Orleans: Spring 2022

"Spring drew on...and a greenness

grew over those brown beds, which,

freshening daily, suggested the thought

that Hope traversed them at night,

and left each morning brighter traces

of her steps."

Charlotte Bronte

Finally, a day that offers a healthy dose of sunshine as well as warmer temperatures and a lighter wind.  As I age, I find myself less and less able to convince myself that I want to do a hard ride on gray, cold, gloomy, damp days.  It is not so much that I can't do them anymore, I can albeit slower than in the past, but that I have no desire or need to do them. I would rather paint or read or go hiking on those days knowing that more comfortable bicycling days will arrive.  And spring, of course, offers many of those days.  This year, perhaps, more than  normal with lower than normal temperatures and extremely few peeks of sunshine.  

When I saw the forecast, I immediately put the century on the schedule, not just because of the forecast, but because they are starting major road construction on the expressway between Louisville and many of my ride starts next week.  I fear that it will cause such traffic congestion, that few will want to head this way for bicycle rides and run the risk of a long sit in the car on the way home.  

As it turns out, it is one of those rides that I definitely favor.  There is a small group, only four of us, and nobody seems to be in a rush.  Everyone seems content just to enjoy our time on the bikes, the lovely spring weather, and the company.  I believe we are all glad that the self-imposed isolation of winter is drawing to a close and understand that spring is, indeed, a time to build strength in the legs and lungs. It also is also a time to renew friendships and rejoice.  The pace can slow a bit because you don't have to push so hard to keep warm.  While the start is cold, in the thirties, it is sunny with little wind.  And it is to warm to the 60's later in the day.  Steve Meredith, Dave King, Jon Wineland, and I head out toward Medora, the first stop on this journey.  

I am comfortable during this first leg other than my fingers which are cold.  I try to protect them a bit by holding onto the handlebar in such a way that my fingers are sheltered a bit from the wind by my handlebar bag.  I know the discomfort is short lived, and I am glad for that.  The discomfort is overridden by the joy of being on a bicycle in the spring with the sun shining and the joy of being with people that I have not seen in for what seems like ages.  At some point, and I can't exactly pinpoint when,  I realize that I have warmed and my fingers are no longer little popsickles.

The miles pass quickly with everyone catching up.  Steve and Dave are both doing the Kentucky brevet series and we talk quit a bit about PBP, a ride Steve has not yet done and has expressed an interest in.  As I do with everyone that is capable, I encourage this interest because, at least for me, PBP was such a unique experience:  both times I completed it.  Each was different but each was special in its own way.  Yes, I remember those hard moments, but mostly I remember the highs or the things that surprised me, like one woman at the start saying she brought her makeup because she thought it might make her feel better. Those who know me well know it is only on very rare occasions that I don makeup, and it never in a million years or a million miles would have occurred to me to bring some along on PBP  or any other long brevet.  How different we all are. Vive la difference!

 

But back to Orleans.  The first store stop is in Medora.  While in town, I seek out and we find the new cafe that Lynn Luking was kind enough to tell me had opened there, because everything had gone out of business other than the new Dollar Store. I think how I will be happy to ride back here one sunny afternoon for lunch to check out the selection and quality of the food they offer.

 

 One of my favorite sections is immediately leaving Medora and riding alongside the railroad track all the way up the Devil's Backbone and then down Tunnelton past the magnificent mansion that originally was built for Masonic widows and under the railroad tracks and across the bridge.  And today it does not disappoint.  There are many wildflowers that grow there that have not yet bloomed, but the daffodils, while some are a tad faded, seem so beautiful and cheery.  I think how I adore it in the spring when the Earth wakes up, stretches her arms, and drops blobs of color everywhere.   Purple grape hyacinths at times accent the brilliance of the daffodils yellow.  Redbuds are blossoming. And everything is growing so green, so very green.  

Interestingly, on the climb up the backbone, Steve notes that a white truck went over the edge at some time or another and down the steep embankment toward the valley and creek.  I worry that someone might be hurt in there as you would not be likely to spot it in a car, but they assure me that it has been there awhile and we ride on.

Dave stops on the bridge, and those of us who have ridden with Dave often know why, but still I ask to ensure he is okay.  He is and I ride on knowing Dave will catch me.   Jon gets a chuckle when learning of Dave's habit, initially thinking he is joking.  I assure him such is not the case and we enjoy a shared grin. We all regroup after the long climb that is challenging only due to length as there is not much steepness to contend with.  At this point, people begin shedding layers, but I decide I will be fine until we reach Orleans, and I truly am. I often seem to run a bit colder than others though I suspect my house is kept at a colder temperature than most.

