I got this in the mail the other day. I opened it, a bit confused because I hadn't remembered buying anything recently online. My heart sank when I pulled the shirt out of the package.
This was supposed to be my first century ride, the cumulation of a whole summer of planned charity rides I would enter to prepare myself for this highly popular East Coast event. I had heard so many good things about this Maryland Eastern Shore ride from other cyclists, high praise, as a matter of fact, from quite a few past participants going back several years including a tandem riding couple I met randomly a few years ago while out on a local bike trail. The ride came up in our conversation and both were so enthusiastic about it that they insisted I absolutely had to go one of these years. I had never heard of the ride before, but looked it up when I got home. It was a ride attended not by not hundreds, but by thousands of cyclists every year. It was that popular. The event had raised over $4.5 million over the years for their charity. A most worthy endeavor. Each year since I thought about the ride, and it was finally this year, with the new ebike, that I decided I was ready to do a century. I had planned my entry to include a personal weekend getaway for hubby and myself - a nice B&B for a 2 day overnight, dinner out, maybe a bit of sightseeing the day after the ride. I had arranged a farm sitter for the animals, and all was set to go.
I looked down at the shirt, a heartbreaking reminder of a year cancelled. The devastated calendar of charity bike rides cancelled and postponed, later to be cancelled altogether. Week after week, month after month the pandemic mowed down rides near and far until there was nothing left but dates marred by big red X's . A very few of the really big rides in our area had taken the step to go virtual, and the Seagull Century was one of them. I donated my entry to their cause, and they sent me the shirt, as well as a link to their special webpage for virtual participants to upload the results and pics from their rides "
in absentia". I, too, would be riding my century from home now. Not the getaway weekend I had envisioned, but perhaps I can salvage the dinner with a surf-and-turf barbeque in our back yard instead. Given that it would involve charcoal and a grill, I knew my hubby would be on board. Frankly, I knew he would love it. Lemonade from lemons.
The ride organizers had given all the participants from October 3rd to the 10th to complete their rides - configured in each riders own chosen miles per day - and to upload their results. From a full week of riding to a one day 100 - all was allowed, all was encouraged.
My new goal was to now plan for a 2 day 100 mile ride during "Seagull Week". 50 miles a day. The first day would be a full 50 miles. The second day would be broken into two 25 mile rides so that my neighbor could join me on one of the legs. It was definitely doable, and all I needed was to chose my routes...and to get myself back into some semblance of shape no thanks to the forced cessation of fitness riding due to the horrific summer heat and humidity.
So this morning was the perfect day to do a fitness ride - cool, breezy, sunny with clear blue skies overhead and a decided lack of traffic on the roads seeing how it was midweek and the "work from home crowds" were diligently working from home. My bike and I were pretty much guaranteed to be owning the roads today. I quickly downloaded my selected route to my Garmin - which (mercifully) took all of about 2 seconds, all thanks to the final successful results of yesterday's fiasco trying to remember how to download to the GPS device - waved a silent goodbye to hubby who was just starting on a 3 hour Zoom meeting, hopped on the bike, and took off. 34 miles was the plan today, including a new road I had yet to explore.
I have discovered that the more often I ride certain roads, the "quicker" they become. Not sure why. Perhaps the landscape, in becoming so familiar, tends to demand less of my attention to detail, allowing me to focus more on my ride and less on sightseeing. Notwithstanding, there is always something that draws my eye - like farm signs. As often as I had ridden this one road heading into Middleburg's famed foxhunt country, I had never noticed that there were several farms all in a row sporting fox themed farm signs. I started to pass the first farm, then did a u-turn to go back for a picture, much to the horror of my GPS which immediately hollered that I'd gone "off course". Seriously? For a simple u-turn and rollback of 50 feet? I shook my head, ignored the GPS waving its hands in the air in capital letter consternation, and took my pictures.
Gotta admit-whoever thought up this name was pretty clever.
Across the road was this farm sign. Very neat, proper, and understated. Well, maybe the gilded lettering was a bit over the top, but it was pretty, as was the farm itself.
The third farm was a converted dairy farm sporting a nice outdoor arena and two farm signs just in case you missed seeing one. The house itself was easily two centuries old, but had been lovingly restored not too very long ago.
There were a few more picture-worthy farm signs on this road, but I figured I'd take them later. I was focused on my agenda, so kept up a good pace reaching the town of Middleburg in record time. A quick zip across the main road put me into Fauquier County, onto a paved byway called Landmark School Road that I absolutely love. Quiet, serene, respectable, virtually no traffic. The rare motorists passing me shared waves hello, all very polite and gracious in sharing the road. This is beautiful countside, of which I've shared photos before, so I simply stayed on my bike enjoying the passing view. At the bend of the road where it intersects with Bull Run Mountain Road (which one day I will find time to explore), I came upon a paused hay loading operation. Not sure where the humans had gone to, but all the machines had been left in mid-work, patiently waiting for their staff to return. Not sure where the hay being loaded on the tractor trailer was destined to go, local or Midwest. But there sure was a lot of it. Big bales, too. Easily 1,000 lbs each.
