A serene, unplanned midafternoon ride yesterday that was preceded by an unprecedented rise in the temps to 52°f (11°c). The temperature rise came as a pleasant surprise, and the siren call of my bike in the garage was loud enough for me to hear throughout the house.
I did have to promise to be back in time for dinner, this being hubby's 73 birthday to which he had plans to grill a nice steak, and already had his favorite recipe for crabcakes made and ready to bake. I left him to play with his newest Kindle Fire (his sole requested present to replace his older Kindle), while I hopped on the bike and took off down the gravel roads.
This was the first time I've been back on my bike since I got dual flats a week ago 11 miles into my ride. My poor husband, still ensconced on the couch with a cold, had been pressed into service as my SAG (Support and Gear) to come pick up both me and my crippled bike roadside - which he graciously did with alacrity and sympathy. Later, at the bike shop, where it was found that both tubes had suffered several fatal pinprick punctures (of a source still unfathomable) I was told that I was quite fortunate that, for the miles I've ridden all these many years, these were the first flats I've ever had.
Yes, tell that to the annoyed me standing roadside, looking down in helpless disgust at two pancake tires that had even prevented me from walking said bike the short 4 miles it would have taken to get home. No, I had to call for a ride and be rescued. How embarrassing.
Now with two new tubes, my fully vetted bike was ready to roll.
This was my scenery for the next 10 miles.
I deliberately took my time, not hurrying. My intent was to see what my preferred cadence was (turns out it is anywhere from 49 to 59, depending upon whether I was riding on the flat or on the hills). Other than that, it was simply nice to be on the bike, quietly pedaling along, easily slaloming around the inevitable and varying groups of winter grown potholes, watching for signs of wildlife, and admiring the long view of the many, many old wealthy and land rich estates along the way that only show their distant faces in the nakedness of winter.
I watched with interest my varied cadence, waved happily at the three adventuresome motocylists who had passed me along the way on the gravel roads, waved happily at three other "out to enjoy the peaceful roads" cyclists that I passed as well, and in between the rare encounters with my own species, I let the solitude of the road fill my mind and dictate my relaxed, slow speed.
It is funny to realize how up close and personal one's surroundings become when one is riding on a bike. Everything is so close, filling one's view, near enough almost to touch in passing. A closeness that one doesn't experience in the isolation of a car. The air, the sounds, the smells - all are so intimate and enveloping. It sets the mind to musing and self reflection, building a cathartic mood in symphony with the landscape.
In short, it fills every sense with unparelled calm and peace.
As the slow gentle and exceptionally lovely 10 mile gravel road journey came to an end, it was time to follow the loop swinging back towards home via the paved roads. The views now moved by at a quicker, more modern pace, and a colorful collection of cars and trucks ducked around and past me and my slower bike, politely giving me wide berth so as to not leave me bobbing in the wake of their rushing air. Several times I swung into the mouth of a convenient driveway to yield the road to a much larger, always appreciative, vehicle that I felt deserved to have the lane for the few seconds it would take to pass me. It was never a problem for me - I had no agenda other than to take my time and enjoy the ride.
I was still studying my cadence, watching how the road skillfully found the sweet spot that offered both rhythm and speed in a pleasing configuration, and then, at the most inopportune moments, rudely interrupting the synchronous flow by abruptly stopping to pick up road litter
Still, those moments of interrupting my cadence study netted a clean roadway in my rear view mirror, and the admiration of one young motorist who stopped his handsome debadged superturbo older Mustang to personally thank me for my anti-litter efforts as I emptied the collected contents of my panniers into one of the several official VDOT orange litter bags I had strategically placed enroute for just such a reason. I thought the motorist's admiration of my efforts was very sweet, and told him so. He made my day, and I certainly hope I made his as well. It is so welcoming to share a road with people who enjoy seeing nature uncluttered by random discarded reminders of passing and past humanity.
There were no current potholes on the paved road as the road crews had been out a week or so prior to fill any tire damaging obstructions with fresh asphalt. But as I cruised along I did notice the lesser, more insidious assault of both Mother Nature's unpredictable weather, and the volume of heavy vehicles, on the roadbed - a widespread spiderweb of heavy cracks in the older blacktop that signaled a soon-to-be expansive rise in the number of potholes waiting to appear. And all those prebirth potholes were right in my travel side of the road. This did not bode well for the coming springtime traffic. Especially for me as I was already dodging those preemptive potholes more frequently than I had expected. Ah,well. My bike is nimble enough to scoot around any craters that would give a motorist pause.
And thus I rolled along, mile after mile faithfully following the undulating road as it weaved its way through the countryside on a ribbon of black. I noticed the warm afternoon was now a thing of the past. The temperature in the final miles had stuttered, stumbled and taken a free fall from 52°f back down into the more approprite 40°f daytime wintertime cold. It was not a problem for me, snuggled warmly in my thick winter ski jacket. A smart clothing decision I had made at the warm start of the ride that was greatly appreciated by the cold end.
I turned down my street and cruised the final mile home. I had just received a call from hubby who was already grilling his birthday steak and ready to put the crab cakes in the oven as soon as I returned, so my imminent homecoming was about to kick off the evening's celebration with a good dinner and conversation.
No better way to end a lovely afternoon's 21 mile bike ride. And no flats, either!