They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Well, maybe. But when it comes to ebikes vs. a non-ebike, you can easily sum up a description with a few captions digitally slapped on the picture. Like this:
See? Doesn't take a thousand words. Just a few strategically placed ones.
However, I can add that the ride yesterday with
@jabberwocky (hereinafter referred to as "J") and his lovely, fun wife (whom we shall call "Mrs. J" in this rendition) was exceptional once again. Perfect jacket weather - two jackets for me, one for Mrs. J, and only t-shirt for J who must have a thicker hide than the two ladies to not feel the chilly air. J probably had no need of a jacket as he, alone, would be on an analog bike which was bound to help him work up a healthy sweat, especially on the lovely roller coaster route I had planned.
Suffice to say that conversation filled our scenic ride along the gravel roads of southwestern Loudoun County, so not too many photographs were taken except when we stopped to regroup. (J did get some nice photos so hopefully he'll share them in a following post). Mrs. J and I have the same riding style, so we found ourselves riding most often side by side, chatting, while J got his kicks and giggles in hilariously zooming between us going downhill like a kid just let out from school. Mrs. J and I both stand in awe of anyone that can rocket down a gravel road hill with complete abandon. We are more the "brake in the downhills and rocket the uphills" personality types.
And this 26 mile route gave all of us ample opportunity to find that bliss.
Mrs. J above, and R2R below, at the Beaverdamn low water bridge crossing. When the creek floods the waters overrun the roads sometimes close to a foot deep.
We also found that getting your feet wet halfway through the ride by crossing a creek ford when the temps hover in the chilly range means your toes turn to blocks of ice pretty quickly just moments later. I had honestly thought the creek would be reduced in width because of the lack of rain recently. Nope. It was just as wide as always, and just as deep - my feet being the first to tell me that when the silt and sand swale bogged my wheels down just a few feet from the other side, forcing me to ignominiously walk my bike the rest of the way. J bombed right through the water, of course, making huge waves and having a blast. Easy peazy on an analog bike where water is no object. Mrs. J capabibly handled the creek with both ease and grace, pedaling through on the underwater swale without breaking stride to show us how it should be done. Of course, once on dry land on the opposite side I was treated to the engaging and very funny story of how she had first handled crossing this creek on the electric bike, going full tilt into the big underwater hole in the center which, by virtue of the sheer volume of water and depth of the hole, brought her to a complete stop whereby she slowly tipped over, submerging both herself and J's ebike. J claimed he was sure the ebike floated for a second before going under. The bike, to no ones surprise, was obviously astonished at the unexpected dunking and thus miffed enough to refuse to turn itself back after its rescue back to dry land. J said the bike wouldn't turn on until it had dried out the next day. So Mrs. J was forced to do the "walk of shame" up the hill to where she and J had parked their car.
Riding through water, like snow, is a great opportunity to garner memorable stories.
The day was rapidly getting chiller and chiller by the time we summited the last hill for home. Mrs. J and I were (once again) waiting for J to slog up the final short but viciously steep hill when an elderly neighbor driving past in his exhausted old work pickup stopped to tell us ladies how impressed he was that we had ridden "all this way" from where he had seen us first about 15 miles down the road. I thought that was sweet of him that he got a kick out of seeing us twice so many miles apart, especially ending up in his neighborhood. I have never contemplated what people think of a cyclist when they see us at one spot, and then later at another a significant distance apart. Crazy? Yes, acording the the scruffy old gentleman in the tired pickup, although he wasn't going to call us crazy until I freely announced the title first. But he sure was thinking it, he laughed, before heading his truck down the gravel hill in a rattle of loose farm equipment in the bed and a cloud of exhaust.
By then J had crested the hill, and we made the final downhill back to my farm for a final photo op before hustling to get the bikes loaded and into someplace warm (them in their car to head home with the heater on, and me into the house for dry socks) because our feet were FROZEN. Next time I'm carrying extra socks to put on after I cross that creek.
Next time we'll head south to enjoy my favorite route in Fauquier County....weather gods permitting of course. This coming week will see us bundling up for colder weather for sure.
