Scotland 2022

 “He said anything worth doing should

 scare you a little, and that some 

of the greatest stories began with a journey.”  

Mindy Mejia

 

 I have been carefully trying to prepare for my trip to Scotland despite dealing with the death of yet another sibling and a visit from my son and his family the week-end before I leave, and I think I have it mostly under control until the morning I am to leave.  I am not as prepared as I had hoped  I would be, but I am not a totally out of shape blob at this point. 

 

 I check in to ensure that my flight, that I already checked into the previous day and printed boarding passes for, is on time.  Not only is it NOT on time, but they have scheduled me to leave the following day, potentially robbing me of another day to spend in Edinburgh, one of my favorite cities.  As life is wont to do, it has been repeatedly teasing me recently with any illusion I have of being in control of anything.  As  I heard once or read somewhere, and I don't remember where, life is so random Pinky Pie.  And I do  have fear.  Traveling is something I have not done enough of to feel comfortable with it.  But fears must and should be faced and conquered or they conscript life all too much.  And we only have one life so it is best NOT to waste it hiding at home, peeking at the real world instead of participating in it.

I am NOT happy at this reminder that our world has changed so since COVID. I am less happy that I did not even get the courtesy of an email about this change but had to discover it on my own.  I call the travel agent (that I am even more happy than before that  I engaged though I would have used the club member if I had known before engaging her) who does manage to get me a flight from Louisville to Chicago and from Chicago to Edinburgh today.  The catch is that I have VERY little layover time:  less than a half hour to switch terminals and gates.  The agent urges me to go to the airport "THIS MINUTE" and try to get on the earlier flight to Chicago as a standby, so I tear off my raggedy jeans and change into something more appropriate, grab my bag and head out.  Of course, I am not successful.  So now I have a five hour wait at the Lousiville Airport,  an airport nice in its own way but totally lacking in places to eat or much to do while waiting.

I call my cousin, David, who says he would like to come get me for lunch but has a repair person coming.  If the repair person gets there in time, he will call.  And for once the repair person does get there just as I have decided to say screw the parking fee and head out for Half Price Books and a solitary lunch.  It is a treat to see David as it has been awhile and it really helps pass the time though I remain wound up over my short layover time fearing that I will have to spend the night in Chicago and will miss a day in Edinburgh.  

It doesn't happen though.  My plane from Louisville gets in a bit early and I literally run much of the way between terminals making it just in time.  David King, my riding buddy that is accompanying me on this adventure, texts that his flight is being delayed yet again, then that it is okay and he will also be flying out shortly.  He is in Newark, the city of my canceled first flight.  I may have  had a bad day thus far, but I can't match his bad day.  He DOES lose a day in Edinburgh. 

 

 

On the plane to Edinburgh, I happen to sit next to someone who has ridden with the Louisville Bicycle Club and used to race bicycles in Louisville.  What are the chances of this happening?  Such an interesting and nice person. He knows Bob Peters and Clarksville Schwinn, John Molnar, Derrick and On Your Left Cycles,  Jon Kindig, Mark Luking, etc.  He no longer lives in Louisville but does research at St. Jude's in Memphis as a Phlebotomist.  He still rides, but rarely, and is more into climbing.  His first name is Chris.  He told me his last name twice, but I just don't remember it, a  problem that seems to be happening more often and is rather scary because of the long term implications.  He refreshes my memory on FB.  Nevitt. While there are some aspects of aging that delight me, there are others that frighten me....and this is one of them. But I also have decided that since there is nothing I can do about it that I am not currently doing, I am not going to dwell on it.  

 

After the dinner on the plane, we both sleep for a bit.  I am happy to find that I am able to sleep, something that rarely happens when I fly.  I know I will struggle with the time difference and making the adjustment.  Chris's conversation certainly makes the time pass more quickly and is quite interesting.  And how one has to admire someone who works for St. Jude's.

I arrive in Edinburgh and am surprised at how easy it is to enter the country.  I do pass by two officers, one of whom I have to show my passport to.  He asks me why I am coming to Scotland.  I tell him to ride bicycles and the other officer cracks up.  The one taking the passport does not crack a smile and just waves me through with a scowl on his face.  Despite his surliness, his accent makes my day bringing back happy times.  It falls like sweet music on my ears and now it begins to surround me, as comfortable as an old, worn, pair of jeans. Then to baggage check.  In light of the way things have gone I worry that my bag won't arrive, but it does and soon I am on my way to the hotel.