 

At this point age comes up.  I am the oldest and Dave the youngest.  I find it amusing to find that we are all 5 year increments apart starting with Dave who is 50 and leading to 65. 

People are also beginning to get hungry, and Dave's face is priceless when he learns lunch is not until 63 miles, but the lunch stop more than makes up for his dismay at having to wait.  Personally, I prefer lunch a bit later on a century.  But I knew it was going to be late.  It is different, I suppose when it is a surprise. The wind has cranked up and I am glad we are going into it knowing that after lunch we should have, at least for awhile, a sweet tail wind. By the time we reach Orleans, everyone is ready for a break. 

 

  We stop at "Speak Easy Pizza" and their pizza has been delicious each and every time I have stopped there.  Today, however, it seems even better than usual and I remember, as I always do, how much riding distances improves the taste of food.  So often I eat without truly being hungry because my body has not been challenged.  Steve gets a salad and says that it is as good as it looks.  I realize he is not just saying this to be polite when he makes a comment about having to bring his wife here sometime.  Dave is impressed with their selections of beer and whiskey though none of us indulge.  The owner comes out to inquire about our riding and, along with a few customers that question us, seem to be impressed that we are riding 104 miles today.  I remember how glad I was during a ride to find this place as most of the eating places in the town had closed.  I have entire routes that are difficult to ride anymore due to store closures, but this, fortunately, is not one of them.  

 

We leave and see another cyclist on our way out of town.  Despite the sweet tail wind, we don't quite catch up to him before our turn.  Orleans used to have a paid ride in the spring, The Dogwood Pedal.  Despite that, I have never seen another cyclist during my trips to and through Orleans on rides.  

 

By now, all of us have shed layers and are feeling the blessed warmth of the day.  The miles to the last store stop in Salem seem to roll by quickly and despite all the moaning and groaning over the hills on Bee Line and full bellies from lunch, we all relax unhurriedly on the curb in the sunshine.

 

As always seems to happen on my centuries, one road is closed.  This time it is 56, but it is an easy workaround.  We roll through the town square and then cut over.  I grin to myself because Steve mentioned the detour when he arrived today, but it just didn't click until we actually neared the detour.  Oh, well, nobody seemed overly put out over the extra half mile or so it adds to our journey.

 

When we pull on Quaker Road, we pass someone on a recumbent going the other way.  I don't recall ever seeing a recumbent in this area before unless it was someone on a ride with me, so this sticks in my mind.  It becomes even more of a puzzlement about 10 miles later when we pass another who is dressed in the same bright green and greatly resembles the first cyclist.  In my mind I go through all the roads in my mind and know that there is no possible way it is the first cyclist.  The others confirm this.  

 

And then we are finished.  It is pleasant to end a century feeling sated but not spent.  It is pleasant to have spent an entire day on a bicycle in sunshine that is bright but not searing with people who also love riding and don't get mad or upset when there is an obstruction on the course.  It is pleasant to share an unhurried lunch with those same people.  It is pleasant to have friends.  And it is pleasant and more to see the annual spring greening and to think that I am still healthy enough to ride centuries and to have hopes of riding many, many more.  How blessed to have hope. 

Spring 2022

"Blossom by blossom

the spring begins."

Algernon Charles  Swinburne

It is not truly spring yet, that happens on the calendar this week-end, but the weather we are having is spring weather.  More like May than March actually.  And it is with delight that I decide to ride my Hardinsburg Century.  This is one of my favorite routes.  It is demanding, but not overwhelming and traditionally I like to ride it at least once in the spring and once in the fall.  The lunch stops have changed as stores have  opened and closed since first I passed that way, but I check on Facebook and Thursday is Little Twirl's opening day.  

 

Jon has said he will join me and we head off into the chill of the morning knowing that by the end of the day we will have performed a slow strip tease, shedding layers as the day progresses and warms.  Sunshine is everywhere.  The first of the daffodils are blooming.  Peepers are singing their raucous voices filling the air with sound.  Jon sees a caterpillar.  I see the first of the butterflies.  And eventually, yes, I get a bug who flies into my face, welcome only because it means the world awakens.  I am glad that I remembered to attach my sunscreen to the bike.  I caution myself to remember to use it when we stop for lunch.  

It is the first time in awhile that I actually want to take a drink while riding.  I rarely drink enough when I ride, but in winter and cold it is even harder.  Ironically, the water seems much too cold in winter, and in the summer it becomes much to warm to be tasty and I would prefer it to be ice cold.  In my mind I laugh at myself as being just like Goldilocks.  It is never just quite right.  

