I did not intend to ride 32 miles. I intended to ride just 20. Guess my impulsive nature got to call the shots today, specifically because it argued with the logic of a high priced lawyer that the coming bad weather was going to keep me out of the saddle for a few days, so I would be advised to pack as many miles in today as possible.
How was I to argue with that logic?
I did, to be honest, start out as if 20 miles was the goal. To that end I decided to cruise south and then east on the gravel roads towards the town of St. Louis, and then loop back home.
Most of the early miles were scenic gravel roads, resplendent with deep green grass, fat cattle, purple mountains in the background, and skies looking like they had been painted by Bob Ross. It was pleasantly warm, in the high 50°f, but not too warm to risk removing the cycling jacket yet.
I was especially intrigued by an ageless oak tree that seemed eager to tell wonderful stories of history from centuries past ... if only someone would stop to listen. I, as all humans are, was too busy to sit and listen, but I did promise the tree that I would return and rest a spell once its leaves had budded forth. It's a promise I intend to keep.
At 10 miles I came to a crossroad, both physically and mentally. Turn left and go home. Turn right and go somewhere I'd never ridden before on a bike.
I sat and debated for two seconds, urged by my impulses to turn right to explore a paved road that might be great for my soon-to-arrive new ebike, as well as grab some more miles before the sunny warm window overhead closed in 2 hours from now with the advance of a cold front bringing more rain which we did not need.
The impulses won the coin toss. Right, it was. Directly onto a roller coaster ride of a paved road heading straight into Middleburg, VA - the foxhunting capital of the world.
At one point the road spanned part of the 54 mile long Potomac River tributary known as Goose Creek. The old stone bridge stantions over the creek still remained, long after the wooden bridge itself had washed away in a storm, a testimony of stones time and persistence in the face of slow yet relentless decay. It was nice to see the stone structures still standing tall, a reminder of more placid days, of horse drawn carriages trotting over the long disappeared wooden bridge, the hunt riding out from their kennels just a few hundred yards up the road, the hounds trotting over the bridge right behind the huntsman in an obedient group under the watchful eyes of the whips. Echoes of the past that can only be heard in the silence of the woods surrounding the quietly flowing creek below.
The road rose up and down as I continued south into Middleburg, passing beautiful estates along the way. The extreme downhill were such fun, even as I knew in the back of my mind that the return would be more work and less fun. The road had been resurfaced a year or so back, and made the going as smooth as glass.
I stopped just a mile outside of Middleburg to take a photo of my bike at Glenwood Park (1911).
This several hundred acres of equine recreational land for steeplechases and foxhunting was given as a "gift to all Virginians" by a Master of Middleburg Hunt, Daniel C. Sands, in 1911.
At one time the sign proudly proclaimed his gift, but over the decades a hedge was planted in front of the sign and then was clipped and shaped to cover the "gift" words. Year after year, whenever I passed by the park, I always felt bad that Dr. Sand's words were deliberately obscured, as if his contribution of this land was no longer important. Today I looked behind the sign to see if the obscured gift pronouncement was still there. It wasn't. Sometimes in the past that part of the sign had been removed. Dr. Sand's name may have been scrubbed from the sign, and his generosity forgotten, but there are still steeplechases held here in the spring and fall, and one of the races is named in Sands honor.
From the book "The Hunt County of America" pub .1967
Steeplechases at Glenwood Park 1930s
From Glenwood Park to Middleburg itself was a swift, giddy zoom down the descending paved road that dropped me right into the middle of this historic downtown. Many of the main buildings were first raised in the 1720's, 50 years before the Revolutionary War.
Everything in Middleburg is devoted to the chase. Everything. Even their town logo is a running fox. Everywhere you look the fox reigns supreme. You can't get away from it...nor do you want to. It infuses the charm of the village and its unique place in the history of Virginia and the nation as a whole.
[The Middleburg Christmas Parade marches up the main street (Rt. 50) of Middleburg every December. The parade is always "opened" by Middleburg Hunt that morning, while the floats and etc commence later at noon. Huntsman is center, whips to the sides, and the Field (foxhunters) follow. The hunt then goes off into the countryside for a day of hunting. I was part of the Field one year (when it wasn't snowing) and got a first hand experience of the rolling countryside at a gallop over some really BIG fences that made the roller coaster paved road into Middleburg seem flat as a pancake.]
Enough about the hunt. Back to the bike ride of 4/14/2020...
The Red Fox Inn boasts a prize corner on the main intersection of the road heading east to Washington DC, and a proud brass National Register of Historic Places plaque on the exterior. As old as the town itself, the Inn had been a favorite dining establishment, but now was closed by the virus scourge that was shuttering so many of our historic buildings.
The traffic through the town, once busy and non stop, mostly of visitors from the DC area coming out to see how the better half lived, was now close to zero. With all the restaurants, museums, and clothing stores closed, there was precious little to tour left in the town. I did see a Tesla pull up to the light, and I gave the driver a thumbs up. He smiled back at me, then gave me a thumbs up when I pantomimed that my bike was also an electric vehicle.
As there was little to do around the locked down town, and since I was very familiar already with the town, I opted to head back north, back to the "decision corner" to see where I wanted to go next. Truth be told, I wasn't quite ready to return home, so opted to continue West and get back on the gravel roads. Back to where time slows down, where nature cozies up to the edges of the roads, and where springtime takes on the vibrant colors of purple, pink and white.
Of all the harbingers of Spring, the redbud tree stands supreme in the Virginia countryside. When the redbuds bud, and the dogwoods dress in white and pink splendor, one knows that springtime has surely arrived.
A new chicken coop (hunt jump fence) destined to be painted black to match the board fence. Guess the spray painted reminder was to prevent that task from being ignored.
My roundabout route home took me down one of my favorite "road closed" roads (which it really isn't- VDOT just keeps forgetting to pick up their signs from 3 months ago when they repaired the road) to see how much of the creek spillover from the rainstorm last night (which dumped 1" of rain on the countryside while it produced damaging tornadoes in the South) had covered the road. It looked shallow enough to cross without concern, yet wide enough to offer a bit of fun. So after taking this shot I maneuvered the bike closer to the stream and got ready to hop on.
Unfortunately, my left foot didn't get the message clearly, and slipped off the pedal just as the bike entered into the water. My foot did a splashdown worthy of an Apollo spacecraft hitting the ocean, and my entire shoe went completely underwater. As I gasped at the cold water instantly swirling around/inside my shoe and sock my right foot decided it wanted to join the fun and promptly slid off its pedal making a second, equally energetic splashdown into the cold stream.
Now I had not just one wet foot, but two. At that point it seemed rather ridiculous to ride the bike across the water, so I slogged across instead. Not a big deal as I was only a few miles from home and the air was still somewhat warm. I mounted up, waterlogged feet on the pedals, and merrily rode the final miles home, waving hello to everyone I saw as I passed by - a county deputy, several motorists, several walkers and 4 other cyclists. No way was I going to be anything but happy for such a lovely day and a lovely ride.
By the time I reached home my battery indicator light was glowing red - a sure sign that I was down to my last electrons. All those fun up and down roller coaster hills, and high assists, dined on that battery like a hungry crowd at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I arrived home with 7% left, which my controller dutifully translated to 6 miles remaining. Not a lot to spare, that's for sure.
I was glad to be home. And glad I had indulged my impulsive side to explore just a little further afield than planned. It make the afternoon a memorable one.
As I sit writing this, the rain is pouring down outside, and the temps have dropped to 36°f. They are calling for snow flurries tonight.
Hard name indeed. "Strzelecki" would be hopeless as well...