 

I thoroughly enjoy my drive (no I am NOT the one driving) to my hotel.  We talk about the garbage strike in Edinburgh that is just ending and I learn that there are plans to resume the strike in a short period of time.  Evidence of the strike is throughout the city where garbage remains in piles around full dumpsters in places but I am told it is much better than it was yesterday.  We talk a bit about politics and Scotland's quest for independence and I  learn that Scotland has most of the oil that is in the sea surrounding the coast and produces the majority of the gin that is a favorite in England.  It is  interesting to hear this side of the story.   We talk about the US and the refusal to regular automatic weapons.  He talks of the school shooting at Dunblane and how immediately after automatic weapons were regulated and there have been no mass school shootings since.  The Dunblane tragedy happened in 1996.  He says he does not understand the US being willing to sacrifice its children and feels it is related to money given to politicians.  I can't explain it to him as I also don't understand. I wish I could spend more time conversing with this interesting man, but we reach my hotel and I must say I will be glad to wash the grit and dirt of travel away.  

 

To my surprise, despite the early hour my room is available, probably because it appears to be a handicapped room but it has everything I need.  I message Dave King to let me know when he arrives and wants to meet.  It takes a bit, but we meet up and walk to the Royal Mile stopping to have meat pies on our way.  It is interesting how many little restaurants there are and the price differences.  Some are quite expensive and offer gourmet foods while others are simple and much more reasonable.  

 

While I don't intend to stint on food, particularly since it will be provided during the bike trip, I also don't intend to spend thirty or forty dollars for lunch unless Dave has a strong desire to eat somewhere.  My only request has been that we try to avoid American restaurant chains during the trip.  I also don't intend to miss seeing sights because it might cost a bit.  Having already spent this much and traveled this far, I intend to absorb as much as I can while I can.  I won the trip, but not transportation nor these days before and after. Always, anymore, a sign of age I suppose, is the recognition that my days of doing this are numbered.  That recognition tinges things a slightly different hue than they  might otherwise be adding specialness and gratitude.  How lucky are those who maintain their health.  I have three deceased siblings that add an exclamation point to this thought.

We pass St. Giles Cathedral and decide to tour it.  As always, I wonder about those that walked here before me.  So much history.  The artistry is stunning:  stained glass windows, arches, carvings, statues.....and in the middle someone playing lovely music on a violin accompanied by an organ.  Everything combines sending the soul reaching upward. The music is heavenly and suggestive and I think that if I had lots of time, I could just sit and listen to it for hours and that if I fell asleep, I would feel certain that I was in heaven....so appropriate for a place of worship.  It is well worth our time and a maintenance donation.  I think of the labor and artistry that went into construction and remain awed though I suspect much of it was forced labor and/or underpaid. But I don't know this and perhaps I am wrong.  I am just assuming based on what I know of history.

 

We then pass a whiskey tour/sampling place.  Dave obviously wants to go and the man says the tour only lasts a bit over an hour so I say I will come back in an hour as I have absolutely no desire for whiskey. I remind him, as I do often throughout the trip, that we are not joined at the hip and don't have to do everything together. My lack of Scots blood in my heritage? I just don't care for whiskey and I can see no health benefit from learning. 

 

While waiting, I do find  the Scottish Writers Museum down a side alley, something I was not looking for and did not know existed,  and it is open.  What an unexpected treat. I tour through seeing busts and things from Robert Burns, Robert Lewis Stevenson, and a few others.  My mother loved the writings of Robert Lewis Stevenson and I can still hear her voice reciting poems to me from "A Child's Garden of Verses."  Sometimes I wonder if she realizes the gift she gave me in reading to me, the cadence and sounds falling from those  lips that I loved.  I do return but no Dave.  I wait a bit then head out navigating my way back to the hotel.  It is nearing supper time and I want to spruce up a bit.  When I get in, I message Dave about the misunderstanding and ask if he wants to meet for dinner.  He does.  I am tired and dragging, but need to eat.  I also don't want to go to bed too early as I need to adjust to the time change, something I inevitably struggle with.

When Dave arrives we ask at the front desk if there is a place they can recommend for dinner.  She tells us to go back to the Royal Mile or to the Grass District (I think).  We end up at a small pub "World's End" a bit off the Royal Mile and have a drink while we wait for a table.  According to the pub's web page, "The Worlds End's exterior walls form part of the Flodden Wall, a 16th century fort that protected Edinburghs historic old town. There was once a time that the people of Edinburgh thought the world outside this wall was no longer theirs so hence our name."  It is cozy and the food is good.  And I am  hungry which always adds a bit of spice to a meal.  Just one of the things I love about riding a bicycle, how it makes eating a real treat because the body needs fuel in a way it does not when you don't exercise regularly and rather hard. 

 

My eating schedule has been way off since the trip started as has Dave's and we both put away what turns out to be a quite acceptable plate of food.  Not healthy, mind you, but tasty.  I think briefly that if it is like most of my trips away from home, by the time I return I miss vegetables.  I grin inwardly thinking of one PBP where at Brest I was talking to one of the volunteers and told him, "I miss broccoli." 