The miles roll by quickly but I can't say that I don't notice the climbs that other than Leota Hill largely start after the first store stop beginning with Short's Corner.  I think of how I have suffered on these climbs, but yet I still wonder how people can prefer the flat urban rides.  There is such beauty here.  I am grateful to Jon for his patience on the climbs because it is not a day where I want to have to push my pace.  I want to savor the weather and the coming of spring, to  notice earth as she yawns and begins to adorn herself in life and color. And I want to build strength in a reasonable way that leaves me wanting more, not less, riding.  I want to prepare my knees for a long summer of hills and rides, not zap them out by overly taxing them before they are ready.  And I get my wish.

So many memories, disjointed and from different rides, assault me throughout the day.  I have shared this route with so many over the years.  This was the route where Paul said how much he loved the view after on particularly steep descent that is wooded but ends in a valley where you can see for along way.  I remember the amazement in his voice as he asks, "You don't ride here alone, do you?"  I remember how one December ride, Steve Sexton and I walked our bikes down that descent, Cox Ferry,  due to the gravel laid down for the snow that was making our tires slide while a few others were brave enough to ride.  I remember the first time I climbed the hill and the men working on the road bet whether I could do it and the time I was descending and a deer ran alongside next to me for quite awhile as I prayed it would not veer into the road.

 

 I remember Mike Kammenish twirling like a ballerina outside Little Twirl and the smiles on everyone's faces. And I remember and remember and remember, short memories, certain turns in the road, bits and pieces flitting through my mind in the midst of silences as memories tend to do. And now I am making new memories, Jon and I riding comfortable talking or comfortable in silence because we have somehow, through all the miles traveled on bike and on trail, developed that kind of friendship.  

 

Swinborne is right.  Blossoms confirm that spring has begun.  How glad I am that I have been blessed with another spring and the health to ride a bicycle and welcome it.   It is one story I never tire of seeing unfold. 

 

 

The Use of Time

"Time is free, but it's priceless.

You can't own it, but you can use it.

You can't keep it, but you can 

spend it.  Once you've lost it, you

can never get it back."

Harvey Mackay

It has been a busy week and I feel tired, but not spent.  I have not wasted these unusually gentle and mild days recently and I delight in that.  I have hiked, ridden a century, and hiked some more.  Some activities have been with company.  Others solo.  All delightful.  One of those weeks that you really don't want to end because you feel happy and healthy despite the years that tug incessantly reminding you with a pain here and a stiffness there that you are not truly young anymore.  More than one of those days that happen occasionally when it is not yet spring but you can almost smell spring in the air and you long for its embrace, for the color and warmth and sound and raucous delights that it bestows upon the world.  As if being released from a strict headmaster for break to run wild and do as you please.

 

 

Yes, there are signs that spring is on the way, the occasional shy, pale green leaf testing the air, the spirited sound of peepers longing for company after a long winter of hibernation, tree buds starting to form, swelling outward and blurring the sharp definition of branches in winter,  birds beginning to sing and talk of nesting territory, daffodils slowly but steadily pushing their green stems upward promising to lighten the world soon with their brilliant yellow flowers, joyfully dancing with each gust of wind.  

 

The arrival of spring sometimes feels to me as if the earth herself were rejoicing.   Like a wooing lover, she lays gifts at my feet daily that are no less delightful despite the fact that the years have taught me to expect them.  And it is priceless.  I know that despite my best attempts, spring will slip once again through my fingertips dancing away, yielding to summer.  And so I must not waste these precious days.  Age hammers into me the reality that these days are numbered, not to make me sad or morose, merely to make me more appreciative.  Yes, with age I take many things less for granted.  Rather odd because it seems that it would work the other way.  But it doesn't.  At least for me.  

I wish I could say that I always make good use of my time, that I don't waste the time that has been given me, but being human I can't.  But I did not waste this week.  This week is gone, and I certainly can't get it back, but I can remember it and be glad.  Glad for the glimpse of warmer, spring weather, glad for my health, glad for companionship, glad for alone time in the midst of beauty.  Glad for my blessings.  

My lunch spot and a few other photos from solo hikes on the Knobstone. 

 

A Windy Ride

"Feeling discouraged does not

mean you quit.  Feeling sad 

does not mean joy is nonexistant.

Feeling lonely does not mean you

are alone. Feeling anxious does not

mean you are in danger.  Feeling

loss does not mean you have nothing.

Feeling angry does not mean you lose 

control. Feeling sorry does not mean

you are at fault.  What  you feel is

not necessarily what is."

