Paulhenge Century and New Roads

"The most splendid moment of an adventure

is not always the moment of fulfillment, not even the

moment of conception, but the moment of first

accomplishment, when the adventurer sets

his face toward the new road, knowing that his

boats are burned."

Katherine Thurston

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Rising Sun Century 2022: Friendship, and Not Just the name of the town we pass through with that name

"I have learned that to be with those I like

is enough."

Walt Whitman

 

 

It is one of those centuries that I can be somewhat afraid of without feeling shame, for it is very hilly and demanding.  The climbs are many and many of the climbs are long and some of the climbs are both long AND steep.  But still I steel my resolve and put it on the calendar knowing that the scenery will more than reward me for the effort.  It is one of those centuries that I know few, if any, others will ride (except Jon Wineland who modified Crawford's course and designed it and is, like me, a tad off) because of the difficulty and because it is not a tour stage and thus, does not count.  Sometimes it makes me smile, these younger men and women who will not ride a course because of the difficulty, when here I am, at my age, turning the pedals.  But it is okay.  Probably even good.  What a boring world it would be if we all had the same interests.  Bicycling is, indeed, a big tent with room for all. 

 

The Tour de Mad Dog has brought many riders into the century fold, many of them strong and capable, but I could count on both hands the numbers who ride when it is not a tour stage and there is no jersey to gain.  And of the few I know that do ride because they love distance, only a handful remain.  Pustow once told me that the average riding life of a distance rider is three years if I remember correctly.  I suspect that estimate is a bit on the high side. As for me,  I have slowed down.  The woman who could hold an average of 17 or slightly more on Wacky Tacky, a ride from Louisville down into Tennessee and then back across the border, is gone.  But the love of riding, well, it has remained.  And perhaps speed, as I recently asserted elsewhere, is vastly overrated. Still, the slowness of the pace and the feeling that they should stay back with me may keep some riders away though I have no desire that they stay back. 

Originally I don't construct a cue sheet knowing that I have a GPS file and that Jon will be riding and knows these roads, for while I have ridden them before there is no way I would find my way if my GPS quit and it has been on the fritz lately.  But Jon texts that his roofer is coming and he won't be riding, so I clamber out of bed, down the steps, and construct a paper cue sheet.  Back in bed, I toss and turn convinced that it will be just myself and Paul Lapham, a Madison Bicycle Club member that I have met a few times and who Jon says intends to join at the first store stop.  Perhaps we can get to know each other better. And I do not fear time alone though I don't always desire it.  I suppose if I get lost, I get lost.  As I once told Grasshopper, if you ride long enough you end up somewhere.  That being said, to be on the safe side I tuck a map of the area into my bag to carry along just in case.

But I am wrong.  It is not a large crowd that shows at the start, but Dave King and Thomas Nance arrive.  Dave grouses just a tad at the early start, but I remain glad I made the decision for wheels to roll at 8 since it is a long century: about 109 miles.  Both of these men love riding as much or even more than I do and it will be great to have their company keeping me from brooding about a recent personal tragedy that has been haunting both waking and sleeping hours.  Both are excited at the thought of new roads, new scenery, new hills:  a new adventure.  Century rides just hold so many possibilities.

It is cool compared to the recent weather, but the century starts with a rather long climb within a few miles and I am never uncomfortably chilly.  Since Madison is down by the river, there always is a climb to get out unless one heads toward Vevay along the river, and that road has no shoulder, fairly heavy traffic, and a 55 mph speed limit.  On the climb I think about Jon's history lesson that there used to be a vineyard on the right that is no more.  Before long, I am beginning to warm up.  There is cloud cover and I will not be dismayed if it remains throughout the day.  The prediction is for temperatures not to exceed the mid-eighties and light wind.  In other words, it should be one of the best riding days we have had for awhile.  

The scenery does not disappoint.  Throughout the day we are mostly on roads that have  no yellow lines.  Many have trees growing right up to the road, their canopies draping up and over the road providing shade, and green.  With the recent rain, everything is green and lush.  Only the occasional car passes us.  As we near the first store stop, I see a ride approaching from the opposite direction than we are headed toward.  As I suspect, it is Paul.  He turns and joins us.  I tell him I will introduce him to the others at the store stop, a stop he does not need as his ride is beginning but that we need as we are about 27  miles in.  He is patient but we do not loiter for long at Cheryl's store.  I notice the "For Sale" sign is missing.  Paul does not know if it was sold or not.  