While I would never want to live in a city, I love the feel of walking back to the motel in the darkness and the still rush of people, the sound of laughter and conversations swirling in different languages that I don't understand.  How I wish I were like my daughter-in-law, tri-lingual.  Or at least bi-lingual.  I grin thinking of the shock on my oldest granddaughter's face when she realized Grandma did not speak Russian. I love the sound of people enjoying themselves, and particularly this  city with its occasional cobblestones and gorgeous old buildings where so many have walked before.  What is it about Edinburgh that affects me this way?  I am not a big city person.   

 

I love Edinburgh despite the strange sights I see some of which make me rather uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong.  I loved visiting London a few years back and, of course, as a child lived right outside for a year in Wimbledon.  I love the accents of London and the sights to be seen. Paris is fantastic pulsing with romance and possibilities.  But I believe I love Edinburgh a bit more. 

 

I tell the driver that this will probably be my last trip here.  He laughs and says, "You'll be back."  And I hope he is right. I know if I were to live in a city, I would hope it would be like this.  I enjoy the street artists and musicians, many of whom seem quite talented and don't give off the odor of despair that I often see in the states under similar conditions.  But then, I am not often in a big city in the states preferring the less inhabited countryside, particularly while on a bicycle. I see the bicycle riders and am in awe of their bravery.  Each pedal stroke seems a lesson in defiance.  Most of the cars seem respectful, but there are LOTS of cars. 

Dave still has to go back to his hotel, a place he describes as a dump and where he got placed in a room without a window, but since it is so light here most of the time perhaps the no window thing will be a benefit.  As tired as we are I doubt it, and I already checked and the curtains in my room truly do blacken the room.  But I am so tired at this point that I doubt it will matter.  I don't know if I was this tired when Bill and I slept underneath a table somewhere at a control in France in 2011.   I am grateful for Dave's company as it has kept me from going to bed, but when my head hits the pillow I am out and I do not stir, not even for my usual bathroom trips, until morning.  

When I awaken, I head out the door to find a reasonably priced breakfast.  There are few tourists out at this hour.  People stroll determinedly by, obviously off to work. I come upon a small shop that has chocolate bread and coffee, blessed coffee, for I am still a bit tired from my trip despite the good sleep.  I bring it back to my room and savor the bread that I learned to love in France and yet again wonder why it is not available at home. And this is brewed coffee, not the crystalized, pour in hot water kind of coffee.  When  I return, I text David to let me know when he intends to get here as I want to get the day started.  He arrives shortly afterward and we decide to go climb Arthurs Seat.  

When we arrive, the route the children and I used before, the radical road,  is now closed due to rock falls and there appears to be no intent to reopen it.  The climb now is much, much easier and seems much shorter for some reason.  Despite the chill, however, I find I am sweating as I climb and take off my light base layer and jacket.  As I do so I think how lucky we have been thus far weather wise and rue the upcoming predicted weather for when we are to ride our bikes.  But that is just how these things go. Everything changes.  At one time, as a child, I touched the stones of Stone Henge:  now they are roped off to protect them from thoughtless people like the child that I once was.  

While on Arthur's Seat, I laugh as a father instructs his young son, maybe four or five, to slide down on his "bum."  The child, of course, ignores him, then laughs telling his brother that their mum will be in a panic if she sees how close they got  to the edge.  Oh, the invincibility of youth.  Oh, the worry of being a mum, of ensuring that our precious responsibilities live to grow up without instilling them with the fear of falling down.  For life is partly about falling then getting back up again. 

 

While up on Arthur's Seat, we are directed to Crow Mountain, a bit off to the side, aptly named as we notice several crows  up there, and then we descend a different path than that we went up.  Dave complains of his ankles so we stop at the cafe at Holyrood Palace and have a drink before proceeding on in search of a bicycle shop the lady at the gift shop there tells me about.  

 

We find it and Dave has a long conversation with one of the workers.  I hone in on a beautiful old Pinarello and it is just about my size.  I know that if I were home that gorgeous bike would be making its way home with me, and at four hundred pounds, assuming they don't bargain, I would feel I was getting a deal.  But I am not home.  We also see a beautiful tandem that was built by the owner of the shop and other bikes, some not for sale and only for display.  I think of Alex Meade who builds bicycles at home and how much I think he would enjoy seeing this tandem with its intricate carvings and lugs.  Dave lusts after several of the older steel bikes that are not for sale.  The Flying Scotsman.  And they are beauties.  The bike shop person said they often have London Edinburgh London riders come in that were unable to finish the ride which was also interesting.