Richelle  Goodrich

 

It has been a busy week exercise wise.  I am trying to recover from the fitness lost to a stress fracture as spring is coming. Sunday Jon and I hiked the Millennium Trail at Bernheim which probably came out to about 14 miles with getting lost.  Tuesday we hiked the creek bed at Clifty Falls  climbing borders and crossing the creek repeatedly.  Then yesterday a 60 mile bike ride when winds were pretty steady at 16 to 17 with gusts up to 40.  It was not until yesterday that the strain began to show on me, particularly upon getting dropped so quickly and so soundly by the other riders:  Jon Wineland and Paul Lapham.  It is my first time riding with Paul and he is obviously strong, particularly on the climbs.  

 

Windy rides are like that, they can take all the stuffing out of you quite quickly. You normally can't hear well enough to talk due to the noise of the wind, and so they are normally solitary rides even if you are riding with others.   We know it is predicted to be windy and so the planned course is into the wind for the first half, but this long stretch of being buffeted and slapped begins to show on me.  "Why," I ask myself, "do I do this to myself?  How could riding in this wind be fun?"

 

 

I already am a bit down from learning that morning that a good friend is in the hospital following a stroke:  her second though the other was a few years ago and she never completely recovered.  She is one of those friends that I can always call on the phone if I am lonely or need advice or just need to talk and one of the few people that I like to call because I truly am not much for talking on the phone.  We share history and end up laughing almost always when we talk.  I grin to myself thinking of the last time we talked.  It had been and was icing outside:  a thick coating that the experts warned could rob us of power.  When she answered the phone, I brightly exclaimed as if surprised, "You're home!"  It was good to hear the brief pause followed by a burst of laughter as she asked me, "Where else would I be in this weather?"   I think how friends and friendship burnish our lives and give them shine they might otherwise lack.   Lucky is she or he who has a close and true friend, the kind that loves you warts and all.  

The wind begins to get to me, discouraging me, urging me to quit. The ride makes me think of past windy rides:  PBP 2007 with the wind and rain, Mike Kamenish and I riding a century to Frankfort when Hurricane  Ike was blowing through, the Kentucky brevet where a small group stayed together unable to hear each other even if shouting and how we lost one member to a flat without knowing it and how I wondered if I would reach the end before dying of exhaustion and cold somewhere along the roadside.  Windy rides are, doubtlessly, character building and make a stronger rider, but I also realize that they can leach the joy out of riding and so should be used and completed only occasionally and cautiously.  Maybe only if there is a purpose.  My old mantra while preparing for brevets in the past comes to mind:  "Weep in the dojo, laugh in the battlefield."  The problem today, I suppose, is that I really have no goal that I am aiming to achieve other than riding with my friends this summer. This makes it hard to justify beating myself up.

When we reach the lunch stop, I make the bad decision not to get a sandwich to fortify me for the remaining 11 to 12 miles into the wind.  I toy with and voice the idea of letting the other two rides go on and turning around using my GPS return to start feature, but I suck it up and head on.  Discouragement is like that.  It can mess with your head.  And those that ride distance or challenging rides  know that over fifty percent of completing the ride is done mentally. By the time we reach the  point where we will have a tail wind, I have realized that I could complete a century or more if I had to, even with the wind, but I have no desire to do so.  I am glad when the wind hits my back instead of slapping me in the face.

The tail wind is sweet and it seems no time when we are back in Madison.  And I am tired.  I am glad I did not turn around, but I want something to eat and to go home.  And so, this is what I do while the other two riders go to savor coffee and talk of the ride for a bit.  And as usual, I am glad I finished.  Ms. Goodrich is right: "Being discouraged does not mean you have to quit."  And there is satisfaction in that. 

Aging

"The afternoon knows 

what the morning never suspected."

Robert Frost

 

As I walk today, rain delicately splattering me the entire five to six miles, I think mostly of aging.  Perhaps because of yesterday's ride.  Perhaps because most of the miles I now must walk were once my week-end nine mile run course.  Perhaps because I received news this morning that a health problem I suspected I might have was something else entirely.  But for whatever reason, I think of aging along with other things.

 

Yesterday was an exceptionally warm day for early February, warm and breezy.  It was the kind of day that reminds you of how spring will feel when it finally arrives.  I rush into her open arms for an embrace, her warm breath caressing my cheek,  making me happy to be alive, to see the greening, the birthing.  But not yet.  Yesterday was just a reminder of what will come despite the fact that some of my daffodil leaves are beginning to nudge the earth aside, tips of green emerging, yearning for spring and her embrace.  "Not yet," I counsel them.  "Not yet."  "Soon," they answer.  "Just hold on. She will arrive soon. And we will dance with the wind in our yellow gowns."

