climb of the day, much needed after the chill of stopping.

After lunch, during the gravel hill, wind begins to sweep the ice off of the tree branches making a delightful sound as it hits the road, other branches, and my helmet.  I am surprised as it appears the hill has been grated.  Last time I was this way it was almost impossible to ride.  Still I get off and walk, enjoying the sounds and a full belly. 

But outside of Brownstown, before the last store stop, I become cold, chilled to the bone for some reason, and I think of home and a warm bath. It strikes me that this year he will not be waiting and I will never be truly warm again because I will never be held in his arms again.  I am undone.  I finish the ride by myself thankful that friends have the insight to know that I need this, this time to say once more goodbye.  And I think how lucky I am to have friends to help me mark my first Christmas Century where I came home to a house now empty of him.  Despite my loss, I have much to be thankful for.  Merry Christmas to those I may not see until after the holiday.  "God bless us every one."  (Charles Dickens)

Timothy's Medora Ride: A Thank You

"I cannot endure to waste anything as precious

as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend

almost all the daylight hours in the open air."

Nathaniel Hawthorne

 Bicycling can be so many different things.  I think, perhaps, that is one reason I love it so.  You can use it as  a mode of transportation, even a primary mode if you so desire.  You can use it to race like the wind, panting and heaving, feeling your heart feel about to burst from your chest and your lungs explode as you dash to the finish.  You can use it to play or to escape or to make friends.  I could go on and on about all the things you can use a bicycle to do.  And so, there is a need for different bicycles.  There are touring bikes and fitness bikes and road bikes and mountain bikes and so on and so on depending upon your intent.  

Today Timothy is having one of his rides that requires a mountain or similar type bike, and while this is not my norm, the call of the autumn lures me out the door into the car toward Medora, the ride start.  Like Mr. Hawthorne, I cannot bear to waste this day.  If I have learned nothing this past year, I have learned how very precious our time here is and that it should not be wasted.  I have been tempted to do some of his rides in the past, but always something seemed to get in the way.  But not today.

Does my house need a good cleaning?  Yes.  But that can wait until it is rainy or cold and the sun is not shining and calling me to come out and play.  

I am a bit leery of these rides for I rarely ride my mountain bike.  Normally it is the bike I ride when the snow has fallen and I need to get out for a bit.   It is not that I don't think I would like mountain biking, but road biking is more convenient and does not require that I develop new skills.  I suppose I also equate mountain biking with my old boss, who while I really liked him, was always straggling in with a broken hip or other serious injury.  Yes, I have broken a bone or two on a road bike, but not with the frequency that he seemed to do. Still, I do love the gravel I ride, even on my road bike, though I certainly can't tell you why.

I struggle a bit a day or so before the ride switching out pedals, mounting a new seat, getting a spare tire and tube, doing things that I don't worry about when I am just puttering around on my own.  And I apparently am successful because my pedals don't fall off during the ride, my seat stays put though I will need to adjust it, and both I and my bike arrive back home in one piece.  Thank you, Mr. You Tube.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

Arriving at the ride, I pull my bike out, put the front wheel back on, and take a short spin trying to remember how to switch gears on this bike.  Timothy assures me that it is okay if I turn out to be the slowest rider, that on his ride everyone stays together as a group.  I think briefly of the first Tour de Mad Dog rides as they is how they were conducted.  

Five of us eventually head out.  I really do not know any of them, and even by the end of the ride I could not tell you the names of everyone, but what a nice ride it was and how enjoyable it was to spend the day with them as we all savored our love of the bike.  The clouds cleared the sky and shortly after the first big hill  jackets or underlayers came off.  Some of the roads I was familiar with. Some of them are even on some of my centuries.  One bridge I climbed about a month ago with Lynn and Amelia, but there is one unknown bridge and some unknown gravel roads and even a paved road or two that I have not found on my solitary rambles on my road bike.  Briefly I wonder why it is so nice to ride unknown roads.  I suppose it is the feeling of being unsure what you will see or what might happen next.

A young German Shepherd playfully follows us for mile after mile on one gravel road that borders the river enjoying the company and the beautiful weather.   One of the riders is finally able to convince him to turn around.  This makes me feel better as I was beginning to worry that he would not find his way.  A huge pig glares at us.  At first I think she is loose, but I then see the thin wire restraining her.  Leaves are scattered on the ground, floating in the water we pass,  and dancing lazily through the air and the world is filled with color.  It is particularly beautiful knowing that there may be, at most, another week of it.  Already a few trees stand stark and bare, silhouetted against the blue sky, a cold reminder of what is to come.  The sun shines, but his heat is mellow and not the fiery, burning flame of late summer.  Nobody is in a hurry.  People climb hills at their own pace and patiently wait at each crossroad for the others to arrive.   

Thank you, Timothy, for the wonderful ride and for your patience.  I enjoyed the company, the day, and the route.  How glad I am that I did not waste a beautiful autumn day doing anything as mundane as completing household chores.  I even had time to finish out the beautiful day planting the last of my flowers in their new bed to sleep through the winter until next year squeezing every last bit of sunshine out of the day.