After leaving we decide to look for something for lunch and run across a sandwich shop that is out of this world.  We both have huge sandwiches on homemade bread and split two cannolis, one pistachio and the other chocolate chip with orange.  We walk to a nearby park to eat them and are eating when a passerby refers us to another close by park that has  view of Arthur's Seat.  The woman said this park was  used quite often during the lock down.  Despite my best effort, I can't finish the huge sandwich and some of it goes to the sea gulls and crows as there is no good way to carry it without getting mayo all over everything. 

 

When we finish we end up at The National Monument that is high on top of Calton Hill, though not nearly as high as Arthur's Seat.  As we descend, I suggest that since we are, per the map, near the train station we find it as tomorrow we will need to meet to go to Sterling.  We eventually find it and plan where to meet the next day.  I am much more comfortable knowing where the station is, and it did take a bit of asking to find it due to road construction.

 

It is getting late but with the large lunch, I am not really hungry and we decide that a pizza shop looks inviting. While on our way, we pass a young lady wearing fishnet stockings and a short jacket.  I wonder at first if she has anything else on, but she does:  the skirt is just very short reminding me of the early seventies.  I also notice lots of women wearing the navy blue hose that were in favor when I was in high school.  And, of course, the wide variety of tattoos and piercings.  Dave and I get different pizzas and sample each others.  Both are delicious and very unlike any I have found at home. We eat outside  on their patio and then part ways looking to meet in the morning to get to Sterling in time to look around. 

Despite being tired, I can't sleep.  No matter what I try, I am  unsuccessful.  I fret that I will have this insomnia throughout the trip.  (Luckily for me I don't). I finally nod off in the wee hours of the morning for a few hours of sleep before awakening to a message from Dave that he is on his way to the train station to leave for Stirling.  I have no time for breakfast but that is okay.  I have been overeating and know that will probably continue throughout the trip.

Before you know it, we have made the transfer to Sterling.  My hotel is halfway up the long hill leading to the castle and the local gin distillery. Dave and I decide to tour Sterling Castle.  Neither of us have been there before and it is fascinating.  I was interested to find that the gold color comes from mixing yellow ocher with the paint and that the entire castle was once painted that color.  It is amazing to think I am walking where Mary Queen of Scots and so many other royals have walked.  After the castle, we walk to the gin distillery, but while it is not crowded, service is slow and we decide to skip it for lunch  and then the Robert Bruce memorial.  It is closed when we arrive but you can still walk around it, just not inside.  

 

So far the weather has been delightful with no rain.  I warn Dave that the weather for the week does not appear to be so delightful, but we both are eager for  our adventure to begin and after a dinner of fish and chips at Number Two Baker Street pub agree to meet in the morning at the train station to meet our group. I am firm in my decision that I will not allow rain to ruin my good time.  I have planned for rain and packed appropriate clothing.  I worry more about if it will affect Dave and his enjoyment of the experience as I was the one who suggested that he come.

 

  Dave seems to have  a knack of picking restaurants with good food (though I suspect it might have more to do with the ale available;-)  and Number Two is no exception though the name, well, you figure it out. And it is always a treat to eat with him. He takes such joy in food. As I walk home,  belly full and heart full, I am happy that I am not toting my suitcase up that hill yet again and that tomorrow morning it will be a downhill. New roads and bicycles:  what a treat to look forward to.

I sleep well and get up in plenty of time to have a good Scottish breakfast before heading to the train station. I should have gone out and walked with my extra time as I will do on most of the days ahead, but I just don't think of it with my excitement for the trip beginning. Dave is at the train station when I arrive.  We are not exactly sure where to meet, but see a couple in riding clothes and meet our companions for the trip:  Ken and Jean are from America:  North Carolina if I remember correctly.  Karen is from British Columbia.  Peter and Karen are from Yorkshire. The guides, Dan and Jo, arrive.  Dan is from Wales but has lived in Scotland for awhile and Joe is from Yorkshire.  

We take a brief van ride out of the town and have our bike fits at the  University and our adventure begins.  Karen from Yorkshire passes me on the first hill like I am standing still.  I am rather surprised, but she does look fit. It springs to mind that I have not seen a woman climb that well since Marcy married and quit riding with the club.  

 

The bike I have rented is a Trek and quite comfortable with easier gears than at home.  I think that I will be glad of this during some of the more challenging climbs. Dave later points out to me that three of the riders have electric bikes thus the outstanding hill climb.  We are getting to know our bicycles and our companions.  I ride quite a bit with the group, something I will not continue to do as I miss scenery if I am talking.  I feel certain some people feel this is quite rude, but they will just have to deal with it.  I don't want to miss a second of the scenery if I can help it. 