 

Winter is not yet ready to relinquish her grasp.  Snow and ice, possible power outages, are predicted.  And so despite being a tad tired from yesterday's almost 60 miles, I walk.  It is not so warm as yesterday, but it is a heck of a lot warmer than what is to come.

 

Yesterday  Jon agreed to ride with me and agreed to a course that babies my injured foot which is almost healed but still plagues me if I overdo.  So there will be hills, including the climb out of Madison, but no really steep hills or demanding hills.  Merely climbs. And we will be slow.

 

I am so slow anymore and I don't know whether to attribute it to a lack of fitness or age or a combination of the two.  I don't know how much is mental (as my friend, Lynn Roberts told me, as you get older it is harder to be mean to yourself), and how much is physical.  It bothers me, this slowness, more than I thought it would, but I try to remind myself to be happy that I am healthy enough to swing my leg over a bicycle and ride 60 miles.  I try to remind myself that I am truly blessed having little pain.  When I try to talk to others about it, they  normally try to assure me that I am strong, but I don't FEEL strong very often anymore.  And I do miss it.  I worry that the ride will not be enjoyable for Jon at this slow pace, but it is the best I can manage right now.

 

I think about the saying that age brings wisdom, but I don't feel very wise.    I suppose I thought I would be smarter about things by now.  Instead I find myself using the wrong words, having to pause to grasp the right word, using the wrong spelling or the wrong punctuation.  I have heard them described by others as "brain farts," so I know I am not alone, but I don't like it.  It is scary sometimes. And I don't feel wise.  Maybe because there is no solution to aging.  When you stop, you die.  Maybe wisdom is accepting that life is a gift, no matter your age, so long as you are not in pain and can still do most, if not all, of the things you once did. And so I will try to send my mind in that direction.  And I suspect there will be more things that the afternoon shows me that I never suspected.  Hopefully I will learn my lessons gracefully and gratefully for all I have been given. 

Dave Fleming's Century Ride: December 2021

"Life is all about setbacks.  A 

life lived without disappointment 

is a life lived in a cocoon.  People

have recovered from far worse setbacks."

(Tony Clark)

 

A friend pointed out to me that I have not written in awhile and checked to make sure I was okay.  It was nice to know that someone noticed or cared.   I have been riding, but painting more than writing.  So many Christmas projects to work on and complete.  But I miss writing. I am glad he reminded me.  Thank you, Greg. I remain grateful of the day we met during Hell Week all those years ago. 

Additionally, I have been looking forward to resuming winter hiking and easing up on the riding.  Indeed, I began, but on only my second hike developed what I believe to be a stress fracture in my fifth metatarsal.   I am so disappointed.  I have missed the hilly terrain of the trail, the beat of my  heart as I struggle with the steep rockiness and uneven terrain. And I hike almost exclusively in winter as there are so many ticks in the warmer months.  It is hard to check yourself for ticks when you live alone.  Some places of your body, your eyes just cannot reach. 

 

Of course, I vow to allow it to heal, then ignore my resolve and do a hilly ride to Salem re-injuring myself in my denial, making the original injury worse and no doubt delaying my healing time.  Patience.  Why can't I counsel myself to patience?  And yet with the nice weather, I determine I will ride again regardless, just avoid hills and climb those I absolutely could not avoid in my granny gear, a gear I love having but seldom use.  And so, I ask Jon if he would like to accompany me on an easy century as I know he wanted to get another century in before the close of the year.  I warn him, as always, that I will be slow and that I will be particularly slow on any hills we encounter.

He says yes and so plans are laid to meet on Friday when it is due to be unseasonably warm (think 60's but I believe it gets in the low 70's) and not particularly windy (6 mph with 8 mph gusts).  The weather is a true gift for this time of year, but it is still cold at the start:  38 degrees.  I wear my Hell Week cycling backpack to take off layers as the day warms.  And I dress in lots of layers.  While I have been riding, I have been doing shorter distances and a century is a stretch.  Add on that I struggle to make myself drink on colder rides, and it is a recipe for dehydration and disaster.  I want to enjoy the ride and not feel as if it is a death march.  I also struggle with my mind questioning if I will injure myself more despite picking a flat, easy course.  Despite my misgivings, I am at the start, ready and willing, prior to Jon's arrival.

I am glad to get the century in.  I really don't like to allow too much time to elapse between centuries.  They are just so much harder than if you maintain that fitness level.  While I have made the decision not to be at all invested in completing the Tour de Mad Dog next year, I will ride stages that interest me and I remain hopeful that health/time will allow me to complete numerous centuries.  I have truly enjoyed the small century rides this year.  I am not yet ready to give up distance.