Between the store and the lunch stop, climb after climb assault my legs but they hold.  Earlier in the year, on hard climbs my knees would occasionally have an unusual twinge that I can only describe as slipping.  I am glad I feel none of that.  The slower strengthening appears to have worked, at least for today.  The guys are faster climbers than I am, particularly on steep ascents, but when they pull ahead they stop and wait for a bit for me to catch up.  I don't expect or need them to do this, but they do it anyway.  I laugh at Paul at one point when he explains he had to climb a bit fast because his friends name popped up on his computer.  I suspect Stacey has the QOM on the climb out of Friendship, or I think that is what it is called as I am not on Strava.  Paul said he beat the time by one minute.   I don't doubt it.  Like Thomas and Dave, he is strong on climbs.  It is fun in places seeing their reactions to things I have seen in the past but they have not.  In one yard, there is a huge elephant as a lawn decoration.  Thomas, of course, takes photos, something I have meant to do but have never stopped to do.  Perhaps I should, one day, traverse this course alone, armed with my camera and time and no constraints or concerns about keeping up.

On our way we briefly discuss where to eat.  Dave does not care for Subway and I must say, it is not my favorite place to eat, but we decide that for today it will do.  We all ride right past it, however, when we reach Rising Sun.  When we reach the casino and are heading out of town, I know we are wrong.  We turn around and find it.  I figure out why my GPS has been trying to shuffle me off the wrong way and losing arrows at time.  I have been loading the wrong course to Rising Sun.  At lunch, I fix it and have guiding arrows the rest of the day.  

 

The ride back  has Raisor Hill on it.  I remember this hill from the last time I rode this route with Jon.  It is steep and it hurts.  I ease into my easiest gearing as we make the turn and I see the street sign.  I climb wondering if I will make it and of course I do.  Dave talks about feeling his heart pounding in his temple as he climbed.  Everyone is  impressed by the hill.  Paul says that most of their club rides descend the hill rather than climbing it.  I ask if they think Jon's ears were burning as I cursed his name repeatedly during the climb;-) but I am glad I climbed it and that my legs and heart did not betray me.  

 

At the third store stop, Paul leaves us to return home.  He says the slower pace has allowed him to finish the ride thus far feeling fresh.  It makes me think of  Lynn Roberts one time talking about our slow pace as we rode a century loitering and taking our time, enjoying each other's company as well as that of Amelia.  At the end he spoke of how he had never finished a century and felt so good.  Slower paces will do that.  There is a time and place for fast rides and a time and place for slower rides that include more time to notice the scenery and to talk and just enjoy being with friends, even in silence.  Sometimes I think that is the best, having friends whose company you enjoy riding along together in silence.  Just their being there is special.  

 

As we near Madison, Jon comes cycling toward us, his roofing completed.  As friends we cycle out those last miles.  The clouds are spectacular and so unusual, almost purple puffs.  And I feel a contentment and solace that I have been lacking while I deal with some personal issues.  I realize that Whitman is right.  To be with these like-minded people is enough.  

 

After the ride, Dave, Jon, and I have dinner together.  The icing on an already delicious day.  And I am thankful for the day, the meal, the friendship, and bicycles.  I am truly blessed.  

 

 

 

Bob Grable's Century: Scotland Bound

"It's all to do with the training:

you can do a lot if you are 

properly trained." 

Queen Elizabeth II

 

It has been awhile since I have really trained for anything.  I suppose the last cycling event I really trained in earnest for was the 1000K brevet designed by Crista Borras that ran through Virginia into West Virginia, the one I completed shortly before my husband died in December of 2014.  While I am not training as assiduously for this event as I did back then, it feels good to have at least the outline of a plan in my mind and a goal to reach.  And it feels good to feel my body adapt so that I am in at least half way descent shape for a change.  I do not adapt nearly so quickly, and it takes longer to recover, but I do adapt.

