Readytoride
Well-Known Member
- Region
- USA
- City
- Virginia
Halfway through a very relaxing, psych soothing 20 mile local gravel road ride loop where my neighbor G had said (when we started out) that she would just follow me whereever I wanted to ride - taking any and all pressure off her to make any direction decisions which was fine by me - that, by design because I'm always looking for some sort of adventure, even in my own backyard, we found ourselves facing this:
Deep enough to give pause, bubbling and running with a flooded creek's implied malevolent level of swiftness that gave my less adventurous neighbor pause, enough for her to say with very real concern, as we both looked at the logs someone had thrown into the floodwaters to show that it was indeed deep, that she thought we'd better retrace our route backwards and go another way. I took this shot and assured her it was both possible and passible, and that it would be an adventure. What's a ride without adventure? She gave me a look that clearly implied I was certifiably off my rocker, and said "Fine. You go first."
I stood for a moment, studying the glimpses of road bed I could discern under the rapid overflow to tell me where the shallower parts were, and out loud charted the best course for crossing the small flood, that being alongside the road edge. Then, as I launched my bike into the flood I had a change of mind and tried to thread a line right through the middle over what looked (under water) to be a swale. I would have (notice the past tense, please) been successful had my tires not bogged down in the deep silt and gravel, bringing me to an abrupt standstill several pedal rotations from dry land on the other side. It was a moment when you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the water had won and your feet were about to get soaked. I surrendered as my feet found the road under the flooded water, and turned around, laughing, to G.
"Don't go this way!" I called over my shoulder to her, still laughing as I slogged my way through the remaining creek overflow to the far side before turning to watch her tackle the flood. Bless her heart, she took the exact course I had suggested at the onset, and sailed through the rushing creek without missing a beat, water rising up in an impressively high splashing wave around her tires as she made it from shore to shore without putting a toe in the water. She landed on the other side, her bike drenched in spray, her feet wet from her pedals going into the water, the biggest grin on her face. Fear had been conquered. Elation had taken its place.
That'll show me next time to listen to my own advice now, won't it? Of course not.
We rode the rest of the way home, our feet wet, our hearts light, our conversation animated, and our bikes, somewhat splashed clean from the waters, back to gathering mud and grime from the wet roads.
Surprisingly, for a weekday and a relatively short mid afternoon ride, enroute we had encountered 7 other cyclists out enjoying our gravel roads, 2 of which were arriving in their car with bikes on the car rack to start riding even though the afternoon was already an hour away from becoming late afternoon. I'm guessing the unusual balmy temperature (55°F/12°c) and sunny skies had called to area cyclists, including three other neighbors, to come out for a ride before the cold weather once again put a stranglehold on our region. We were the only ebikes, but in our neck of the woods that invokes simply curiosity and admiration, not scorn. Gravel roads level the playing field for cyclists without the prejudice found on the paved road.
Tomorrow that flooded road will be rimmed in ice, the cold winter winds will commence to blow subfreezing temps, and the bikes will return to patiently waiting in the warm garage for the next balmy, sunny day to ride in seek of another adventure.
Gratuitous photo of the late afternoon sky on my way back to my farm after saying goodbye to G at her driveway a mile up the road.
Deep enough to give pause, bubbling and running with a flooded creek's implied malevolent level of swiftness that gave my less adventurous neighbor pause, enough for her to say with very real concern, as we both looked at the logs someone had thrown into the floodwaters to show that it was indeed deep, that she thought we'd better retrace our route backwards and go another way. I took this shot and assured her it was both possible and passible, and that it would be an adventure. What's a ride without adventure? She gave me a look that clearly implied I was certifiably off my rocker, and said "Fine. You go first."
I stood for a moment, studying the glimpses of road bed I could discern under the rapid overflow to tell me where the shallower parts were, and out loud charted the best course for crossing the small flood, that being alongside the road edge. Then, as I launched my bike into the flood I had a change of mind and tried to thread a line right through the middle over what looked (under water) to be a swale. I would have (notice the past tense, please) been successful had my tires not bogged down in the deep silt and gravel, bringing me to an abrupt standstill several pedal rotations from dry land on the other side. It was a moment when you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the water had won and your feet were about to get soaked. I surrendered as my feet found the road under the flooded water, and turned around, laughing, to G.
"Don't go this way!" I called over my shoulder to her, still laughing as I slogged my way through the remaining creek overflow to the far side before turning to watch her tackle the flood. Bless her heart, she took the exact course I had suggested at the onset, and sailed through the rushing creek without missing a beat, water rising up in an impressively high splashing wave around her tires as she made it from shore to shore without putting a toe in the water. She landed on the other side, her bike drenched in spray, her feet wet from her pedals going into the water, the biggest grin on her face. Fear had been conquered. Elation had taken its place.
That'll show me next time to listen to my own advice now, won't it? Of course not.
We rode the rest of the way home, our feet wet, our hearts light, our conversation animated, and our bikes, somewhat splashed clean from the waters, back to gathering mud and grime from the wet roads.
Surprisingly, for a weekday and a relatively short mid afternoon ride, enroute we had encountered 7 other cyclists out enjoying our gravel roads, 2 of which were arriving in their car with bikes on the car rack to start riding even though the afternoon was already an hour away from becoming late afternoon. I'm guessing the unusual balmy temperature (55°F/12°c) and sunny skies had called to area cyclists, including three other neighbors, to come out for a ride before the cold weather once again put a stranglehold on our region. We were the only ebikes, but in our neck of the woods that invokes simply curiosity and admiration, not scorn. Gravel roads level the playing field for cyclists without the prejudice found on the paved road.
Tomorrow that flooded road will be rimmed in ice, the cold winter winds will commence to blow subfreezing temps, and the bikes will return to patiently waiting in the warm garage for the next balmy, sunny day to ride in seek of another adventure.
Gratuitous photo of the late afternoon sky on my way back to my farm after saying goodbye to G at her driveway a mile up the road.
Last edited:
. Even these elk were pasted against the side of the mountain taking shelter.
…er I mean handlebars. - lol!