 

With the Tour de Mad Dog, there just are too many courses on the schedule that I have no interest in completing. People have different interests, and some like city rides and more heavily trafficked roads.  I prefer lightly traveled country roads despite the fact they often involve more climbing. It is not all about me. And this summer brought the realization that my century  riding years, while still hopefully numerous, will end.  Things just become more difficult because age cannot be stopped, only delayed. I can tell a definite difference on rides, during recovery.  But again, I am not yet ready to give it up.  And I don't want to waste any of the rides left to me riding a course I have no desire to ride.

 I may even ride a century the same day as a stage as I have done occasionally in the past when I didn't need the stage and it did not appeal to me, but one of my choosing if it is a stage that I have no interest in or I find that all the riders are too fast.  There is freedom in this as there was when the Big Dog site closed and I no longer had any reason to ride the extra half mile to make it a minimum of 100 miles instead of 99.5.    But the closing of the site also meant I began to ride fewer centuries, to let weather deter me that I would have soldiered through, that I lost contact with most of the others on the list.  

 

The only thing that bothers me a tad about not completing the tour is that unless I ride the requisite stages, it will mean conceding defeat to  Mike "Diesel" Kamenish and Dave "Bam Bam" King, in our unofficial contest to complete every tour since its inception in 2004, but I will still be the female winner.  And in the end, even if I were not, it is not important.  Part of life is learning what is and what is not important.  Who knows, I may end up with enough stages to finish.  I just know that I will no longer ride stages just to complete a stage.  I will  ride only if I like the course or if there is someone I particularly want to share a ride with.  So far out of 21 stages, there are 13 that I have any interest in riding at this point, and two of those are my own.

But back to today's century, a century put together by Dave Fleming, a rider from Madison, Indiana (though he no longer resides there) for I have digressed.  While Dave has ridden some of my centuries, including Marengo, I have never had the pleasure of riding this century with him, but at least I have had the pleasure of riding it. It is a relatively flat century, something I insist upon today.  I really would like to be able to walk pain free by Christmas and resume hiking by the end of December.  I am hoping that a flat course will allow my foot to resume healing while still allowing me some exercise.  I am disappointed at the injury and my failure to give it the proper respect already, but I will be even more disappointed if I miss the entire winter hiking season.  I am such a wimp. 

I toy with the idea of putting the ride today on the club calendar, but decide against it for a few reasons.  I never regret that decision though Jon might as he  listens to my incessant chattering throughout the ride.  Again and again, I notice the winter beauty of the Sycamore trees, their whiteness giving definition to the trees around them as well as themselves.  Most trees are leafless though a few of the stubborn oaks cling to leaves that are brown and dry.  Occasionally a puff of wind makes them take the plunge, and they whirl to the ground as if confetti to celebrate our passing.  We pass a barn that announces a birthday ride.  It is in the middle of nowhere, and I later ask Jon if he thinks it was a bicycle or motorcycle ride.  Both of us guess motorcycle.  He tells me the sign has been there a long time. 

There is no first store stop on this century, so we both have brought snacks.  We stop at a church facility that has picnic tables to pause and refuel ourselves.  Jon has oranges.  I have brought a blueberry oatmeal bar that I make.  And water.  We both drink from our bottles, again reminding me that I have not been taking in enough fluid.  We sit in the back of the building where the sun hits the broken down picnic table and both shed layers reveling in the unseasonable warmth that embraces us.  We sit like the old friends we are becoming, talking of this and that, comfortable with each other.  How I appreciate friends that I am comfortable with.  No need for pretenses.  Thoughts can be spoken and explained if not understood without worry.  How glad I am to have a friend who likes to ride bicycles.  While I like solo rides upon occasion, it certainly is nice to have company.  Perhaps more so now than prior to being widowed.  

The miles pass so quickly, and while it seems we are making good time, I am particularly slow on hills so I hurry us along a bit at lunch and at our last store stop.  So long as I am not pushing the pace, my foot does not hurt, but it sure aches when I put weight on it.  By the end of the ride, my right leg is tired from taking over part of the left legs responsibilities and my rear is sore from not being able to stand while riding.  Oh, well, it is a setback, but a minor one.  I expect more as that is just the way of things.  Still, I having watched my husband struggle with pain for so long, I have a real fear and dread of getting pains that won't let up or leave.  I just am not as brave as he was.  