 

 The ride heads toward the hills of Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park.  We pass Duane and Dublane though, disappointingly, we don't see either castle.  Some of the roads are rather busy, but soon we are off on side roads that are much less so.   I laugh to myself as we begin to see sheep. On this day, they are all contained within fences, but as the rides progress they will be stretched out alongside the road or grazing at the roadside reminding me of Texas. It is raining and one sheep has been smart enough to take shelter under a wagon causing me to smile.  Outside of one town, we pass small plots of vegetables.  I ask the guides if these are plots that people rent and they seem unsure, but Peter later confirms to me that they are.  I had guessed this because I read of some cities in the US doing this.  

 

The scenery is lovely with the Rowans bearing their bright red berries and the moss and heather in places.  For some reason, I always thought of heather as a spring plant, but on this journey I learn I am wrong and it blooms on the moors in the fall. Some is blooming and some is in bud.  Regardless, it is lovely. There are two types of pink flowers, but nobody seems to know their names.  One  of the guides, I can't remember which, tells me they are probably weeds.  Regardless, they are quite lovely.  We pass one of the Lochs whose name I should probably know but don't remember.  I really had no idea there were so many, and the Scottish words, while I love the sound, are often hard for me to make my mouth produce.

When we reach the lunch stop, we find that it is not open.  They manage to make arrangements for us to have lunch elsewhere though there is not enough seating for everyone.  The woman working there says she believes the other restaurant was unable to open due to staffing issues.  Staffing issues are mentioned throughout our time here everywhere we go as are supply issues.  I had wanted to buy a jersey that said Scotland, but was told at the bike shop that they were sold out and did not expect their stock to be replenished until perhaps Christmas due to supply issues.  There is also an issue getting new bikes and parts, just as there is at home.  Dave does manage to find buffs with the Scottish flag on them and is nice enough to buy one as a gift for me.  His kindness makes me feel good, but Dave is, essentially, a kind person and certainly a treasured friend. His presence here will make this journey even more meaningful that it would be otherwise. 

Before you know it, the ride is over and we are at Poppies in Callander where we will spend two nights.  This will be my favorite place that I stay during my time in Scotland. Not my favorite roads or scenery, but my favorite inn.  My room is delightful though, of course, as always the plumbing is strange. (I have already worked though one hotel where the cold was labeled as hot and vice versa and the stopper in the sink was operated by a switch on the back of the faucet).  Outside the shower is a cord I have to pull for the shower handles inside to work.  Obviously, others have struggled with this as there is a note on the wall.  Susan, the proprietor, and I get along fabulously and she is a font of information.  When I go down to have a glass of wine before dinner, she tells me of a nearby trail that goes up the craig.  She warns me to take the easier path to the right rather than to the left due to the rain and the steepness and the danger of slipping.  

 

Prior to this, Dave and I take a short walk around town discovering a lovely, though rather unkempt, hidden cemetery as well as enjoying the views of the water.  The route took us for a short bit on the water's edge to keep us off the main road.  As always, I am amazed at all the lovely places to walk everywhere we go.  

 

 

The rest of the group comes down to gather and have a drink before dinner and we all get to know each other a bit better.  Everyone  is friendly and excited about our journey.   The dinner is absolutely delicious.  I don't remember my appetizer, but the main course was salmon followed by Sticky Toffee Pudding, a treat that I never see at home.  Dave chose venison and informs me that deer are raised inside fences here for food purposes and that the meat tastes differently than those that are wild.  Everyone seems quite happy with their meal.  We fill out papers, as we will each night except our last night, with our breakfast request.  

The next morning, I leave while it is still a bit dark outside hoping to reach the top and be back in time for the eight o'clock breakfast that is scheduled.  Everyone else appears to be sleeping.  I feel rather like a thief, sneaking out of the house with its locked doors. At times, I am not quite sure which way to go and have to make a mental note so that I don't lose my way on the return, something Dave warned me about the prior evening.  It is gorgeous.  I hurry as fast as I can as time slips by climbing faster and faster while the terrain and vegetation seem to change.  I have to pass through a gate, carefully closing it behind me,  and hope that it is okay.  And I reach the top just when I had given up hopes of being able to do so and still make it back in time to eat and ride.  

From the top of the craig I can look in one direction and see a rather large loch.  I can see around me for what seems like forever despite the gray skies that promise rain, rain they will deliver in plenitude.  In places I can see the town below. All around me during the walk are moss and trees that seem as old as the earth.  At one point, I think how it is like a fairyland and that I would not be at all surprised to see a fairy or ogre or troll emerge, startled by my presence.   I only pass one person walking their dog the entire time, and that is early on my walk well before the long ascent.  I wonder  to myself if the stone steps during part of the ascent  were made to control erosion.  I have to believe that they were.  When I reach a fairly flat surface nearer the bottom of the descent, I realize I will have to run to make it in time.  And so, however awkwardly and slowly, I do.  I think how  glad I am that I pried open my pocket book  and bought some trail running shoes at Swags for my trip.  A turned ankle could ruin the trip, and I don't have strong ankles.  Plus, I no longer run due to hip and foot issues.  Today is an aberration.

