A Century Ride as the Winter Solstice Approaches

"We cannot stop the winter

or summer from coming.  We

cannot stop the spring or fall or

make them other than they are. 

They are gifts from the universe

we cannot refuse. But we can 

choose what we will contribute to

life when each arrives."

Gary Zukhav

 

I must confess,  I have very mixed feelings when I decide to ride a century in December, a month when I normally did a minimum of two centuries just a few years ago:  my Christmas breakfast century whose route varied and Bethlehem whose route did not vary.  I was younger then, and stronger.  I had a pretty close knit group that would always attend. But it is time to go on.  Even past time.  I grow weak.  A weather and route weenie.  And it is not supposed to be so very cold today and the wind is not supposed to be so very wild.  So out the door I go praying that the weather does not overly beat me up.  I know I will hurt by the end.  That is the price of admission when one has not ridden a century for a bit.  But rather than paying at the door, I know I will pay at the end.  I just hope it is not too ugly.

Since December of 2014, I have lost my husband, two brothers, my mother, my sister, and a nephew.  If there is one thing age and loss have taught me is that time on this earth is limited and should not be wasted.  Which is not to say that I don't still waste time, but it is at least conscious wastefulness, and today will not be a waste.  A century ride is never a waste.  And if you don't use your body the saying is true, you truly do lose it.  Additionally, age makes it harder to get it back.  Better just to persevere until the time comes to hang the bicycle on the wall for good.  And adventure may await.  One never quite knows what to expect from a long ride.

 

The morning is gloomy with nary a hint of sunshine though the forecasters said the sun might peek through this afternoon.  I sincerely hope so for there has not been one ray for what seems like an eternity.  At least the temperature has been mellow for this time of year.  And at least some of my obligations and worries are coming to an end.  But I long to bathe in the sun despite the fact his power has waned and lacks the heat he has in summer.

 

Jon agrees to ride with me so we meet at the ride start in Madison and head out both worrying a bit about how we are dressed.  As it turns out, we are both fine though I am a tad overdressed.  I have already asked him to agree not to linger at stops.  Winter riding is not so very hard with the appropriate clothing so long as the distance is short and no stops are necessary.  To me, one of the hardest things about winter century rides are the necessity of stops.  Inevitably, within a short time I begin to chill.  To try to prevent this today, I unzip my jacket well before stops allowing the wind to reach inside my warm outer shell and dispel some of the inevitable dampness that builds during exercise.  It helps, but does not eliminate the discomfort completely.  I remember one cold brevet where another rider was upset that I left the control so quickly saying he wanted to ride with me, but my body had begun shivering involuntarily to the point where if I didn't leave, I was unsure if I would be able to keep the bike upright.   Just another reminder that in the end, however much I like to feel in control of things, I truly am not.  Even my own body has demands and needs that I cannot control.

The route we are riding does not have a first store stop so we stop rather late at a park.  The picnic table has collapsed and slants downward, but we manage to sit for a few moments and eat what we have brought.  Jon has a Cliff bar I think and I have a half whole wheat p and j sandwich.  It tastes wonderful and I need it, but I am glad we move on quickly.  I briefly think of the times we have tarried there on this route, luxuriating in the finer weather.  Today is not, however, such a day.

We have decided to eschew the traditional Subway lunch stop as it is so early in the ride and not a favorite of mine anyway.  We go quite some distance further to a coffee shop we both know that also has sandwiches.  But on our way we face a long, rather boring stretch that is, as normal, into the wind.  Though the wind is not inordinately strong, it is strong enough that I struggle and the scenery here is repetitive, not helping anything.  We have reached the point in the ride where conversation is sparse and scattered.  Jon rides just a bit ahead, stopping to wait at times as I fall behind. Barren field after barren field waiting patiently for spring and planting time.  Lush greenness is a vague memory.  The world seems sepia colored other than the occasional yard that we pass that has Christmas decorations outside.  

 

Decorations bring to mind that it is not too long before the children will visit for the holiday, and I set my  mind yet again to determining the menu trying to plan for vegetarians and young children that are not the adventurous eaters that my daughter was when young.  I quite enjoy it but it makes me hungry and I realize I will be VERY glad to hit the lunch stop.

 

Lunch is delicious and does not take overly long as I worry not only about chilling but about getting in before dark.  I brought lights just in case, but I don't like to be on busier roads when the light has faded.  Odd because night riding was one of my favorite things about brevets, but only when we were out on side, lightly traveled roads.  Even during those years, I worried when there were lots of cars.  