We get in about a half hour before dark, both of us glad that we chose not to waste the day.  I will go home and I will ice my foot and rest just accepting that it will probably be Christmas before I can resume my normal routines.  And I will try to appreciate what I can do and not bemoan what I can't.  Drinking the sunshine today will help.  And I will heal.  No cocoon for this girl, at least yet. How lucky I am. 

Medora: 2021

"Tradition, which is always old, is at 

the same time ever new because it is always

reviving born again in a new generation, to be lived

and applied in a new and particular way."

Thomas Merton

 

Medora, a century that has become a tradition despite the many changes since its inception umpteen years ago.  Because it is a tradition and because it is an easy century, I am expecting more than the traditional six that have been riding most of this years weekly century rides. Not that the same six riders have been riding.  But it just seems to be the average number of people who show.  And I am not disappointed.  Nineteen show.  Attendance is, I am certain, aided by the delightful weather prediction of low eighties and little wind.  Two of the riders, John Mahorney of Ridenfaden, and  Thomas Nance, of Ridenfaden and the Louisville Bicycle Club, ride to the ride start and ride home afterward for an approximate 150 mile day. 

When I originally put the Medora Century on, the town had a small store  with tables and a deli, a dairy bar, and a gas station.  There was no festival.  Now the stores are all gone, closed for various reasons like so many of the small country stores that fuel our rides, with a Dollar General Store rising from the ashes.  So now, rather than putting the ride on any time of the year, it is always on the calendar when Medora Goes Pink, a fund raising festival for cancer, the second Saturday in October.  Traditions modify to fit the times if they want to survive and eating is important on a century. Most of the fails or really painful centuries I have witnessed have been due to a rider not eating.  Indeed, on brevets, when I lost my appetite I knew I was in trouble. 

 

It also has become tradition to ask all riders to wear pink.  This year I have decorated my bike.  I have a pink rose bouquet attached to my handle bar bag and a cheap pink feather boa adorns the handlebar.  Many of the riders wear pink in some form, if only a bandana.  As I have told them, or teased them actually, "real men wear pink:-)"  Amelia is dressed with pink underwear with a back of some type of shimmery material.  In the past there have been bras, decorated and worn on the outside of jerseys.  Mike Crawford adorned a pink tutu one year.  Paul inevitably wears his pink 25,000 mile jersey (the one the club changed to a dreary gray later).  Many of us, myself included, are wearing the pink Tour de Mad Dog jersey designed by Steve Rice.  Almost everyone has at least  a hint of pink, if only a bandana. 

 

 

I decide to use the new route that I came up with when 39 was being repaved as riders seemed to like it better than the traditional route I designed.  Maybe this is because there are fewer climbs, particularly at the end when the few hills on  Kinderhook and Hebron Church can seem brutal, or maybe it is because we are on almost all country roads rather than the traditional state highways that have become busier over the years.  And the wind:  Medora can be brutal in the wind. It is essentially flat farmland for much of the route and there is no place to hide from the wind if she decides to slap you around a bit.  Even after all these years I remember sitting in Randy's eating lunch mid-winter with Grasshopper when the snow began, soft and dreamy but so dangerous for cyclists on road bikes.  The wind was also strong that day, blowing the flakes sideways.   It looked like a fairyland, but like all fairy tales had its dangers.  But today, while wind is predicted, it is not predicted to be a strong wind.  And it is way too warm for snow.

As seems usual, there is one rider unready to leave the parking lot when the ride starts.  As captain, I hang back until he is ready.  Despite his dropping his chain on the first climb, it is  not too long before we catch the others.  I am hoping that some people will ride slowly as I have not been riding much lately.  For awhile I was ill and then for awhile just tired.  Indeed, I thought I might have caught COVID, but both rapid and lab testing were negative.  But people are not riding slowly and I go with the flow hoping I will be able to maintain throughout the ride.  

I love the first of a ride, before the pace groups begin to form, when the brightness of the different jerseys stretch before me snaking down the road.  One can hear the chatter and laughter as riders catch up and share what is new in their lives.  But this never lasts long, and by the time we catch the riders some are ahead.  We do catch up in time to stop one group which veers off course heading the traditional direction.  Well, we really don't catch them, but we don't follow them and turn and they notice.  It does not take them long to rejoin the group.  I am thankful for this.  I am not in any shape to be trying to ride people down for wrong turns. 

The first store stop is the traditional one at Huck's in Austin.  Despite the fact we don't stop there often, they never seem surprised to see us.   We still are close enough together that everyone is at the store at the same time.  Those that arrived earlier than the rest, however, depart first.  I tease them about being in a hurry to go eat junk food at the festival.  As we pass through Austin I note that the festival they usually hold on the same day, the Fireman's Festival if I remember correctly, does not appear to be a go.  Pandemic or a change of dates?  I don't and probably won't know.  

