On playing hookey, heading South and heading North, and horse sports in the time of Covid.
I played hookey today. Spell check keeps trying to change the word to "hockey", but that isn't right. I didn't play hockey. I played hookey. The definition of which is "skipping school or work, 'an unjustifiable absence without an excuse', being a truant without explanation." It is an Americanism first recorded around 1848. Even the great Mark Twain used the word in his writings. And so will I.
I played hookey all morning and for a full 41 miles. And it felt great!
It was a perfect morning with perfect temps, the perfect time to ditch the endless To Do List which just seemed to get renewed bigger and longer each day. I was done with devoting my entire day to projects, to work, to obligations. It was overdue time for some "me" time. Time to escape. And I had just the bike and just the roads to be my accomplices. I packed my drink bottles, yelled goodbye to hubby (wherever he was), and made my escape on two fast wheels.
I got less than 1/2 a mile down the road, turned the bike around and went right back home. No, it wasn't guilt taking me back. It was the cold air. And I had forgotten my jacket. That needed to be rectified or I would have been frozen within 2 miles. (I know- exaggerating. But it was chilly. And the wind was blowing, too. Take my word for it.)
Back on the road I made fast tracks to escape my county and disappear into my favorite haunts on the roads of the county south of us. To facilitate my flight is a lovely gravel road that parallels a major highway. This road has been pretty much left to its own devices, having existed in its same sleepy, treelined road bed for centuries, reminiscing eons of horses and carriages passing by, marching soldiers bearing guns and traveling under different flags, of foxhunters jumping the flanking stone walls, horses and hounds in full pursuit of the wily red fox. The mountains leaned heavily on the countryside, their lofty presence notwithstanding being a bit overwhelming as the old road kept a steady path right to the foot of those ancient hills. Imagine my surprise to see an orange sign far into the distance, plopped right in the center of this gravel road, the sign warning of work ahead.
The work, it appeared, was to bring a modern improvement to a century old bridge that has arguably seen better days. I came upon the road crew as they were discussing some anomaly they had not expected when they began digging up the old bridge. Off to the side a pair of steel girders waited, the "improvement" soon to be installed, I suspected, as whatever it was that was keeping the bridge upright was now at the end of its supportive life.
I stayed to chat with the guys for a bit (they were happy to play a bit of hookey to stop and chat with this lady cyclist), and then left them to get back to work. Those new girders weren't about to replace themselves.
The paved roads returned at the end of the gravel road and within minutes I was flying along with no agenda other than to enjoy the open, quiet byways. I wanted to escape so I headed as far south as I reasonably could, admiring all the splendid scenery laid out around me like a banquet for my eyes - the vineyards, the cattle pastures, the fields dotted with beautiful Thoroughbreds, the woodlands with slow streams and impenetrable foliage.
At one bridge high over a wide creek I stopped to take a photo of a herd of cattle enjoying the cool water.
One of those cows had lost her calf. I knew that because said calf had decided to play hookey and slip through the fence next to the road. It had parked itself in the middle of the road a bit further along, goofing off as any truant would. It caught sight of me and froze, watching me with growing trepation as I pedaled closer.
It scurried off the road as I approached, and tried to blend into the roadside brush, hoping I wouldn't notice it. That big white face looking over a black shoulder was a dead giveaway that this was a calf, not a shrub, but I pretended it was a shrub, much to the relief of the calf. As far as I was concerned this dead quiet road was the perfect place for the calf to enjoy a bit of hookey, and so I pedaled on, leaving the youngster to the joys of a bit of escape from parental scrutiny.
At one point I passed a derelic house. A small roadside dwelling that once had been someone's pride and joy, a refuge, a place of hearth and family. Once, a very long time ago. It now sat abandoned with broken windows and unlocked doors, the roof buckling under the age of years and weather, the walls no longer keeping in the warmth of a family hearth. The chimney was cold now, the gaping wood walls allowing the winds and the rains and the enveloping trees to intrude.The fieldmice and owls were the only ones now seeking shelter within the crumbling walls. It was a reminder of the past, and of the future, a time capsule built by people now long dead, their legacy still standing, albeit barely, alongside an ageless gravel road.
The roads carried me on, amusing me with interesting views, some thoughtful, some frivolous, some memorable, some too common to be anything but forgettable as soon as my bike passed by. Over the miles the winds shifted around me, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, and always showing their creative mettle with an inspired choreography gusting into the nearby grasses and leaves to encourage all to dance and bow in perfect unison. At one point enroute I saw a close group of Canadian geese standing thoughtfully at the edge of a still pond in a quiet field out of the wind. They stood shoulder to shoulder, silently contemplating, I'm sure, the inevitable journey they would soon embark on. I wondered if they had been meeting to discuss logistics, and I caught them as they paused their planning to simply think about the exhaustive effort the journey would take. Their dispirited expressions certainly belied the fact that this annual trip organized and orchestrated by Mother Nature was something they would look forward to. I left them to their thoughts and dropped my head into the wind, pedaling on.
At 30 miles I realized...i didn't want to stop. I was tired of being the responsible adult. I wanted to keep playing hookey and not go home. So I headed north, back on the paved roads letting my bike do what it does best. At one point I realized I was staring down at the road, doing what so many cyclist do when they are deep into their own heads as the miles roll beneath them. I was back in familiar territory so the scenery was less compelling, although no less beautiful. I stopped to talk to a lady out walking three dogs not of her own. She has a dog walking service, and business has been booming with folks working from home and wanting someone else to walk their dogs. She had two Wheaten terriers with her, as well as a Rhodesian Ridgeback, all three of which were happy to sit and take a breather while she and I talked. I did not chat with her for too long, but I'm sure the dogs enjoyed their respite eitherway.
I had passed a horse show venue enroute, and slowed to look at the rows of huge tents for next weekend's big show. The tents were massive, meant for portable stalls, banquets, and participants. There was sign on the fence, blaming the new zero spectator rule on the current pandemic. I was amused by the hurried correction of a misspelling of protocol (poor editing left the word as "protocal"). There would be no heartfelt applause this year for the winning horses and riders, no vendors, no crowds. The stands would be empty, as would the fields where years before there would have been endless rows of parking. Not this year. Not in this pandemic. The horses would still jump the jumps, the riders sole goal being 8 perfect fences. There is too much money involved in this horse sport, and so much has been lost to cancelled shows when the pandemic first hit. So they will hold their show, and the riders will come. But not the crowds. Not this year.
I let the roads carry me on, eventually looping back to the gravel roads for a slower, more contemplative ride. I was nearing 40 miles and, while I was more than willing to keep riding, my battery was nearing the end of the road. I had about 10 miles still left in electrons, but duty was becoming increasingly more insistent that I return home. There was always tomorrow it promised - with even better weather forecast.
Another day to play hookey again. Why not. I'm game. And my bike will be fully charged.
Count me in.
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I spotted a road I had never ventured up before and decided to have a look, at first I thought I had found a little gem until I was greeted with this!