 

After lunch we get a good chuckle when a group of children come to the side of the road hailing and cheering us.  One yells, "Do you like ketchup and mustard?"  It takes me a moment before I realize it is a reference to our jackets.  Jon is dressed in a red jacket and I have on my yellow jacket.  I  think how refreshing it is to actually see children outside in the yard doing something rather than inside the house watching television or playing video games.  Perhaps I remember incorrectly, but I remember being outside most of the time when I was not being tortured in school.  Not that I didn't like school or the other children or the teachers or reading.  I adored reading.  But I did not like the sitting required and being trapped inside, particularly on lovely days when the earth just seemed to abound with things to do and places to explore.   

Sometimes the last miles of a century, particularly when one has been lazy, can be  more a death march than a pleasure, but despite my being out of shape, it is not so today.  I am tired, pleasantly tired, and I am as stiff, but I know I could go further, easier anymore than going faster for sure.  We are in before dark with some minutes to spare.  I would not chose a winter day as my favorite for riding, but I am glad that I did choose to ride and make use of the day and my body, to appreciate the starkness of the trees against the gray sky, to almost laugh out loud with excitement when a few rays of sun do happen to break through the ponderous gloom that has settled on the earth recently.  Yeah, it was a good day.  And I realize yet again that I am blessed. 

 

 

 

 

 

Orleans: Trying to Make Use of Coin

"Time is the coin of life.  It

is the only coin you have, and only you

can determine how it will be spent.

Be careful lest you let other

people spend it for you."

Carl Sandburg 

Nobody in their right mind can complain about the weather we have had recently other than the dire need for and lack of rain.  Temperatures have soared above  normal to the low to mid seventies.  Skies have been sunny and largely cloudless and the sun still carries a kiss of warmth with his touch. His caress is more moderate than it is in summer when he is strong, demanding, and forceful, but it is there though without the threat of burned skin.  Less demanding and more comforting, lacking the passion of summer but gaining substance, as love between couples seems to deepen when steeped with years.  Even morning temperatures have been moderate.  In other words, it has been perfect bicycling weather.  Yes, one still has to layer a bit, but to end the day in comfort in shorts and a jersey in November.....well, it doesn't get much better than that.  

I had been excited about a planned new century route that Jon had put together, but my car is on the fritz and so I bowed out.  I certainly don't want to break down on the way home in the dark and with no shoulder to pull off on. I thought he might ride it on his own, but instead he elects to drive here to ride to Orleans with me.  For we are both celebrating and mourning, or I am.  I am celebrating that it is going to be a perfect day for a ride with mild winds and temperatures in the seventies and mourning that it is going to come crashing down and the forecast shows highs in the forties and lows in the twenties for at least a week after tomorrow.  Time, I suppose, to switch to hiking, or to mostly shorter rides.  I do not have the fortitude to face cold weather than I did in the past.  Mental, physical, or a combination of the two.....I still do not really know.

We start at a faster pace than I like for this time of year, but there is a bite in the air and the pace helps to tame it.  About a mile in, however, Jon notices that his headset appears to be loose.  We return to the house and he attempts to fix it.  It tightens and seems tight, but then for some reason loosens again a few miles down the road.  I ask if he feels safe riding or wants to back up and punt.  He opts to ride.  

The fields are mostly bare, stubbled like a man's beard when he needs a shave, almost desolate looking.  I suppose it is that lonely look that fields take on when winter hits as if they mourn the flowers and greenness that adorn them in the spring and summer months just as I do.  Farm houses stand alone, isolated, shielding those within from the winds that have no barrier to soften their blow.  Even the grass along the side of the road looks finished and disheartened, hopelessly clinging to a bit of green but mostly brown and withered looking.  In the areas we pass that have trees, they are mostly bare and seem taller somehow.  The sycamores, my favorites this time of year once the maples have lost their leaves, look lovely and graceful, their limbs like those of a dancer.  What, I wonder, do trees think of winter?  But I suppose trees don't have a brain, at least as we know it, or think.

