A simple 17.5 mile ride today to bid a fond goodbye to a lovely guest - the sweet jacketless weather that arrived just a few days ago but now was due to leave us by the next morning with sad tears of rain.
My cycling friend was elbow deep in gardening, anxious to pack several days worth of effort into one afternoon, so she begged off on a ride to spend her time pulling weeds. That left me at liberty to romp around the countryside with the LaFree, no agenda other than to make a circuit on the quiet gravel roads to look at the start of the changing colors of the trees and to enjoy the solitude.
About 2 miles from home, at the start of a long steep uphill, I came upon an older couple with a large Siberian Husky/Malamute/German Shepherd mix. They had moved off the road and were huddled together in the ditch for safety watching tenuously as some mountain biker came bombing down the gravel road like he owned it, riding at a very fast, inconsiderate speed. I moved off the road as well and he whipped by me without so much as a how-do-you-do, and was gone before I had time to turn my head to watch him go. Since I had stopped next to the couple, I talked with them for a moment to exchange pleasantries, then took off at a reduced pace up the hill the mountain biker had just barreled down. It was a 3rd gear/full assist hill going up. For me it would have been a dual brake going down. Don't know how those mountain bike people ride so fast downhill. They must have a death wish.
At the crest of the hill was a crossroads. I had planned to turn left to follow my old tried-and-true route, but on a sudden and unexpected whim I deviated and continued to follow the road to where the gravel road did a quick sneak across a highly trafficked modern paved road and immediately dived back into the safe cover of trees and a warm rural countryside hug.
I was met with this warning which I already anticipated. And then a second warning to make absolutely sure I knew what I was doing. I did, and was.
The annual lack of rain during the opening days of Autumn meant that the creek was going to not only be passable, it was also going to be rideable on my bike. I wasn't disappointed. The usual depth of the wide creek was barely a quarter of its normal flow, the sandy bottom shallow and clear. I studied the creek bed under the water and noticed there was a nice high swale arcing across, from my side to the other, just to my right that was perfect for crossing with a bike. The swale was high enough that I was pretty sure my motor would stay dry, but didn't know if my shoes were going to have that same option. Turns out, even traversing on the underwater swale, the creek was still high enough for my pedals to be under water. And yes, by default, my feet as well. But it was a warm day, the water was clear and refreshing, and I exited to the other side with dripping wheels, wet pedals and shoes, and a big grin. I turned to look behind me at my lone tire tracks, carved deep into the heavy wet sand on the far side, and the footprints alongside those tracks as I walked alongside my bike in solidarity because no amount of motor or human power could make the bike rideable through the impossible deep sand.
The ascent on the far side was steep and the road very narrow, tightly bounded by wild shrubs and heavy old trees, barely a car width wide, but with the road to myself and my gearing at 2 with full assist, it was a pleasure to ride up. I did, however, stop midway to take a photo of a very photogenic, extremely ancient, obesely massive oak tree growing out of the side of a deeply eroded embankment. That brief stop meant I was now forced to walk my bike up the steep road for a bit before finding some degree of flatness that would allow me to mount and go forward rather than slide backwards. My bike was happy to walk by itself alongside me, a thoughtful option from the manufacturer that I deeply appreciated at the moment.
At the top of the road the woods opened up to fields and scenic views. I had an option to continue heading straight and taking in more miles on gravel roads that were perhaps a bit more busy, but I was enjoying having the roads to myself (I would eventually end up going a full 9 miles before I saw any car on the road with me - they were that quiet). Instead I turned right to follow the gravel roads that were one with the rolling landscape.
This sign was posted well inside a woods at a steam crossing. I had to leave my bike and cautiously traverse a narrow catwalk of imposing creekside boulders just to try to get close enough to snap a shot. Despite my efforts I was still a bit too far away. Not sure if the sign was being facetious, capricious, or factual as the surrounding area was heavily wooded with zero open fields, but it was clear it had been posted far enough downstream to prevent it from being purloined.