The spring the Pandemic started, I entered a cycling contest on Zwift that was put on by Wilderness Scotland.  It was hard.  Even with the rubber band (and that didn't work on one ride) it was difficult to keep up requiring all the effort I could muster. I had to ride a number of Zwift rides to qualify for the drawing, and for once I actually won something: a cycling trip  in Scotland.  This was so exciting.  I love the beauty that is Scotland.  But of course with the Pandemic, I was  not able to go right then.  

When I contacted the company this spring, I was not sure if they would still honor the win, but not only did they keep their word, they upgraded it.  And so, I chose the week long tour I wanted to complete, the Tour of the National Parks, and signed up.  And now to train.  The distances each day are not long, but it appears there is lots of climbing.   Plus riding day after day for a week with no rest day is not normally on my agenda anymore.  Oh, I could ride in the van, but I am not going to Scotland to ride in a damned van:  I am going to ride a bicycle.  What a vacation it will be.  The icing on the cake was when I found out that Dave King decided he will join me.  It will be so lovely having the company of someone that I know and whose company I enjoy.

 

And so there is more of a purpose when I ride now.  It is lovely to ride just to ride, just to ride with no goal or purpose other than pleasure,  to watch the road give way to my wheels, to see seasons change, but it is nice to have a goal beyond that. And to know I will see the beauty that is Scotland again, that is heavenly. But I have been off the bike for over a week due to grandmothering and travel.  

 

When I awaken after returning from visiting the granddaughters, the day of Bob Grable's Adjective Century, it is raining and thunder seems to shake the very timbers of my house.   I don't want to get out of bed.  I have not slept well and would like to stay tucked in, snug and warm, shutting out the day.  But I need to ride.  The cats rejoice at my early awakening which equates, in their world, to early feeding.

Dragging myself out of bed, I wonder if Bob will cancel or at least delay the start. It is raining but it is quite warm out.  Still, it is raining hard, not a gentle drizzle.  The last I checked, the rain was supposed to end early morning.  I check the web site and there is no delay or cancellation.  I get ready for the ride, don a  yellow rain coat to load the car with my bike and other necessaries,  and head out the door shortly before six into a driving rain.  

By the time I arrive at the start, the rain has eased down to a drizzle that will pretty much last the entire day.  I suspect that because of the rain, the attendance is quite small.  But then numbers have dropped consistently over the past years.  Certainly starting the TMD in winter did nothing to improve numbers.  Things change.  If there is one constant in life, there is that.  And sometimes in fighting the change, one accelerates it.

We start out and I find that I remain in a somewhat foul humor.  Some days are like that.  I don't feel like talking.  I do feel okay with riding, but even this early in the ride I can tell I have been off the bike.  Still I know a ride is what I need to burn this mood off.    As always, I am amazed at how quickly fitness evaporates.  After all, being off with a one (almost two) year old and a three (almost four) year old is not like just sitting on your bum eating bonbons and watching television.  But that is how it is.  Fitness leaves us much more quickly and easily than it is gained.

I pull into the first store we come to, our traditional store stop, rather than riding across the street to where the majority are stopping. I leave the first store stop with a group that I know I won't keep up with (Tom Hurst, Tom Askew, and Mike Kammenish) and soon find myself riding alone.  I am okay with that today.  No need to blanket the entire world with my bitchiness. Plus I just notice more if I am by myself.  Some days I want company and other times I prefer my own company or a companion who is well versed in companionable silence rather than idle chattering. 

 

As I ride, I realize that it has been quite awhile since I have done a century in the rain, and I find myself remembering that sometimes it can be quite enjoyable.  And lord knows, we need the rain.  Everything was starting to turn brown and my lawn is crunchy.  The rain seems to accentuate the greenness of the leaves and grass and the crops I pass.  Flowers seem more brilliant except for the lilies who hide their faces as there is no sun to impress with their smiles.  For a moment my thoughts run the rainy ride that I completed following a canceled century, the ride that earned me my nickname, Puddle, bestowed by Carl Davis and Mike Pitt, neither of whom ride with the club anymore. 

On the hills, my legs complain at what is being asked of them, but I grit my teeth and tell them what they need to do and they do it however grudgingly.  Sometimes I wonder what it will feel like one day when the inevitable happens and they refuse to obey, but for today I am good and t hey are good.  I think how easy it would be to just drop into granny, but that will not help build the strength I am trying to gain.  I grind on sending my mind elsewhere.