 

I have two routes to Orleans, but I have chosen the more moderate of the two for a couple of reasons.  Firstly, I have chosen it because it is more moderate though it is 103 miles (and will be 106 today with turning around to fix the headset and uncounted mileage out to the dollar store in Medora).  Secondly, I love the stretch between Medora Tunnelton Hill, including the descent on Tunnelton that S curves under the railroad by a narrow lane.  Or I should say I allowed Jon to choose, but had I ridden alone this was the route I also would have chosen.   The stretch winds past the ancient and no longer functioning Medora Brick Plant and follows the railroad.  I think briefly of Packman, for he was the one who told me of the railroad tunnel I have never found and the reason I came this way.  He is gone now and hopefully at peace.  I think of how in the spring this stretch will explode with color and spring flowers, delighting my eyes, a painting just waiting to be captured on canvas.  

This route has a late lunch stop, and with the extra miles it is later than normal.  Both Jon and I are famished when we arrive at Speak Easy Pizza.  They still have their tables outside and the day is beautiful,  and so we sit outside and eat our pizzas and share a few thoughts before heading back through Salem and home.  As we leave, I realize my legs are a bit tired.  I tell them to quit complaining and a bit of spinning convinces them that they are okay and will make it with no problem.  Sometime I wonder about Jon's willingness to ride with me because he is capable of a much faster pace, but I am grateful for his company.  I think of past riding companions.  So few left that ever ride a century.  So few that I ever see anymore. But I refuse to let sadness seep into this beautiful day.  Instead I think how lucky I have been to have known each of them and created memories that I hold dear.  

As we near Salem, Jon points out a huge cloud of smoke and asks me if there is a power plant nearby.  There is not, at least to the best of my knowledge, and we both wonder what is on fire that would cause such smoke.  We never have our curiosity sated. And before you know it, we are at Casey's, our last store stop.  I opt for a soft drink, something I have pretty much given up other than occasionally on a ride.   I wonder what Jon is up to, go outside and find he has been cornered by a stranger as so often happens on rides.  I chuckle a bit and drink my soft drink.  He enters the store and comes out with nothing saying that when he got in there, he realized there was nothing he wanted.  They have no small cans of pop.  Everything is large sized.  

We leave the route for a bit of a work around due to road construction but soon are on Quaker Road heading for the huge descent.  On Old 56 I see a young Amish boy, maybe five or six, a straw hat perched upon his tiny head and a grin plastered across his face  in the field with five or six ponies furiously waving at Jon who does not see him.  I wave back and he smiles.  Further up the road we come upon a mini Amish cart driven by children pulling out of the drive along with a full sized car driven by adults.  There is an Amish woman on a bicycle with no pedals, powered by her legs and and any downhill slant in the road. A grin lights my face and I remember how much Lloyd admired the Amish and the simplicity that seems to be their lives.  Idealized?  Most likely.  But he always longed for simpler times, something perhaps we all do at times.  I think of my mom in her nineties one time telling me that she just didn't want to have to deal with any more problems.  The world does, at times, already seem too much to handle.  And I only have so much coin to spend, and I want to spend it wisely.

This ride today was wise, almost sophic, in some ways.  I have no regrets for how I spent today's coin, on the road with the simplicity of shorts and jersey (back pockets stuffed with layers from a gradual strip tease).  I have no regrets for the too much pizza I ate at lunch or the aches in my thighs and the stiffness in my movements that reminds me that I am, indeed, aging and that will impact the soundness of my sleep tonight.  While I do not delude myself with the belief that I have not and will not waste some  of the coin that has been allotted to me, I try my best not to do so, to hold the moments more dear.  And this is one thing that becomes easier with age and the realization that there is, indeed, a last time for everything.  I am indeed blessed and have been for many, many years.  And I am grateful for the day, the company, bicycles, and the coin that I have already been given. 

 

 

Lost in October

"September is my favourite  month,

particularly in Cornwall.  I felt, even

as a child, that if you get a wonderful day in

September, you think: This could be one

of the last.  The summer is nearly over.

When you get a wonderful day in May, you

think: So, there's more coming."

Tim Rice 

 

It is not September here in Indiana, but October, but the feelings of Mr. Rice hold true.  Today the sun is shining and it is warm enough that shortly I will be riding in  just a sports bra, jersey, shorts, light head covering, and gloves.  The blue of the sky is exquisite and the sun bright.  But tomorrow could be different.  What has been give can easily be taken away.  I head out on the Surly looking for some gravel despite the drought and the dust I know will be waiting.  

