Another MAMB ("Me And My Bike") day yesterday. Once again, escaping for some mental downtime by wandering the countryside on a bike with the wind in my face, the road under my feet, and toe-tapping-pedal-turning music playing in my ear.
This ride wound through the countryside on the paved roads since, for the next week or so more, the Vado is my sole mount. The LaFree is in the shop, awaiting a new battery mount under warranty. The current mount just won't connect to the battery anymore. Apparently (from what my mechanic described) two of the terminals were eroded as if they had been sandpapered. Almost 3,000 miles of gravel road riding had been too much for this delicate method of back-rack-battery-to-bike connection. "It's a commuter bike", he explained, "and you're using it like a mountain bike." I shrugged. "There isn't anything saying I can't use it on gravel roads", I countered. "It's a carbon belt drive. It begs to be used on a gravel road." He agreed, then said he doesn't understand why the bike companies don't use the more stringent electrical connections found in cars and motorcycles that allow the battery to be firmly locked in place with the connections and float together when they hit rough patches. The only flaw to that idea is the frequency we exchange batteries on an ebike, something you don't do on a motorcycle or a car.
At some point a solution will be found for ebikes and their tenuious connective relationship with batteries.
But that wasn't on my mind at the moment I was zipping down the glass-smooth paved road at 36mph, and about to come to a screeching halt in order to take a photo of something I've been meaning to photograph for months. I believe it's a thresher or something? Now re-purposed as a sign holder for a property. I have no idea how old it is, but everything suggests it harks well back to the early days of the prior century. Why someone would chose this monstrosity to be parked at their front entrance is beyond me. But it was certainly picture-worthy. Enough to truncate a fast ride downhill in order to take a photo or two.
Back on the bike I was met with a roller coaster of hills that got my heart rate pounding and my breath coming in gasps. Sometimes it's refreshing to expend some good old fashioned analog bike effort to get up hills...and to know that a killer assist is merely a finger tap away.
My goal had been to do simply 25 miles since son and his wife were coming for dinner that night, but the roads had a siren call that are hard to resist, and I kept coming up with excuses to take the longer roads heading back home. In one case those decisions took me monetarily into the lower county, although a quarter of a mile later the more responsibly minded road twisted and dutifully dumped me back into my own county once again.
Still, the diversion took me on a terrific "highway avoidance" side road that I've never cycled: namely a sweet, gravel road that escorted me into Middleburg at a calm scenic "why hurry?" pace while only yards away, out of sight behind the trees, determined traffic raced by at frantic speed on the main east-west highway between Washingtin DC and points west of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
The sweet laziness of the gravel road gently guided me into the main thoroughfare of Middleburg where I had no more excuses. No more side roads to explore to delay my return back home. It was all business heading straight on the paved roads back home ...until I was seduced by a beckoning gravel road that promised a "better" ride home. Perhaps a "few more miles added just for kicks?" Who was I to say no?
This gravel road went past the entryway of the old estate
Huntlands. The estate came into being in the 1800s as a foxhunting lodge and kennels. The owner hunted his pack of foxhounds from here for many years, and his love of the chase, and his hounds, is forever encribed on the front gates. The wrought iron gates and brick pillars are imposing enough by themselves for a photograph, but it is the unique writing built into the pillars that I found most intriguing. One pillar had the inscription in English, the other in the dead language known as Latin. I understand it was once all the rage to use the old Roman language to denote high tone breeding and lofty ancestry. But what's left to the generstions is now basically a babble of indecipherable words, unless one uses Google translate. So much for pompous rhetoric meant to impress the span the ages.
Fields woods streams
Each towering hill
Each humble vale below
Shall hear my cheering voice
My hounds shall wake
The lazy morn
And glad the horizon round
This inscription apparently is from Virgil. It translates in the far more word-strewn English as (very loosely):
"
Greetings
Come on, then, break out of sluggish delays.
With mighty shout Mt. Cithaeron and the hounds of
Taygetus and Epidaurus
mistress of horses, call. And their cry,
echoed by the applause of the woods, roars back."
(The National Park service has this as the English language translation which appears on their website paperwork for this property. I'll find time later to do a true word-for-word translation)
Peeking through the front gates I checked out the view. I do know the owner, and maybe one day when I bump into her somewhere someplace I'll wrangle an invitation to see the main house (again). She's a very sweet, very gracious lady that I've known for decades. I'm sure she'd be happy to invite me for tea and a tour.
Being that Huntlands is only about 3 miles from my place via the paved roads, and 6 to 8 miles via the various gravel roads, I'll let you guess which way I chose to go home. Suffice to say I arrived back with only 19% battery left, and dust on my bike chain.
Next time I'm going to take the spare battery with me...and be late for dinner. I'm sure everyone will understand.