When I pull into the lunch stop, Mike and Tom Hurst ask if I have seen Tom Askew.  He was riding with them and dropped back but never showed at the lunch stop.  I tell them he probably missed the turn to the lunch stop and is half way up the long, though not steep, climb that comes shortly after the stop.  But they worry that he has gone off the road and crashed prior to the lunch stop.  They call and text but thus far have received no reply.  

After a quick sandwich, I begin to chill.  There is still no work from Tom A. but there is also nothing I can do. Amelia Dauer and Steve Meredith pull in from the wrong direction having missed the turn. The others have arrived and are ordering, but I ride out alone.  

 

The view up in the knobs after the climb out of Borden is lovely, particularly once you reach Skyline.  This is my favorite part of the ride.  In fact, it is the part of the ride that makes me ride on River Road, something I absolutely detest. But a thick mist appears for awhile that really obstructs my ability to see anything much at all.  I stop to make sure my red flashers are on to try to protect myself from an altercation with an automobile with limited vision.  They are. I remind myself that in  Scotland there is likely to be one or two days like this, maybe more, misty and rainy.  When Amelia and I rode there last time, there was an 8 mile climb that we did in the rain, and I remember how cheated I felt at the top for not being able to see and on the descent for having to be so cautious.  

This scenic part of the ride ends all too quickly and before you know it I am descending down toward the greenway, the bridge to Kentucky, and River Road.  My legs continue to feel sore from the effort despite a reasonably slow pace, but I know that is the pathway to greater strength.  On the bridge there is a large group of people taking the entire bridge.  Luckily for me and them, I am going slowly as despite my asking they refuse to yield any of the pavement.  But after that I am good.  When I reach the park, Tom Askew is pulling out and tells me he has let the others know he is safe.  As I suspected, he missed the turn to lunch.  How dependent we are on GPS routes.  

And so I continue to work toward "proper training" for my Scotland trip.  Tomorrow I will, despite any residual soreness, throw my leg over the seat of my bike and ride, though not quite so far.  And so on and so on.  Hopefully I can avoid illness or injury that would prevent my going as the trip is all planned.  And hopefully I will be strong enough to never, never hop in the van. 

 

 

A New 50 Mile Route

"Our minds, as well as our bodies,

have need of the out-of-doors.  Our spirits, too, 

need simple things, elemental things, the sun and

the wind and the rain, moonlight and starlight,

sunrise and mist and mossy forest trails,

the perfumes of dawn and the smell of freshly

turned earth and the ancient music of wind

among the trees."

Edwin Teale

 

A return to hot weather is predicted and it is to get in the nineties today, but there are not the extreme heat warnings of last week.  This week is it air quality.  Warnings about the air quality were issued this morning. As Roseanna Danna used to say,  "It's always something."

I have no idea of who to expect at today's ride with the heat prediction and the early start time.  Both may keep people home for some are afraid of the heat and some don't roll out of bed early or easily.   But I decided earlier this week when I put the ride on the schedule  to have wheels roll at seven.  People will come or  people will not come but I will ride regardless. I know that the group I ride with is aging and changing.  I try not to think of the days when most will no longer ride lost to health or inertia.  On the century ride last week-end, Rick and I talked and listed those we used to ride with who no longer ride or don't ride distance.  The list was sooo long.  It made me rather sad.  I don't want to be sad.

 

I awaken long before necessary and relish the quiet of the morning and the smell and taste of a cup of coffee, the way it warms my hands and my belly, the way it reminds me of my mother in the morning years and years ago before I was allowed to drink coffee.  How lucky I am to have my little house, food, coffee, and a purring cat on my lap. 

As I load the car, I shiver in the chill of morning.  Unlike last week, the temperatures have dipped significantly during the night and there is a nip in the air.  It is not the piercing, pricking bite of the cool  air on a fall morning, but enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up and take notice.  It is delicious. 

When I get to the ride start, nobody is there yet, but shortly thereafter Mark R. and John L. roll in.  John says he is thankful for the early start time and that he used to play golf early on hot days when he was still able to play golf.   Mark later says he is not an early riser and laughs saying that his wife says he gets up early only to fish or ride his bike. 