 

I am unsure why I pick the Surly, but it allows me more freedom to explore with its wider tires and ability to take some gravel.  I don't care for the thick, large gravel, but more because of the stress on older joints than the fear I used to have of falling.  With gravel, I have found that the words of Steve Rice hold true.  It is better and easier to go faster throwing caution to the wind.  So when I reach Wascum Road, I put my weight on the back tires, loosen my grip on the handlebars, and pedal as hard as I can while still being comfortable and not going anaerobic.   

I reach the point where I had to turn around the other day and think how glad I am to have this entire day to play with:  no other place to be and nothing that presses to be done.  Time is, indeed, a gift.  And the bicycle and lovely fall scenery helps me leave my troubles and worries behind in the dust.  

Farmers are hurriedly making use of the spate of good weather to gather crops, but this means at  places large clouds of dust as I pass fields that are being worked.  I am glad that I have my neck gater and pull it up as I  pass by.  I laugh when I reach to get a drink and get grossed out by the dust that has collected on my bottle, wipe it  off, and drink knowing that I need to stay hydrated.  At times, I pull off the road to allow farm vehicles unfettered access without having to worry about a cyclist claiming "her right" to the road.  My day is for pleasure.  Their day is more important:  feeding a hungry world.  I just heard on television about expected food shortages this year that includes corn and tomatoes, and in my mind I issue a thank you for their attempts to mitigate this shortage.  

I also think how farming is still mainly dominated by men.  Occasionally I will see a woman helping in the fields, but not today.  Since it looks to me, an outsider and not a farmer, like most of what is being done is driving trucks and farm machinery, I wonder why and really reach no good conclusion except, perhaps, tradition and farms, perhaps, being left more often to men as heirs rather than women.  When I worked at the horse farm, I often drove the tractor to bush hog and kind of enjoyed it as the grass and weeds feel sway to the tractors dominion, but only briefly tamed.  But then I remember as a child, my brothers were taught to drive and were allowed to drive the lawn tractor.  As a girl, I was not permitted to do so.   Our home had fairly strict divisions of labor, and they were determined by gender not abilities.  

I begin to reach roads where I must make decisions about which way to go while being not quite sure where each road will lead.  I try to go basically west or south, but sometime the road fools me turning and taking me north.  And I wander and decide until I realize that I have absolutely no idea where I am.  I am gloriously lost knowing that eventually I will find a highway that will tell me where I am or I can use the Wahoo to retrace my route.  

I really have enjoyed my Wahoo for club riding and rides where there is a prescribed course, but when I wander I miss my Garmin.  It is nice to have street names when you wander, and Wahoo only has names for roads if they are a predetermined course.  And while it has a retrace route function, it does not, at least that I have figured out, have a return to start with the option of using another route.  But Wahoo is what I have and until it breaks I don't have to make a decision about what to purchase next.  

As I begin to climb, having left farm roads behind, I notice how beautiful this road is with the trees overhanging and steep drop offs on the side.  The sides of the road are golden with leaves that have fallen yet there are still leaves on the trees in all their different colors ranging from brown to red to orange to yellow.  The wind is rather strong causing leaves to swirl down and the modest grade allows me to play my traditional game of crunching leaves with my tire.  

I laugh coming upon a chair chained to a tree alongside the road.  Behind the tree is a sheer drop off.  Above the chair is a sign announcing it is for sale.  The tree and land or the chair?  What, I wonder, is for sale.  When I stop to grab a photo, I also find that I have no cell service, something happening more and more to me these days.  I suspect my old phone is to blame, but I am not quite sure.  Another purchase I will soon need to make while prices on everything skyrocket.  

At the top of the climb I come upon a small store that I recognize and would have bet had gone out of business due to the Pandemic.  The one time I stopped previously, a number of years ago, the proprietor seemed ancient.  It is just an old shed that sits outside of a house and it didn't have much then.  I don't expect much now but hope for at least a drink because, carelessly, I did not bring food and am rather low on water.  The "open" sign blinks in bright red flashes so I go inside.  The lights are on but nobody is manning the store.  I shout hello a couple times thinking perhaps she is in back, but I get no answer.  I think about leaving a couple dollars and grabbing a drink out of the refrigerator, but I am not really comfortable doing that so I go outside on the porch.  After fiddling with my bike for a short period of time,  I leave when nobody has appeared.  