I am riding primarily with Dee and Tony at this point in the ride.  They tell me that they always pick out something to look for on century rides.  They then guess how many they will find.  Whoever comes closest is the winner and the other person treats them to a snack following the ride.  Today's watch is for basketball goals.  They tease each other about counting incorrectly if it means they will lose in the way that close friends tease each other with no malice.  I enjoy hearing their banter and it helps miles pass.  They make me think of how many nice and interesting people I have met through riding a bicycle.

 

At one point, on 700, what seems like a million jeeps pass us.  I grin to myself at the irony of this for 700 has become busier than the state road would have been.  We assume they are heading for the festival which normally has a car show, but they turn on a side row that has a sign reading D.A.R.E. I later google DARE, but only see where it was a failed drug program of some type.  We never see the jeeps again.  There is a car show, but they are not part of it.  My curiosity is doomed to remain unassuaged.

 

I am surprised at how few farmers we see out harvesting on such a fine day.  A few trucks and harvesting machines pass, but very few.  Some of the fields have been harvested, but many have not.  I also am surprised at the lack of pumpkin fields.  Normally, year after year, I pass fields where pumpkins lie rotting. It always aroused my curiosity as to whether it was due to labor woes or there just were too many pumpkins.  I always chuckle at the freshly harvested soybean fields.  They remind me of a  man's stubble when he goes a day or two without shaving.  I notice that where there is green grass, the green is not quite so green as it seemed to be a week or so ago.  The tree leaves are beginning to brown at the edges and those trees that shed early are scattering their leaves along the roads we travel.   

Prior to arriving at the festival, we go through the covered bridge, stopping to take photos.  I think how thankful I am that the bridge was restored and that thus far nobody has had an urge to destroy it as has happened to other bridges.  I don't think I will ever understand the need to destroy things that are beautiful or historical.  And this bridge is both.  

At the festival, everyone is still  there.  Larry is kind enough to have brought his drone and is taking lots of footage that I know he will coalesce into some wonderful video.  Some have eaten.  Some are waiting in line.  John Fong and Fritz tell me they are averaging over 19 mph when I ask.  Being at the back, I don't know who else, if anyone, is riding with them at that pace.  While I would rather have the barbecue, the long line deters me and, as usual, I get the tenderloin.  As always, it is overcooked and enough to serve 2 people.  Normally I throw half of it away, but not today.  This is a mistake and I will fill overfull and sluggish all day long from my gluttony.  I take the time to tease Steve Rice about whether he is going to ride again in the barrel train as he and other riders did in the past.  Oh, how we laughed that day.  This year nobody leads the way, but the barrels are filled with smiling children, and that is satisfying to see.  There truly is nothing like the smiling eyes of a happy child. 

As with the first store stop, people leave in groups determined by arrival time and how long they had to wait in line to get something to eat.  It is when I leave with the last group that I (and others) notice that we will battle a head wind on the way back.  This explains our above normal average getting there.  One would think after all these years that my average would have given me a hint that there was a tail wind on the way out, but it did not.  Tami and Jon W. join our group for the ride home, or part of it.  I giggle to myself when Tami complains she is slow on hills because she is a strong rider.  Dee and Tony talk about how she just finished a very successful half-ironman and I don't doubt it. I ask Tami if the ratio of men to women at triathlons has ever become equal.  Just like this ride, with only four women, it has not, or so she says.  

At the third store stop, the lead group is long gone when I arrive.  It is starting to feel hot, and I am glad to arrive as my water bottles are empty, not normal for me.  But then I remember that I didn't drink at the lunch stop as I normally do so it makes sense.  Everyone heads out but Jon Wineland who is eating a sandwich. He tells me to go on and seems to mean it, so knowing this and how strong he is, I do.  I worry when it takes him awhile to catch back up, but he does catch up.

 Eventually I will drop back to hang with a rider that is struggling with the wind and another who is coming back from an injury.  Frankly, I am glad for the slower pace.  It gives me time to relish and savor this beautiful fall day, for I know what is following closely on fall's footsteps.  And everyone finishes.  Mark R. was worried about cramping, but I don't find him stranded along the road tied in knots.  What a treat it is to see  him riding a century again.  Nobody even seemed in any danger of not finishing, and that is good. I think about Medora for a bit and wonder who, if anyone, will lead it when I no longer ride centuries.  I hope it is not for many years, but I am aging.  I hope that someone carries on the tradition adding their own flavor to the journey.