I reach the inn just as breakfast is being served.  And what a breakfast it is.  Scrambled eggs and salmon.  Fruit, toast, and nuts.  Just a wide assortment of goodies.  Dan is able to tell me the name of the loch from the directions I give him, but of course my pea brain does not retain it.  I later look on the atlas that Jon was kind enough to send with me and see it is Loch Vennachar. 

 

On this second day it pours rain most of the time.  It will become an inside joke that whenever it is Jo's turn to captain the ride it will rain. We are scheduled to take a boat ride on a steamship on Lake Katrine.  By the time we reach there, we are sodden.  Wool keeps me warm while riding, but I worry about on the boat, particularly if we have to be outside on the boat.  While there is a large group of elderly people waiting (LOL as this is now me), they manage to find space inside for all after loading our bike.  One tells me we are quite brave to be riding in this weather and I remind them, with a smile on my face, that there may be a very fine line between brave and stupid. Inwardly I think how grand it is to still have the health to ride a bike, even in the rain. There is no place I would rather be than Scotland on a bicycle, rain or not.  I try to listen as the boat master tells us about what we are passing, but the conversations around me are too loud and varied so the words of all just become a meaningless jumble.  

 

I am surprised to find that many of the roads on this day are gravel.  There are also, as there were the previous days, narrow roads only wide enough for one vehicle that in the states I would assume to be a bike path.  I do here as well until a car comes.  After a delicious and long lunch at Aberfoyle, we traverse the Duke's pass in the Trossach's with all its twists and turns and lovely scenery.  I learn that the Duke of Menteith developed to path to get around his estate  more easily.  It is the first decent climb of the trip and my muscles rejoice even as they protest the demands being placed on them.  Despite the rain, I stop often to take photos.  It is Scotland after all.  Rain is to be expected, though perhaps not so much as we receive this trip.  I remain amazed, as I will throughout my ride, that there is no trash littering the sides of the road.   Maybe because there are no fast food restaurants out here and people seem to actually sit down and have a meal rather than grabbing it in a bag and eating as they drive.  Maybe it is that people are raised to have  more respect for themselves and others.  For whatever reason, it is a pleasant change and enhances the journey.  

At one point, I pass a couple of ducks on the road.  One waddles quickly across the road and enters the water.  The other, however, goes more slowly and stops by the edge of the road, obviously eating something.  I look and it is wild blackberries.  I didn't realize ducks eat blackberries, but this duck obviously relishes them.   This is also the first day I see a Scottish cow.  Despite the wretched weather, I am enjoying myself.  But I dare not stop long at the rest stops provided because of chilling.  I realize that I should have bought a new Showers Pass jacket, that my old one is.....old.  But it still keeps me warm enough despite its age but the seam tape beginning to loosen.  I treated it to renew water repellancy prior my trip which helps some. Bicycling is, indeed, an expensive sport, and not just the bicycles.  

The following morning there is only time for a short walk.  I am up early enough for a long walk, but as I open the front door the heavens let loose and I don't want to pack a bunch of wet clothing adding dampness to the few clean clothes I have left.  Today we go from Callender to Aberfeldy where we will stay three nights.  The last trip I did with this company, we moved to a new town/inn every night.  I prefer that to this, but since it is free certainly can't complain.  And there are benefits to being in one place.  I don't like this new place as much but it is clean.  And it is situated near the Birks which Dan is kind enough to inform me about knowing my penchant for walking prior to breakfast and the ride.

Today's ride surprises me as rather than being mainly on the road, we are on gravel, cinders, and even have a bit of single track.   Jean falls twice during the ride.  We stop along the way at the grave of Rob Roy Macgregor and Dan gives us a history lesson.  It appears that he was really not quite the Robin Hood that he is sometimes made out to be.  I ponder a bit about how we often take criminals or people with character issues and make them heroes, thinking specifically of Bonnie and Clyde.  What strange creatures we are.  Is there something about those that break the rules that is attractive to us? 

We pass falls that make me glad for the rain because the water is that much stronger.  The creeks here seem rockier and more  powerful than at home.  They are also noisier.  I begin to look for red squirrels after learning they are endangered due to the introduction of grey squirrels from the US.  We pass a castle.  Lastly, we stop for snacks along the edge of the loch where children are playing in the water.  I take off my shoes, sit on a concrete wall, and cool my feet in the water before we head back to the inn and the only dinner that I had while on the tour that was edible but not really good. 