About a mile down the road, I see a sign for Delaney Park and, grateful to leave a main road, head down Rooster Hill to the road I had hoped to return home on.  As usual, Delaney Park and Eden do not disappoint.  The trees shimmer in the wind and the colors soothe my soul. Squirrels make rustling noises in the leaves scampering to prepare for winter, crossing the road mindless in their hurry causing me to be extra cautious. I giggle thinking of a commercial I once saw that said something about the only  real difference between a squirrel and a rat is their furry tail and asking if the tail makes much of a difference.  And it does. 

 

 I ride miles without seeing a car or another human being and I think how lucky I am to have access to this.  The only disturbing thing I come across is more logging which I think was happening on park land and a for sale sign on acreage up the road that I worry will be bought by someone who wants to cut down all the trees. 

 

Summer has been officially over for awhile.  And we have had unusually cold weather.  We even had a snow that covered the ground, beautiful in its own way but not yet welcome. But that, combined with the coming weather, makes today more special as I soak in the autumn beauty and calm peace of being on a bicycle with no demands on time, pace, or course.   I can't say that fall is my favorite season for I truly adore spring and how the earth yawns and awakens graciously strewing green and colored flowers throughout the landscape.  But I don't think I could ever get enough days like today.  And I am grateful and give thanks. 

The Unexpected: It Happens

 "Life is all about the unexpected."

Vernon Davis

 

 There are those days when, no matter how you fight it, your plans aren't going to come to fruition.  Today was one of those days.  In the early morning, when light hit, I took off on the Lynsky toward Bethlehem for the festival there.  Last year I rode with the Madison Club, but this year it was a sponsor ride and since I have not  yet officially joined that club, it did not seem right to attend as if I was.  Besides that, I want no demands on my pace today.   I am looking forward to taking my time and enjoying the beauty of this fall, for it has been, thus far, a particularly charming fall this year, with fine if rather chilly temperatures and spectacular colors.  

I turn around about three fourths of a mile in deciding I need an additional layer to be comfortable, grab my jacket and head back out.  About a half a mile down the road I shift.  Nothing happens.  Well, something happens.  My shifter freezes in the shift position, something I have never had happen to me or witnessed happening to anyone else. 

So, instead of heading to Bethlehem, I am off to Clarksville Schwinn hoping that Bob will be able to fix my bike.  He shakes his head and says not today, so I sadly leave it there heading home.  

I decide that I have other bikes and while it is too late to ride to Bethlehem without pushing my pace or running out of daylight, I take the Surly and head out to find some gravel.  Eden Road is alive with color and at the split off of Wascum, I take the lane that never appears to be a road but is.  It is a bit rougher than the other gravel, but the road itself is worth it. 

I am just thinking that I will make a day of it and ride further than intended when I get a text from the man working on my house that I need to come back.  So I turn around, sad but happy I at least got a few miles in and didn't waste an entire fall day.  As I head in, I realize my legs are more tired than I thought so perhaps it is not a bad thing.  

 

One of the hardest things I have found about exercising and aging is trying to tell the difference between necessary rest and being lazy.   And I decide that with riding a century on Saturday and century on Tuesday and fifty three miles on Thursday, I am probably really tired and need rest in a way I did not when I was younger.  

 

 

This leads to thoughts of aging and how it bothers us so much in this country to be old, as if it is a fault instead of a blessing that has been bestowed upon us.  I briefly wonder if it is that way everywhere. I can't say I like all the changes that age brings, but it is what happens unless you die and not a shameful thing but a natural thing.  To be ashamed of age is the same as being ashamed of  your eye color or your height,  utterly ridiculous. I can't say I glory in.  I rue my waning strength, the changes in my body, my lagging memory and thought processes, the wrinkles that surprise me in the mirror, the gradual graying of my hair.  But I try not to be ashamed and to remember that age is a blessing denied to some and to accept the changes that time has wrought.  I'm not always successful, but I try.

 

In the end, it has been a good day.  There is sunshine, and trees that shimmer with color as they dance their final dance with this years clothing before saying farewell.  Life is, overall, good, and I am thankful even if days don't always work as I planned.  Mr. Davis is, indeed, right.  Life certainly is about the unexpected. 

Medora Goes PInk 2022

"The first breath of Autumn was 

in the air, a prodigal feeling, a 

feeling of wanting, taking, and 

keeping before it is too late."