I giggle as all of us begin saying we are cold and hope there is a hill soon.  It is ironic that we are cold on a day when it is to be exceptionally warm just a tad later in the day.  And of course, there is a hill early on.  I have gone down this hill before, but I don't remember ever going up it; however, despite its steepness it is short and it is easier than I anticipated it would be.  Still you know you are climbing and it warms us up, or at least it warms me up. No more thoughts of being cold snake through my mind. And nobody else mentions being cold again either.

 

 One thing that strikes me as being particularly beautiful this morning is how the mist is rising off of the ponds we pass.  It is not a fog that obstructs our view and hides us from cars.  It does not cover the road.  But clouds roll off of the water like a shimmering cloak hanging in the air.  Dew gleams in the sunlight from the surrounding fields and yards, winking at us.  I briefly think about how comfortable I am on a bike and how I love to be outdoors.  I suppose I will never understand the city riders and they will never understand me, so perhaps I  should say I love to be outdoors in the country.

 

That is, I think, a blessing.  To have a place other than home where one can explore and dream and still be comfortable.  I treasure these rides.  I send up a prayer of thankfulness for the beauty, for the ride, and for friends who came to share it with me.  Yes, I would have ridden it alone and had a good time with different thoughts, but it is special having people to ride with as well, people who love the outdoors and their bicycles like I do.

Cut hay perfumes the air, so lovely despite triggering some allergies that I seem to have developed as I have aged.  Possible rain tomorrow evening means it will be baled later today or early tomorrow.  I think briefly about the difficulties of being a small farmer as most farmers in this area are, where farming is a second job to their normal day jobs.  Working in the fields can mean missing a day of regular work.  And this has been a difficult year for farmers with the early rain and cold that lasted much longer than it should have.  But then, I suspect most years are hard for farmers.  Do they, I wonder, love farming as I love bicycling?  They must, I suppose, to keep planting each year. 

We reach the store stop with no incidents and the course seems to have come together seamlessly.  As we leave, I notice a couple of pennies on the ground and quickly pocket them but not without noticing that one is a wheat penny from 1942.  How odd that it is lying here, a penny older than I am.  

The only snafu are three dogs on a road I seldom ride.  Both John and Mark carry dog spray  but it does not seem to phase the dogs.  I have warned them of the dogs at the top of Liberty Knob, but not of these because I did not know of them.  I must, it appears, reroute this section of the ride despite the loveliness of the road.  I think of how there really is no excuse for not corralling dogs with all the invisible fences and regular fences and training, but that is just how it is for bicycle riders.  Just because someone can or should do something is no guarantee they will. 

We climb Liberty Knob and the dogs there do appear, but they have aged and while they come out, they are not as scary as they have been in the past.  I have talked to the owner and others have talked to the owner, but he seems to feel it is our problem and not his.  His solution to me was for me to squirt them.  Easier, I suppose, then taking responsibility. 

Everyone enjoys the long descent down Pixley Knob.  We compare descent speeds and Mark and I are about even hitting somewhere around 40 mph with braking.  John calls himself a wimp and says he descended much more slowly though I don't remember waiting for him at the bottom;-)  

 

Mark has been good this whole ride, holding back when I know he is able to go faster, not fidgeting too much at the store stop that he would normally not stop at,  and not dropping us.  But now he does take off.  John and I ride along slowly, chatting and enjoying each others company.  At times he seems to feel that I mind hanging back, but I really am NOT hanging back and I am enjoying the company.  Being a widow, I do spend lots of time alone and I do love his stories.   Both Mark and John are interesting people and we have had interesting conversations.  I am happy that they came.  

The ride ends with a number of rollers.  When we reach the cars, it is no longer cool but it is not yet hot despite the brilliant sunshine and lack of clouds.  And it is early.  The majority of the day lays before me like a blank canvas.  Still I know there are chores to fill that time and my evening stroll to take.  I can do them and do them better having drank the sunshine, the company, and the scenery.  Thank God for bicycles, nature, open roads, and friends. 

I Need the Miles;-)

"The question isn't who is going to let

me; it's who is going to stop me."

Ayn Rand

 

I have giggled numerous times over Mark's assertion the other day when he was riding in the extreme heat alert with me that he needed the miles.  So what if the feel like temperature exceeded 100 degrees. And today, on a 32 mile solo ride while the heat warnings continue, I continue to giggle and think about why it struck me as so funny.  I think, perhaps, because they are words I and most other cyclists have said and are just, you know, so typically cyclist like.  And we are not lying when we say those words.  We do need the miles, mentally as well as physically, despite the fact we are not professionals and our livelihoods do not depend upon it.  

