Country Roads, The Heat is On, and Almost Heaven (northwest) Virginia
Summer has arrived here in northern (western) Virginia, the last day of our county's Phase 0 mandates for the corona virus. It was time to boogie down the road on the bike before everyone flung open the garage doors and reved up their cars to crowd the roads in gleeful freedom once again.
As it was, I was one of just many who got out on anything that moved - two wheel, three wheel, four hooves, or four tires. The main roads took the brunt of the gas guzzlers flying down the blacktop in an effort to shake off the dust of 3 months of idleness. The country roads, however, were privy to provide the entertainment for the cyclists searching for peace and quiet...and miles.
We were lucky to have had some fierce, cleansing thunderstorms last night to shower the countryside clean as a whistle. Summer, now freshly cleaned and ready for the day, dressed herself in a smart ensemble of deep leafy green fields and trees, and blossoming native perennials.
Once again, my Vado and I headed south, searching for miles before the heat steamrolled in to chase us back home. It is, after all, the start of June in Virginia. A time of overhead fans turn on high, late dinners at night on the deck with the fireflies lightening up the surrounding fields and woods, and yards and streets, A.C. units being employed 24/7, and bike rides started early enough in the cool morning to outsmart the inevitable afternoon heat and humidity.
Down in Middleburg, just 8 miles south into my ride, the town is busy fussing and primping and pulling out all the stops to be ready for the tourists to return this weekend. Outdoor tables and chairs with colorful overhead umbrellas had been given their own special accommodations on the sidewalks in front of the many eating establishments and, in a few cases, the outdoor dining had ursurped the street parking spaces as well. There was an tangible air of excitement about the place, an eagerness to put the past "unpleasantness" behind it, and welcome back the visitors coming to see the venerable, wealthy old town in all its glory.
Just beyond town the counties shook hands as the one departed after releasing the back roads to the other. The stores and civilized town buildings gave way to woodlands, grassy road shoulders, and native wildflowers in color coordinated Summer whites, yellows and pinks. The roads themselves were a watercolor study in grays and black, the dappled shade almost midnight in comparison to the blazing white sun overhead. The trees were heavensent, smugly confident in their ability to "throw shade" wherever they wished from the overabundance of freshly laundered leaves weighing down their branches and limbs.
I greatly appreciated the coolness they created, as well as the utter peace of the road itself. In the 7 or so miles I cycled along, enjoying the breathtaking scenery, only one car passed me going my way, and one passed me going the opposite way. It was a cyclist's dream come true, and I will happily admit I was living it.
At about 16 miles the woodlands, mountains, and fields of the road were handed over to another road, this one a bit faster and less inclined to dawdle along sightseeing. But I had only a quarter mile to push the Vado close to maximum before my route turned off onto a gravel road that was as sweet as could be found any where in the Commonwealth. Or in the entire USA, for that matter. 3 miles of bliss, on a perfect late morning in early summer.
Now, this same gravel road, and same route, for that matter, had been the subject of a story I had started for the 40 mile ride I took here on Memorial Day last weekend. It began as an epic story and grew until it became an epic novel. You see, this same road was very much part of my foxhunting past 25 years ago, and even writing for a full week I had yet to finish. The hilarious stories, the fun and craziness of those youthful years had greeted me with a rush and a group hug like that of an old high school pack of friends. It was pretty overwhelming to hear those familiar old voices, all eager to rehash the tales of the past with much embellishment and jocular winks, and I barely remember the three miles of the road for the misting in my eyes. Luckily my Vado paid attention and got us safely to the end, because I was too completely lost in the arms and comradarie of past to see the here and now.
At some point I will finish the story, as it is a beautiful piece of writing .
I had not been sure if I could ride this road again after such an intense encounter as last week, but fortunately today the voices, having had their fun with me and our collective memories last weekend, were off somewhere else and this time I rode by myself, able to study the long ago familiar and the new that presented themselves along the way. The old byway hugged the nearby woods so closely that it pulled the tree shadows like a thick blanket right over the road bed. It was amazing I could see anything at all.
Even as the old road emerged briefly into the sunlight to pause at a busy modern road bisecting the bucolic landscape, and then crossed over to continue on its way redressed as a paved road this time, the woods kept in close contact, delivering a wonderful coolness as my bike and I continued West now. There was no doubt this road would be joining the other favorite roads in my collection. It was indeed a stunningly gorgeous route, perfect for anyone who loved cycling peaceful paved roads. Even stopping to eat a snack and gaze across the open pasture lands towards the familiar mountains in the distance was a delightful interlude shared with just the birds, bees, roadside foliage, and the cattle reclining under the big tree nearby.
By now my bike and I were heading onto more familiar country roads, and started seeing many more cyclists out enjoying the day as well. I had stopped at the top of a hill to take a photo of something else when a cyclist startled me, whizzing past with a windblown greeting. I turned my camera to catch his fleeing image just crossing the bottom of the bridge and realized my photo had just captured another cyclist making her way up the slope.
With the plethora of cyclists and motorcycles that now joined me in celebrating the pretty day, I had plenty of two wheeled company to exchange waves of greeting the rest of the way home, including one peloton of 11 cyclists on my home gravel road, passing me within hollaring distance from my driveway. I was astonished that they were bombing down my road's one big hill - all skinny guys on skinny bikes with super skinny tires, all wearing colorful lycra and big smiles, the leader who let loose a rousing "Woo hoo!" to me in greeting as he raced past with every following rider, all 11 of them, giving me a smiling social distance high 5.
Wish I could have raced after them to thank them because they were an awesome way to end my ride.
Now back home, sitting in the Summer Room with the overhead fan going, dogs stretched out comatose on the decking, the Vado tucked in the garage sipping electrons, hubby asleep in his reclining chair after putting in many miles of mowing this morning, and my prior story from Memorial Day's ride laid out in front of me, waiting for the finishing memories to be put into elegant, memoriable prose.
Maybe after my nap I'll finish.