J. L. Carr 

 

Medora Century......it always is a rather poignant time, falling as it does on the second week-end of October to celebrate Medora goes pink, and signaling the coming end of comfortable riding.  Yes,  one can ride all winter long.  I did it for years.  And I still ride sometimes in the winter cold.  But it is not the same and does not hold the same freedom that a summer ride does clad only in shorts and jersey and with long hours of sunlight that allow for lollygagging.  Medora, since it started going pink in October,  always brings an awareness to me of how fragile our lives are as well having lost two grandmothers to breast cancer and with my mother having had breast cancer though surviving.  

The Medora rides started many years prior to the festival start and also brings happy memories, and I feel certain that today's ride will be no exception.  I have ridden there with so many people and have seen so many changes within the town.  I remember a winter ride with Grasshopper, and how as we sat and ate our sandwiches, snug and warmed by the inside of the long defunct store as well as our friendship, the snow began to fall, flakes as big as my hand driven sideways by a strong wind, and we wondered about making it home. I remember showing the bridge to Greg Z. when he came to visit and how the main road was closed so we found a way that contained gravel yet he did not complain.  I remember the year some of the riders decorated and wore bras outside their jerseys, including some of the men.  I remember the years riders rode the barrel train in town.  I remember the many, many times I helped first time century riders finish and sharing their elation at their accomplishment, for a century, no matter how easy, is still an accomplishment. 

I change the start time due to the unexpected cold weather and wheels don't roll until 9:00.  It is, indeed, the first breath of Autumn. I don't know it this will help or hurt attendance, but it will certainly make the ride more pleasant for me.  I am not sure how many will show, but I do learn that there will be riders from Riddenfadden and SWI along for ride.  And it turns out to be a nice turnout though smaller than many times in the past.  22 riders turn out for a glorious fall day that, while cool, will be filled with sunshine.  Larry Preble, Tom Hurst, Amelia Dauer, Mark Peterson, John Pelligrino, Dave King, Bob Grable, Fritz Kopatz, Paul Battle, Steve Puckett, Tom Askew, Dee Schreur, Jessie Dietrich, Tony Nall, Steve Meredith, Jonathan Lichensteiner, Jonathan Wineland, Peggy Bannon, John Mahorney, Thomas Nance, and Beth Niccum.  Some I know, some I don't.  Regardless, all are welcome.  Smiles seem to dominate and the chatter is upbeat and falls like music on my ears.  This will, I feel certain, be a glorious day.

At the ride start, I find out that the Chicken Chase, a road race, has been scheduled for the same day.  Not only is it scheduled for the same day, but it has the same start time and the same first few miles of the course.  It slows us for a bit when the sweeping vehicle blocks our path, but he allows us around.  I try to encourage the runners/walkers and to be courteous as we pass.  Hopefully they don't mind our passage.  

 

As I expect, the crowd rather quickly divides into groups.  I stay in the back as I will throughout the ride, sweeping.  Sometimes sweeping can be a chore, a struggle to find conversation with people I don't know well, a struggle against personal needs and wants, but today is a pleasure.  For once, there is little wind, for wind often is the nemesis of this route turning what should be a fairly easy ride into a battle.  And despite the chilly start, a quick warming.  Ideal cycling weather.  

At the slower pace, I am able to nice the contrast of the trees, some fighting to maintain the illusion of green summer and some yielding to oranges, yellows, browns, and reds.  When there is a gust of wind, at a  point in the route where there are trees instead of fields, small leaves flutter to the ground giving a festive feel to an already festive ride.   I try to register each beautiful thing I pass to hold close in the coming winter, to cling to when it seems the sky will never be blue again and the sun will never share his warmth but will continue to give me his cold shoulder.  And Carr is right, I want and want and perhaps even need without being really sure of what it is that I want and need, just knowing that it is something.   And knowing that I will blink and the trees will be bare, many bicycles will be put up, and I will still feel as if I missed it, as if I missed something. 

It seems like a short time when we arrive at the covered bridge, but the first group is already coming back through having eaten and returning to the stop.  Larry takes a photo of us at the bridge and makes the comment about the photo being "Medorable" causing long though good natured groans to emerge from the crowd along with a few giggles.  Thomas comments that Larry must have thought that up last night and been saving it for just the right moment.  They tease me about some woman in Medora asking about me and saying I am there every year. And then we are off.  They head home, three of us head to the festival and to find some lunch.   

 

I am hungry as I had only an apple and some V8 for breakfast knowing that the food here would not be healthy and would be calorie laden.  Since Scotland, I have struggled to lose the weight I gained and winter will not help that struggle as cold weather causes cravings for comfort foods rather than salads and veggies.  I get my usual sandwich and sit where I can bathe in the sunlight for a bit before swinging my leg back over the bike.  As we leave, I try to remember the first rides where i put the initial Medora course together, but my memory fails me.  I remember plenty of rides to Medora, with others and solo, but that ride escapes me.  