Maybe, I think, it is because cycling is sometimes, though not always, a chance to visit and catch up with friends.  And while we do have cycling friends, they often are unwilling to ameliorate their pace for long if we let ourselves slack and get out of shape.  Maybe it is partially because we can leave worries and frustrations strung out along the road behind us if only for a while.  It is just too hard to worry about a bill coming do or a relationship issue when you are panting trying to master a hill or a maintain a certain pace.  

 

I will say I love the moments when my body acts as an orchestra, each movement coordinated and playing along and in tune with the other. Maybe it is because our bodies were meant to be used, and used rather demandingly, or such is my belief.  It makes me think of what someone once said after being taunted about his running with the young death of Jim Fixx.  He told me that he did not really run to extend his life, but to improve the quality.  "I feel good," he told me, "even when I am taking out the trash."

Soon, however, the orange day lilies distract me from my thoughts.  They are so beautiful and so wild.  One never knows where one might come upon a patch.  I think how unfortunate it is that the county decided to mow along the sides of the road this week when they were just starting to bloom. But there are still plenty  lining the roads the escaped the blades.  And the Black Eyed Susan are starting to pop  up.

Suddenly, as I make a turn to head home, I spot someone on a bicycle coming toward me.  This is unusual here.   It is rare for me to see anyone on a bike.  As we near, I see it is my friend Diana.  I turn my bike around and ask where we are going.  It is nice to loll along and catch up for a few miles before it is time for her to head home.  She tells me to go on as her dog will follow me if I accompany her to her house to drop her off.  

As I head home, the heat is becoming more oppressive, but it is still quite comfortable, perhaps because of the wind.  Rather than fight her, I just ease my pace and head toward her knowing home is but a few miles away.  The heat is supposed to end for the week-end, then return with heat values in the hundreds again.  But barring something unforeseen, I will ride.  As Rand notes, who will stop me?  And I need the miles. 

It's a Hot 52 Mile Ride

"Sometimes I'm doing things considered

crazy by others, but then my heart

giggles.  That's when I know I'm doing

the right thing."

Dodinsky

 

Last night I wrestled with the idea of canceling the 52 mile ride today.  The news, my phone, everywhere I turn they are issuing record heat warnings and advising people not to so outside activities.  And I remember hot rides and how painful they can be, the ones where you feel you are on fire and the only thing that will help are gallons upon gallons of ice cold water.  And I am not stupid:  I know they can be dangerous.  Though I have had my moments in the heat, it is worse when you are nursing someone who is riding with you, worrying about them, often in the middle of nowhere. But I decide to show up and see what happens despite the fact it is a drive to the start for me.  We are, after all, adults and responsible for  our own choices in life. 

When I wake up, my phone has, in large letters, Extreme Heat Advisory, and despite being morning, it is already in the low eighties.  Again I ask myself what is wrong with me that I would even consider having a ride in this weather.   I head to the ride start feeling relatively certain that nobody else will show, telling myself I'll ride and can always turn around if I would like.  Then I plan to go pick blueberries at a nearby You Pick farm. While I often try to combine errands in one trip, I  have become even more determined to do so with the current gas prices.

Sure enough, when I arrive, nobody is there in the parking lot.  I am not surprised and I am not particularly disappointed, maybe because it is what I expected.  I drag my bike out and begin the preparations to leave at the ride start time.  It is hot and it is humid, but it is a bit  overcast and I know that will make a difference.  And then Mark pulls in.  Grinning,  I ask if he knows that he is crazy.  Like a true cyclist and in all seriousness, he tells me, "I need the miles."  My heart chuckles and grins. Not canceling was, indeed, the right thing for me. I do admonish him, however, that there should be no macho "I'm a man and I can take it particularly if a woman can" bull on the ride.  I will tell him if I am having heat issues and I expect him to tell me.  Not sure if he hears me though.

