The photos of the organized ride are online, and thus I was scrolling through them looking at the faces of the riders enroute on their 80 or 60 or 40 mile gravel road adventure.
There was a series of three photos that caught my eye. Three photos that followed in progression - three riders coming up on the photographer with joyful grins and expressions of sheer unabashed kid-like glee in the face of craptastic weather conditions - all because they got to ride their bikes together in a beautiful autumn inspired countryside. A trailing photo, this one a few moments later, a closeup of the rider that had been a colorful blob, a singularity blur in the distant background behind the first three in the first photo. In the closeup his face a study in focused effort.
And then there was this final photo in the 3 part series. The one posted above. A scene that is one I'd never see when I'm on my bike, but can do so now. It speaks volumes, so much more than any other photo in the online album. Maybe because I know this dog. I know the road, the trees, the stone wall. I know the perennial roughness of this one stretch, the house hidden by the foliage to the right, a house that was once loved, then saw an unseemly death (was it murder, the poorer underprivileged members of the neighborhood whispered among themselves as they began to avoid the area, especially after dark), then became haunted, then abandoned for many years before new owners unceremoniously chased out the ghosts and rehabbed the old house into something new.
That rehab included two dogs. Two dogs that feel the road is exclusive to them and are vocally determined to let any walker or biker know that intrusions to their domain will not go unnoticed. One of the dogs is especially vigilant, and will not let a bike go by without a challenge. I can usually outpace his determined sprint down his driveway that parallels the stone wall. By the time he exits the driveway, I am usually far enough down the road that his efforts conclude with just a huffy raised voice holler for me to keep up my retreat and not to let him see me again or there will be consequences.
I usually laughed at his fruitless attempts...until one day when I didn't. That one day when he was extra vigilant and saw me coming way in advance. He put on extra speed to meet me at the end of his driveway and stand in the road, a challenge that dared me to pass.
Unfortunately, he hadn't take into account exactly who he had challenged.
I stopped my bike a ways back, casually put down the kickstand, walked over to the side of the road to select a couple of larger gravel rocks that the traffic had kicked to the side as being too big to grind under their tires into the bedrock of the road, hefted the rocks to feel their weight and ability for a dead accurate flight, and then faced my canine challenger. He had remained standing in the middle of the road, watching me, his bark now silent, his eyes wary as to why I hadn't rushed past. His confusion turned to a wide eyeed alarm as I made a sudden rushing run straight at him, roaring my fury at his bold attempt to intimidate me as I let the first rock fly, landing at his feet as a opening volley warning of the battery of rocks that were to come. For him, all hell had broken loose. He was facing an opponent who had decades of foxhunting hound control on her resume, and some inconsequential cur was no match for my aim or my ire.
Those paws went into instant retreat, and the last I saw of him was his tucked tail scuttling back up his driveway before he risked a pause and a turn to see if this armed madwoman was still in hot pursuit. We stood, combatants on the field, me now in possession of the road while he stood hesitant and silent, his body poised for a second rapid retreat if I advanced the field of battle up his driveway.
But he owned the land he was standing on, so I made it abundantly clear across the demiliterized zone with my voice as to what I'd do to him should he ever challenge my rights to this road again. I dropped the rest of the rocks from my hand at the edge of his driveway, a flagrant distinct future warning. I wanted him to know my scent and my voice, and that my threat was real. I figured he was smart enough to connect the dots and henceforth to think twice about challenging me and my bike again.
He was, and to this day has never set foot on the road again before I pass. He still races along the stone wall between his property and the road and will sometimes come out after I have passed to watch me disappear down the road, but the lesson learned about the downfalls of challenging my rights to pass was learned well. He has never done so again.
Hence, this photo being one that I would never see from this angle in real life. Amusing to finally see it from his point of view.
All credit to the amazing photographer Bruce Buckley who has graciously allowed his brilliant work to be shown online.
The photos really are incredible, atrocious conditions but the riders didn't care! I have been through some deep water in my days but that was crazy!