We are rather slow on the way in and I wonder if anyone will be waiting to join us for   pizza, but there are a few that have stayed and chatted waiting for us.  The pace is fine, however, and worth the elation I see on Beth's face when she finishes and makes it up the last climb without walking. We all go to have pizza despite Dave's disappointment that the restaurant does not have beer and there is laughter and fellowship.  Henryville is a small town and for the first time it hits me that there is no liqueur store in the town and no bar.  I don't think the grocery sells alcohol either despite the fact I know it is not a dry county.  Rather interesting and probably saves the town from some problems it might otherwise have, but also affecting the economy.  For booze is popular.  

I don't know what  the ride was like for most of the people today, but I hope it was as nice a day for them as it was for me, that they drank their fill of sunshine and the last of summer/first of autumn, that they got something to "keep" before it was too late.  And I wish them memories to warm themselves with when the winter that is fast approaching arrives. 

STORY CENTURY IN THE FALL: UNPLANNED BLESSINGS

"I remember it as October days

are always remembered, cloudless,

maple flavored, the air gold and

so clean it quivers."

Leif Enger 

 

I like to try to ride all my century routes at least once yearly, but despite being retired, between tour stages and doing Jon's centuries and age and increasing recovery time needs, I find it is not always happening. Perhaps sloth also enters into the equations.  Regardless, it is what it is.

 

 Story is one of my favorites.  Not necessarily because of the roads.  Some of the roads, particularly at the start, get a bit boring with miles of crops, but because of the destination.  Something about the old, pretty much abandoned, small town of Story with its outdoor dining and rustic atmosphere draws me.  

Despite the wind prediction, it is best to ride it on Sunday as there is road construction that I may have to route around if it is impassable and the outside dining and music is only available on week-ends.  Passage also is easier on week-ends when road workers are at home.  Some will  let me pass.  Others are determined not to do so even if there is a clear path through. And so last minute I shoot an email to Jon telling him what I am doing and that if he wants to join me he is welcome.  I get an email back that he does want to ride.  While I intend to ride anyway, it will be nice to have company on the journey.  

The day dawns with a chill, colder than normal but not as cold as it has been. It is fresh and inviting, this crispness that often comes with fall despite knowing what comes after.  I know I will be shedding layers to remain comfortable so don a backpack. I also know I will not be freezing at the start as happens with winter rides.  The sky is blue and the sunshine is bright.  We head off pedals briskly spinning as we warm our legs for the task ahead. 

As we ride, I am glad that the wind will be in our face on the way out and not most of the way back, for it is strong.  At one point, Jon mentions that flags are flying straight out, often an indicator of 20 mph. Regardless, it is hard work, this pedaling into the wind.  I laugh as we come upon a kettle of vultures, some sitting on the roof, telling them it is not yet time.  During our ride, we will pass three to four kettles and I jokingly tell Jon I will need to change the name of the ride to the vulture ride.  Perhaps they know, somehow, about the increasing difficulties of these rides, how they stretch me not only  physically but mentally, but how I love them.  

As always, during the ride I will think of times and people  I have ridden this course with in the past.  Bill Pustow comes to mind.  It was a nice day, that day, just Bill and I.  And Mark Rougeuz and Paul Battle one time, Mark pushing the pace as he always does while Paul and I desperately try to keep his wheel, hearts pounding, legs pushing, breath rasping.  And more.  One reason I keep this blog is to remind myself of miles and of people I have shared them with knowing that a day will come when I or they will stop riding, when I will grieve the loss of them because not all losses are due to death though that is always a possibility.  Sometimes I wonder if there is, indeed, an afterlife, as I believe, do we keep our memories?  If so, do they still remain special.  For I have loved so many of those I have ridden with, the warmth of their company, the stories they  have shared, the laughter we have indulged in.  But like the leaves in autumn, I let go while holding the memory of those blessed moments. Still, they are all blessings that have enriched my life and for which I give thanks. 