And we ride.  Not only do we ride, but we ride fairly hard.  It is not the tongue hanging out, not enough oxygen in the world hard, but hard enough that I feel it nagging at my thighs and my lungs.  At first I think the humidity, in the seventy something percentile, is going to be an issue as I notice the sweat just sitting on my skin, but the wind from movement of riding begins to evaporate the dampness from my skin.  Yes, I am soaking wet with perspiration, but I am not overly hot which surprises me because I definitely am not yet at all acclimated to the heat.  

We reach the midway store stop and do stop.  I grab a quick 2 percent milk because they only have the large size Gator Aid and I don't want that.   We don't linger however.  We have clouds blocking the sun on and off and they may not last.  We don't want to waste them.  I chug and we pull out.

This route is still new enough to me that I am not overly familiar with all the roads, so I enjoy the scenery.  After lunch, it is mostly riding rather than talking and riding.  It is nice to be with someone that doesn't expect to be entertained the entire ride though earlier in the ride I had to tell him about Dave King's comments about my possibly only taking a carry on bag to Scotland rather than a checked bag.  He assures  me there is no way I can do this and I tell him Amelia did it on our trip there a few years ago. From his point of view, Amelia is so much smaller than me that her clothes just take less room than mine will.  And I giggle just as I did when he first said it and I begged his pardon;-)  I think the main reason he would like  me to take a checked bag is so I can bring whiskey back for him for whiskey, while a Scottish specialty, is not my thing.  

By the time we reach the big climb the clouds have mostly evaporated and we are averaging 15.7, much faster than I anticipated when I started the ride.  The big climb up Tunnel Mill into Charlestown, however, lowers the average to 15.3.  Mark drops me on the climb despite being on a recumbant and "needing the miles," but he is nice enough to wait for me at the top despite my prior urging to feel free to shoot ahead, and we finish it out.  Nobody had heat stroke and no cramps.  The sun is out in full force as we turn into the parking lot.  And I am glad that I rode despite it being a bit on the crazy side. It is not the first crazy ride I have done and my heart continues to giggle.  Then off to pick blueberries.  (The man there also thought I was a bit off, picking berries in the extreme heat, but he appreciated the business and I'll appreciate the berries tonight in pancakes, a special treat for my efforts.  Also have to be sure to fill the huge  size clothing I wear per Dave;-)  Great ride!

Hardinsburg Solo Century: June 2022

"Time flies over us

but leaves its shadow behind."

Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

It has been awhile, perhaps too long, since I have ridden a solo century.  The weather is supposed to be perfect for early June with wall to wall sunshine, low  humidity, and highs only in the seventies.  I really want to ride a new course I have put together to Bedford, but there are too many concerns about flooding around Medora.  So I decide to ride an old favorite:  Hardinsburg.  There is some road construction going on there that I strongly suspect means a favorite old bridge is being replaced by something more modern, and this trip will give me the answer to the question that has been haunting me since I first read of road closures in that area.  

 

 

One benefit of riding solo is that you can leave whenever the whim strikes you.  If you feel like one more cup of coffee before hitting the road, fine.  If you don't, that's okay too.  There is nobody to answer to except yourself.  I slip out into the chill of morning a bit after seven clad in shorts, short sleeved jersey, and a pair of sun sleeves that serve as light arm warmers but are way too hot to wear as intended.  They don't stay on long.  The climb up Leota Hill warms me and I peel them down around my wrists.  

While it is technically still spring and not summer, and while it is cool outside, the green no longer tells of new birth and spring but of summer.  Trees are full figured,  ripe with greenness.  Daisies litter the road in numerous places, so cheerful.  I briefly think of how I would wander into the pasture to pick them when my marriage was new, trying to brighten the small mobile home in which we lived. 

 

Despite our lack of "things," I do not regret those days.  Indeed, sometimes I feel rather sorry for those that start with everything.   When I look around me now, though without him at my side, I see what we earned pulling at the harness together.  I remember the sacrifices and the achievements, the wins and losses, and the happiness that comes with an honored commitment though like everyone, there were times when we wondered if we would/could remain a couple. A burst of love and thankfulness fills me knowing that he worried about how I would do alone and that I have done okay partially due to his worry. 

It strikes me that there are still no orange day lilies.  And the crops....throughout the ride I notice that the crops, particularly the corn, is not as tall and as healthy looking as it normally is in early June.  Perhaps, I think, it is my imagination.  But a Facebook memory from this very date a year or two ago notes that the day-lilies were in bloom, their orange faces turning throughout the day to follow the sun.