The next day, on my pre-breakfast walk through the Birks, I get my wish and see what I believe is a red squirrel.  It happens near my turn about time (determined by how long until breakfast).  I notice a rustling in a tree above me and a few leaves fall.  And there he is, as bold as brass but a ball of constant motion moving from one branch to another, branches so slender you would think he would surely tumble.  It is also upon this walk that I come upon a solitary figure sitting on a bench.  As I spy him, I think that he looks quite pensive and I am reluctant to approach.  But the path goes by there and I am not yet ready to make my way back.  I break out in peals of laughter when I discover that what I thought was a man  is a statue of Robert Burns whose wrote works inspired by the beauty of this place.  

We ride around more lochs this day, but while they are beautiful, I long for more mountainous scenery, the scenery that so makes me admire those that can survive there.  But that will not happen for yet another day.  I think this is also the day we stop at a famous chocolatier:  Iain Burnett.  But it could have been another day.  As always happens with me, the days and their happenings begin to blur together. 

 

 

When we discuss the next days ride that evening, some are dismayed at the distance:  62 miles.  But it is pointed out to them that they can sag back at any time.  One rider is not too happy with this option saying she did not sign on to ride that many miles, but when told to cut it short replying that she did not want to cut it short. I go to bed hoping she is not going to make it where those that want to can't ride the entire ride. Later she is one that is positive for COVID and I suspect that played a part in how she was feeling as it leaves one so very tired. 

 

They van us to the top of the hill we climbed yesterday to start the ride.  Everyone meets at lunch and decides the distance they want to ride.  Dave sags in early as Ken and he want to visit a whiskey distillery in town.  I ride much of this day by myself meeting the group at rest stops and at lunch.  I would have liked to have climbed the hill again, but I did not want to disrupt the tentative peace we seem to have reached. On this ride, a fawn darts across the road in front of me, frightened and alone.  I look for his mother worried she will cross and I might not have time to stop, but I never see her.  I see a large bird in a field with a reddish brown chest, but I am not able to identify what it is.  I also run across a quaint stone figure someone has created.   It is amazing how much one sees when one is riding by oneself. 

 

There is a climb at the end and I am singing when I near the top.   A man working there yells asking me if I need a spot of water.  I yell back that I don't but thank him and begin the descent.  It is lovely.  Jo passes me in the van with the riders who sag in and for awhile I almost keep up I am moving so quickly.  But she and the van disappear.  I ask others later, but nobody else saw him and he did not offer the others water.  Perhaps he had moved on by them or perhaps he did not see or hear them if they were not singing;-) 

When the day is finished, I happen upon Peter and Karen celebrating.  62 miles is the longest ride they have yet managed, and they feel quite proud as well they should.  I am happy for them and head to my room with a smile.  It is that evening that COVID hits.  The next day  Jean and Ken are no longer riding with us.  I pray that I don't pick it up as well, but feel quite well other than the tiredness that comes from riding with no rest days.

And so we reach our last full day on the bike when we travel from Aberfeldy to Braemar.  Finally we will get to the Cairngorns, a place I have longed to revisit since first seeing it.  We have lunch right inside the park and I am happy to find large packets of the tea my daughter-in-law likes for sale.  I buy some to take home for her and for my daughter.  As we leave, I make the mistake of  pointing out that even though Jo is the one riding today (I have made a joke about it only raining the days she leads) it is dry.  We are not one mile down the road before the sky opens up and turns loose.  Peter stops to put on his jacket and I am glad I follow suit because it does not ease for quite some time.  The same thing happens as we crest the Cairnwell pass.  It has stopped raining until we begin to descend and then it literally pours.  I think of the poor young woman who was near the bottom of the climb with her panniers and heavily loaded bicycle and hope she has appropriate clothing. 

The last day of a group trip is always one of mixed emotions. I have shared a week with these people and have come to know them a bit, but I will never see most of them again. There is a sadness in that. But I also look forward to the familiar: my own bed, a purring cat by my side, my regular routine. We have our last breakfast together, but I am not really hungry. The excess of food has lost its appeal and my appetite has faded. Still I manage to down more than I should, then it is to my room for the final packing and to prepare for the final ride: a bit over 15 miles.

Last night I considered not riding as I didn't want to have to pack wet clothing, but it appears that despite our soaking the prior day we will be granted a reprieve, though without sunny skies. Plus, it IS the last ride that I will do this time, and possibly forever, in Scotland, a land I have come to love and cherish.

Prior to breakfast I message Dave to bring the whiskey he wants me to bring home for him prior to breakfast. He comes to my room and I pack a fifth in my suitcase. It will later strike me, during the ride, that I have never had a man come to my bedroom with a fifth of whiskey and no ulterior motives in mind. I laugh and laugh about this at various times during the day, glad that I can laugh at my aging and not cry. It would be nice to be loved again, but I have accepted that it is quite unlikely.