I wonder as we approach Freetown if the Dollar Store will have put the small store, Denny's, out of business.  But it has not.  Denny's is open and business is brisk. I rejoice and will gladly pay a bit more to keep these small stores in business.  According to the sign, Denny's has been there and in business since 1946.  I think of Thomas Nance saying that it was his belief that we have been our own worst enemies in this area, buying from bigger stores to save a dollar or two and helping them put the small business out of business.  And I think he has a point. 

 

 The road out, often one that has some traffic on it, is lightly trafficked due to road closures.  Along the edge of the roads, I begin to notice more leaf changes. It is beautiful but holds an element of sadness knowing that short, dark, and cold days are on their way.  But today is not a day for sadness.  It is a day for rejoicing with sun that still speaks of warmth, bicycles, blue skies, and company that I enjoy.  

At one point, I tell Jon how one of the things that bothers me about aging is that I need more rest, and that there are days like today where when I don't use the day actively but resting there is a feeling of wastefulness.  Perhaps because age makes us more aware of how days are numbered, particularly days of riding centuries.  And he agrees.  He has the same feeling at times.  

Story is lightly populated and the food service is fast though they are out of things listed on their menu outside.  Still, the barbecue is delicious and the portion is large enough that I struggle to finish it.  Music, per a woman we met there, does not start until after we will be gone.  Jon is talking with this woman when I return from a bathroom run.  She is quite interesting and certainly outgoing. A few years younger than me, her big accomplishment last year was riding her mule across the state of Michigan in a cross state event of some type.  She is here with her girlfriend to ride this area and tells us we need to go to the Garden of the Gods in Illinois sometime.

We would talk longer, but day light, while still ample, is shorter.  So we push off enjoying the tailwind that is now ours and well earned.  The morning slog into the wind has taken its toll on my legs but I still manage a decent pace the rest of the way back despite their ache.  At Dairy Queen, we find the dining area is finally open.  I rejoice because I have been looking forward to a chocolate shake to fuel me for the rest of the ride home.  Soon, as I point out to Jon, it will be too cold to sit outside enjoying the cool shake sliding down my throat. Even with the wind, I enjoy sitting outside with the sun, however pallid compared to summer, beating down on me. And my ride has paid the dues for this treat.

Other than the climb out of Brownstown, the hills are finished and we glide back in finding that while not all of the road closure signs have been removed, the road is open.  The day is spent but not wasted.  Never wasted on a bicycle.  I am, indeed, blessed. 

A Strange Transition

"The seasons change their manners,

as the year had found some months

asleep and leapt  them over."

William Shakespeare

 

What an odd season change it has been thus far, as if one went to sleep in the midst of the steamy, hot blooded summer, rolled over, only to chill and see he was a ghost and fall is here dressed in her leafy gown that is swirling in the wind and changing colors.  On the century earlier this week, it reached or approached ninety degrees.  On today's forty four mile breakfast ride, I wear arm warmers, a vest, and a jacket as well as knickers and my wool gloves.  While I shed the jacket quickly and the day warms to the seventies, it just seems incongruous somehow, as if there should be more of a buffer.  It makes me feel that I have missed something.  One would think by now I would realize that time and seasons slip through one's fingers like sand, always elusive. 

The roads show little of the signs that portend it  is fall.  The occasional black walnut, the occasional persimmon, the occasional leaf.  The trees hint a changing but remain green.  While I have seen a few fields that have been harvested, most remain in the midst of changing from green to yellow.  And few wooly worms cross the road requiring extra diligence on the bike to keep from ending their furry little lives.  

Nobody shows for the ride today but Jon, and we ride what was the first part of the century he put together earlier this summer to the breakfast place.  This time, rather than the short stack of pancakes, I get the omelet.  Jon sticks with the short stack.  It is three medium sized pancakes.  They offer no other.  What would one call a larger stack, I later ask him.  Would it be a tall stack?  

The wind that helped us on the way out pummels us in places on the way back, another sign that fall has, or is, arriving.  I watch as our average pace declines, not really concerned about it, but interested.  Now I understand why I felt so strong on the way out.  Tail wind hero....a term I think I first heard from Greg Smith.

After the ride there is the library book sale and I purchase four books.  Then a wander around the art festival: Chautauqua.  By now the sun is out and I find I am becoming rather hot.  But I enjoy seeing people's creations even though I have no intention of buying any of them.  

On the drive home it again strikes me how the season has and yet has not changed.  Normally it seems more gradual than this year, but fall just arrived on the calendar earlier this week so perhaps it is me.  Regardless, the earth will do what she will do.  And I will ride my bike so long as I am able.