The rest of the miles on this road were a relaxing study of horse farms and hay farms, identifiable by having either a stable (the former) or a barn (the latter) in residence. With a clear sky overhead, and the stiff breezes blocked every now and then by the handy placement of a convenient woodland here and there, always allowing peek-a-boo glimpses of the wider countryside just beyond the road, my ride was swift and enjoyable.
My GPS soon indicated it was time to head back, this time not directing me to continue taking the faster paved road, but instead guiding me onto a gravel road that was fairly new to me... if you discounted the fact that I had only the faintest of memories of had ridden it on horseback with the hunt easily 20 years prior. If I had remembered anything about it, I would have been amazed. This was my first time riding it on a bike, tho, so I knew the experience would most likely be somewhat different.
I guess I should have been more prepared for what lay ahead, but I was fooled by the paved start of the gravel road which went straight up a very steep hill. We're talking "low gear/standing on the pedals" type of straight up. Obviously the pavement was placed there to prevent cars from sliding down on the gravel, uncontrolled, into the mainstream of traffic on the main road below. A VDOT crew was working on replacing an underground pipe near the head of the gravel road, and the traffic control crew was happy to wave me on to turn onto the gravel road while stopping traffic the other way on the main road. I was grateful for the opportunity to make a running start up the short paved section, and with much downshifting and heavy breathing I finally made it to the top where the pavement halted at the domain of the gravel.
As I said, I guess I should have been more prepared for what lay ahead. An online map never shows the true nature of a road, and this road was less amiable than expected. In fact it was downright feral. There was no regard for any civility to any human, bike, or motor car. The narrow road twisted and flung itself up and over the natural topography in a series of uphill and downhill swells that would have done a storm tossed ocean proud. There was no respite - it was dig in and power up to the point where I could both hear and feel my back tire sliding and spraying gravel whenever I stood up to apply as much power to the pedals as possible. It didn't help that someone in VDOT had decided to have the road regraveled recently, making the job of my tires trying to grab onto the plunging slippery road a very precarious endeavor. If I wasn't going straight up on that slippery road, I was sliding down instead. It was white-knuckle riding at best, and heartstopping at worst. It was absolute hell.
And I was having a blast.
Surprisingly, and impressively for a commuter designed bike, the Vado took it all in stride. It was a challenge that kept us on our toes for several miles, but the bike and I worked together as a well oiled team, fighting gravity, dodging washouts, negotiating steep slides, and managing to stay upright throughout. There wasn't 3 inches of that gravel road that was flat, so no chance to get off and take pictures until the end when the road finally gave us a grudging respite and with little fanfare deposited us, gasping for breath and happy to escape unscathed, back into the civilized world.
Imagine my surprise to find a private airport set in a field at the top of the road. A solitary prop plane faced perpendicular to the freshly mowed grass runway. Not sure if this field was privately owned or not. There used to be quite a few private airstrips in the area in the mid-century past, but most have disappeared over time. Except this one, obviously.
The gravel road, and my GPS, had led me back into Middleburg, back to the paved roads, and a number of miles later I was back into my area, heading towards home. I was still energized, not wasn't quite ready to end my ride, however. I was thinking it would be fun to continue on to do a full 50 miles... but hubby was probably finished with his Zoom meeting and expecting me home for a late lunch. And my GPS declared I was finished, so no more arguments about going off course again. There was always tomorrow.
Pulling up to my garage I got a text from my cycling friend 100 miles south of me. She said she'd been on a 41 mile ride with her club yesterday and was a mile and a half away from the meet parking lot when her Vado's assist went dead. As in completely dead. Her lights and display were still on. Just no assist. I texted back and asked if she had rebooted the bike. She had, but to no avail. So she was "forced" to ride the final mile back under her own power. She said if the assist had quit 20 miles out she would still be out there pedaling to get back. The bike is now in the shop to the bafflement of the mechanics. The diagnostic showed all green lights with nothing wrong, so they have contacted Specialized for an answer (hopefully). So now, she texted, she'll have to use her hybrid to tootle around. [Horrified face emojie, crying face emojie] I texted her that she just needs to get a second ebike, like me. [Thumbs up emojie]. She texted back that she thinks she can tough out riding the hybrid for a day or two. [Riderless bike emojie]. I wished her luck.
Another text came though as I was putting my cycling equipment away and plugging the Vado in to recharge. It was my neighbor across the way wanting to know if i was available for a ride tomorrow morning. Of course that answer was yes. Texts were exchanged for when to meet, and things settled by the time I got in the house to greet hubby and hear all about the results of the Zoom meeting.
Today will be a civilized gravel road ride for a pleasant 20 or so miles with my neighbor. Another perfect blue sky-gentle breezes type pf day. Another day to help get me in shape for the virtual Seagull Century ride on 10/10/2020.