We gather around the van at our 9:00 start time and I know some of the others have similar emotions. Dan is the rider today (Each day one guide rides and the other drives and then the following day they switch). The lack of the predicted rain leads to a few more jokes about Jo causing the rain that has plagued us repeatedly and mericilessly throughout this vacation.

A bit melancholy, we head out only to encounter a climb. It is not a monster climb, but it IS a climb and my legs are tired from a week of riding in a way my mind is not.. I think once again how pretty it is here and how I wish we had spent one less day at the prior National Park and one more near the Cairngorns. At the top of the climb, there is a monument to the local lads who lost their lives in World War 1. It brings to mind the death of Queen Elizabeth the prior day, but I realize she was not alive during that war.  How strange that we rode past Balmoral within an hour of her passing.  I think of my mother talking about the parades at home that would have the veterans marching in it and how respected they were. Things are so different. But it is good that they are remembered. I like it when those that came before are remembered and honored. It saddened me at Banearan House, the inn where we stayed three days, to see the neglected church next door, overgrown and unloved and being allowed to fall into further ruin. Scotland seems to do a better job than the US in preserving their history, but even they are not perfect.  The graveyard in Callander and the church.  Money, I suspect.  Everything costs money and there is only so much of it.

Dave and I ride together for a bit and take the lead entering the town where our journey ends first and all too quickly. We are not sure where to go and Dan guides us. I tear up and begin to cry a bit turning away so nobody will notice. We grab our drop bags, head to the cafe where we are to lunch, and change for our transport to the train station at Aberdeen. Nobody is hungry. We order drinks and spend one last gathering around the table with each other. Karen is meeting her mother to tour for two more weeks, but not by bicycle. She starts her new job in October. The other Karen and Peter are traveling to their home in Yorkshire today and will sleep in their own beds. The other two, Jean and Ken, are not with us due to COVID. Joe and Ben will go to their homes for a well deserved rest after guiding the likes of us. I am off to Edinburgh and Dave, well Dave has a hotel in Aberdeen but is not sure where he will be spending his final few days in Scotland. During the ride I asked him if he was glad that he came, afraid that the rain might have spoiled it for him, but he says absolutely not, that he had a wonderful time.....and I don't think he is saying it just to be polite.

Jo and Dan drop us off near the train station and at the station we split except for Dave who is kind enough to help me purchase a train ticket to Edinburgh and stays to see me off. I am so grateful for his help. I am unused to public transportation. I had attempted to buy a train ticket on line so as to reserve a seat as Peter warned me that on a Friday going into Edinburgh it might be crowded and I might find myself having to stand the entire journey, but I am lucky and find a seat. Indeed, one man is kind enough to take my luggage and place it on the luggage rack. I don't sit next to him, but I am just across the aisle and back. It interests me to see him pulling out a fifth of vodka and mixing it with coke throughout our journey. This would be a big “no no” back home though it does not seem to cause any type of problem. Things are just different here.

I reach Edinburgh and decide to disembark at Haymarket as the train announcer says this is where to get a tram to the airport. I am surprised to find the way to the tram very well marked and I have no trouble finding my way or purchasing my ticket. I had debated staying in Edinburgh for a last look around and dinner, but it is late afternoon, I am tired, and I don't want to lug my baggage around with me so I get on the tram and head to the hotel where I later will have the worst food that I have had during my stay in Scotland. Still, I am glad that I came to the hotel. Hot water, a bit of food, however bad, and bed sounds good. On television is a documentary on Queen Elizabeth that I would love to complete watching, but I fall asleep completely worn out. 

 

Travel.  There is  no doubt it changes you a bit.  I am proud that I learned a bit from my previous trip, that I was more flexible and more adaptable.  But I forgive myself for my past realizing how close it was to loss and how I was struggling to maintain the illusion of control.  Everything that happens molds us and changes how we view things, sometimes for the better and sometimes not.  Perhaps we can give some direction to those changes?  I remain unsure.  I only know that I will treasure this trip and I am glad that I did not let fear keep me from the experience.  Three of my four siblings dead in their seventies.  I mustn't waste the time that has been granted to me. And I am glad for bicycles and the health that allows me to continue riding.   I know that I am glad Dave decided to accompany me and wish some of the others I asked had come, for I know he added to the experience and is someone that I can share memories with in the future.  I am blessed. 

Paulhenge Century and New Roads

"The most splendid moment of an adventure

is not always the moment of fulfillment, not even the

moment of conception, but the moment of first

accomplishment, when the adventurer sets

his face toward the new road, knowing that his

boats are burned."

Katherine Thurston

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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.