It's funny how the threat of impending bad weather tends to be a compelling jumpstart to get in one last quick ride before the probability of any ride at all tumbles right into the gutter.
Our extended weekend weather here in Virginia had been surprisingly warm these past few days. A boon to anyone with a bike, electric or not, if one were to judge the plethora of bikes zooming down our local roads. It also helps if one is not faced with a suddenly critical list of "before the snow hits" barn and farm projects that rudely shoved their way first into the priority line-up. As in: "these have to be done now, no excuses. We have a winter storm coming."
Saturday turned out to be a disappointment as far as warmth was concerned. It only managed to squeeze the thermometer up to the high 50s (f)(12°c) which was not as favorable for a bike ride as I desired, so I didn't feel bad tackling the project list (and getting a far amount of It done). Sunday, on the other hand, was awesome. Colbolt blue skies, temps in the middle 60s(f)(18°c), calm, clear, and sunny. The afternoon was icing on the cake, weather so perfect I could actually hear the bikes in the garage crying out to me to ride them. I was standing facing a flatbed trailer loaded with 75 bales of summer hay, the same hay I had off-loaded and stacked in my neighbor's barn for storage this spring. This was my second mind numbing load in as many days, a heavy repetitive manual lift-and-stack job of 50lb hay bales onto the trailer that were then moved and restacked in my barn at home. Even on the best of days this work is exhausting. My husband, bless his heart (because he was busy with a non-backbreaking job other than this one) said (for the third or fourth time, can't remember exactly) that I should just go for my ride. All this (waving his hand in the direction of the packed trailer) can wait, he said. Go. Ride.
So I did.
In no time at all the critical list was left behind as the Vado and I escaped down the road headed south to enjoy 30 miles of exquisite skies, t-shirt summer weather, and beautiful roads that cruised through rural landscapes surrounded by stunning mountain backdrops worthy of inspired poetry and timeless ballads.
The Christmas themed decorations were in abundance everywhere enroute. Estate entryways did not disappoint, even in this awful soul decimating pandemic, to project a bit of cheer in tastefully hung wreaths on forbidding gates, and pillar statuary outfitted in bright red Santa hats and bows. It was fun to see how each landowner dressed up their entryway in tune with the season.
I had not been the only one pushed by the gorgeous weather to complete farm chores just a day ahead of rain and then a forecasted snow storm. On both sides of the road at one point heavy farm machinery raced against time and each other to cut the last fields of the fall corn, and final baling of hay, before the fields were too wet, or too covered with snow, to be harvested.
The busy farmers reminded me of my own barn work awaiting me at home, but those thoughts were quickly dispersed as a lovely gravel road led the way onto a pathway through more fields and woodlands and blissful solitude.
Only one vehicle passed me the entire 5 miles of gravel road - a county deputy who graciously pulled off the side of the road to give me the lane all to myself. He gave me the biggest grin and a friendly wave back to my holler of "Merry Christmas, deputy!" as I zipped past with a happy grin and carefree wave of my own. A lone cyclist passed me the opposite way a mile or so later, sharing greetings as he slowly labored up the hilly road while I effortlessly flew past taking full advantage of the downhill and Newton's law of gravity.
As if in response to my joyous mood, the sky turned bluer, the air warmed up a few degrees, and the world just put on a brighter face. And off in the distance I heard, with delight, the distinct roar of a massive train engine and the clickity-clack of railroad cars trundling down the tracks. The gravel road ended just in front of the old railroad bed and I was thrilled to stop and watch a train going by, getting up close to the tracks to see the railroad ties sinking and rising under the weight of each passing railcar, the noise of the passing roaring in my ears as car after car after car clanked and clunked and rattled past me only a few feet from where I was standing, a conga line of colorful and inventive graffiti embellished cargo cars hurrying past in a jerking, swaying coupled file line doing its level best to keep up with a thundering engine now far out of view past the bend, but not out of earshot. I felt like a kid again, unencumbered by handrails and enforced distancing, standing this close to the monstrous machinery rattling past my nose. It was awesome!
I hopped back on my bike and gleefully raced the train down the road, just to see how fast it was going. We matched pace at 25mph before I ran out of road and was forced to stop to watch the final railcars bump and grind their way down the track, crossing over the main highway just beyond where traffic obediently waited behind a lowered steel bar decorated with flashing red warning lights until the train had safely passed.
I had run out of road at this old junction and so turned back north on the adjacent road to follow the paved byway as it wound it's way through more countryside, past more fields and woodlands, and a winery here and there. One winery had multiple canopy tents set up on their spacious lawns, pristine white tents modestly spaced apart, a nod if there ever was one, to the necessities of social distancing in the time of a pandemic. No more would visitors gather together, celebratory comrades standing shoulder to shoulder in the tasting room to revel in the current vintage. At least not for the time being. Tasting was now a less jostled affair, more sublime, more cultured, a more personal experience served by a masked attendant in a private setting. I wondered if that new normal would remain once the pandemic became history.
Pastures and open land returned as the woodlands receeded, and soon I was crossing the main highway linking Washington DC in the east to points west.
I was back in my own county now, a mere few miles from home. I debated extending my ride, but the jovial atmosphere of the warm day had cooled and diminished somewhat as it looked over its shoulder in concern to the approaching weatherfront of cold and rain. I stopped for a few more photos, reluctant to concede to the dropping temps. I still had a few more holiday decked estate entryways to admire, a few more carefree miles on the gravel roads to enjoy, a few more moments of cycling bliss to capture on this lovely day before the weather went all to hell in a handbasket.
So I took my time riding home, savoring the day, stopping to examine a "stream and wetlands mitigation" project on a local farm, looking in amazement at the carefully engineered "newly constructed at the cost of millions of dollars" stream bed with its practiced and precise choreography of mathematically correct bends flanked by a uncompromising guard of black vinyl sheeting to ensure the flowing water did not put one drop out of place, then looking in comparison to the Mother Nature created stream bed on the opposite side of the road where the restricted waterways would find their release with a sigh of happiness in tumbling over rocks that have been left in place for decades.
I was now a mile from home, a quiet, gentle mile, a mile that let me breath the last of the warm air now rapidly cooling, enjoy the last glimpses of the blue sky now turning to white as the clouds moved in like ushers at a theater hurrying people along to get the place ready for the next big event.
I still had 75 bales of hay to unload and stack, and multiple other projects to rush to completion, but all in all I would count this day as one that was worthy of a bike ride, worthy of being savored. Especially in light of the projected foot of snow and the coming freezing weather. The last hurrah of summer in winter.
Done!
probably tomorrow! I had the back roads to myself today which made it even more enjoyable, not the most scenic route but it sure made me happy after a dismal spell of weather!