The gravel roads carried me on a rolling journey of miles of semi-steep up and down hills through a countryside steeped in silence. Except for the now and then hum of some mowing machine somewhere in the distance, the only sound was my bike tires softly crunching the gravel beneath them. All around me trees were silently loosening random colorful leaves from their branches, watching with detached amusement as those leaves drifted without a sound, slowly and aimlessly, like snowflakes, down down down to the gravel road below. I cycled through the falling leaves, those floating in the air around me, some drifting close enough to brush my helmet or my shoulders before sliding shyly away again, and those who had come to rest face up on the road below, still and quiet, their colorful airborne adventures now just a memory, an earth-bound journey all too brief. Only a gusting of autumn winds would stir the fallen leaves again, or the rushing hurry of a passing car. My bike and I were obviously of no consequence as the leaves remained unmoved at our passing.
Autumn usually means that pumpkins begin to make an appearance at the entryway of farms and estates. I wasn't disappointed to see that some had already started dressing their property with the trappings of fall festivities.
Some homeowners went the entire nine yards with the upcoming autumn festivals, principally Halloween, in turning their properties into a ghoulish extravaganza. Makeshift graveyards and funny fake gravestones popped up on the manicured lawns, and skeletons in big floppy sun hats took over patio chairs, lounging in full view of passing traffic as if their sole purpose was to entertain the public. Which it was. I was duly amused, stopped to take pictures, and traveled on.
But there were some entryways that would remained remote and untouched, undecorated and forgotten except by someone with a chain and a lock to ensure no one could pass between the crumbling stone pillars. The road beyond those entryways usually lay under a thick blanket of grass, sometimes mowed but more often left wild and overgrown. I always wonder about these forgotten entryways. I wonder about what they used to guard, where they used to lead, and how, after years gone by and landowners changed or departed, how they are still left standing, still elegant still imposing, to proudly guard nothing more than an untraveled path into a silent wood.
Then there were those entryway that eschewed decorations and felt themselves important enough to simply state the obvious, in case one had failed to notice.
Lunchtime had come and gone, and the afternoon was slowly waning as I continued to travel through the peace and quiet of the countryside, choosing at whim which connecting gravel roads I would take as they offered themselves along the way.
Oddities were not rare on these roads, and I found myself stopping constantly to look more closely at the stranger things - like this pair of stone chimneys that were standing dumbfounded and perhaps at touch embarrassed at how they could have possibly lost the house that had stood between them. Yet they stood tall and erect as if expecting the house to reappear at any moment. Any moment now...just wait. It will be back in a bit. Any moment.
It was all so very pleasant, this last day of no jackets and warm weather, so I took my time enjoying the views and enjoying my bike. I no longer run through the levels of assist anymore. I found that simply keeping the LaFree on the highest assist, and running through my gears instead, makes for a more pleasant ride with less attention having to be taken away from the ride to be paid to adjusting the bike's power. There is very little change in the amount of miles the battery was willing to provide at mid-assist (my former preferred level) and full assist. It was pretty much 32 to 35 miles per charge, either way. Thus, leaving the bike on the highest assist was to the utmost comfort of my knee, was well as my entire body. Now I only concern myself with my gearing, simplifying my ride altogether. Just like riding an analog bike, only better.
A final long view of the mountains under a lowering cloud filled sky, and my bike and I were in the final stretch towards home. Home to a freshly baked apple pie courtesy of my cycling neighbor (who had just texted me) that she had delivered as a thank you to my husband and myself for helping her move a library of books the other day. I would not have been surprised to see a hefty slice already taken from the pie considering my hubby was probably long finished his mowing and ...well, it is pie, after all.
Suffice to say I was not proved wrong. And he was right - it was delicious!
. Anyway, we prefer paved roads, and as I say, the road was virtually all to ourselves. We'll come back and camp in this area and explore further. I can't really ethically defend driving a total of 6 hours to ride for 2...
...)