I also notice throughout the ride that numerous people have gardens that did not have gardens in the past.  Some of them are not much to look at, but many of them are glorious and I miss my gardening days.  That thought takes me back in time to the hours I would spend tending the garden, canning and freezing.  Hard work, but how satisfying to hear the lids seal after taking them out the canner.  To open the freezer door and see frozen vegetables galore.  And how, sometimes when I would cook with them in the midst of winter, it would seem as if a trace of summer returned right there in  my kitchen.  The smell of food cooking so that one can fill the empty bellies of loved ones.  Is there a better perfume, particularly when combined with a warm, cozy shelter against cold weather? 

I notice mulberries on the ground and remember how a large mulberry tree grew near the front of my husband's mother's house.  How the children loved them.  And just as I am in the midst of my thoughts, I turn the corner to come upon an eagle feeding in the road who immediately takes flight to a nearby tree, his white tail feathers taunting me yet telling me I have identified him for what he is.  I stop to try to get a better look, but he must think I look dangerous because he leaves his perch taking again to the air, gloriously beautiful.  Tears briefly water my eyes as it all seems too much to take in.  So much beauty.  A gratefulness for the health to ride a bicycle fills my heart.

And then a descent is upon me, difficult to navigate because of the shadows that dapple the ground.  I have ridden this road enough to know it is not well maintained and there are quite possibly pot holes waiting to fell an inattentive rider.  It demands my attention and I heed its warning.  For almost a year now, I have been able to sleep on both sides, normally with no pain, and I know from past falls how easily that can end.  Falls from bicycles are how my shoulders got messed up to begin with.   A cat is at the road edge following a curve near the bottom of the hill.  My descent messes up his hunting, and he gives me a brief, disgusted look before melting, ghost-like, into the brush that lines the road.  

 

During  the ride I find that the bridge I was concerned about is, indeed, scheduled for replacement.  The sign says it will close on or after April 1st, and while I wish it was an April Fool's joke, I  know it is not.  This shadow of time's passage will soon disappear, laying down its life for progress. I say my goodbyes. I have lost count of the older bridges that I have ridden that are now gone, replaced with more practical but not nearly so beautiful replacements.  The number of small country stores that have closed their doors, unable to complete with Walmart and Dollar General and other large conglomerates.  I  accept that this is the way of things, but that does not mean that I necessarily like or approve of the changes time has wrought.  They shadow rides, these stores and bridges, when I pass their way. 

Lunch is at Little Twirl, the first place I ate at when first reaching this area.  At that time it was open year round.  Now, it is not.  There was a gas station that was open as well, long closed. Afterward, a Mennonite store briefly made an appearance and I enjoyed frequenting it with its delicious sandwiches on homemade bread.  But time closed it as well.  Little Twirl is all that remains as a rest stop in that area. 

 

After I have left the lunch stop, I remember that I was supposed to call the kayaking place my daughter and I are to go to tomorrow.  I stop thinking that there is no way here, on Branahan Road, in the middle of nowhere, I will have service only to find that I have better service than I do at home. Four or five bars.  Go figure.  I call and ensure they are open and not flooded.  Back on the bike to prepare for the long climb up to the Red Barn.  During the climb, I want to go to granny, but I remind myself I am, for the first time in a long time, training for a ride so quit whining and turn the pedals in the way that builds strength in both the legs and in character.  

 

When I reach the Red Barn, Amos is sitting outside.  I always wonder how he stays in business, there in the middle of nowhere, but while we sit talking another customer arrives so perhaps he is busier than I realize.  When I ask the man that arrives how he is doing, he grins at me and says that if he were any better, he would have to have help.  This tickles me and reminds me of the Lloydism's I used to share with friends and how we would laugh.  A grin on my face, I pull out of the parking lot to finish the century out.  

 

During the last 25 miles, I am surprised that I am tired, but then I remember that this century always leaves me a bit drained.  It is not the hilliest century, but there is very little flat other than Blue River Road.  But still I continue to enjoy myself, maybe because I love Eden and Delaney Park Roads.  Will, I wonder, this day be another shadow of the time spent?  I hope so.