Going Halfway and Back, Pristine Vineyards, and The Magic Number
Sometimes there are just not enough hours in the day to get everything done, so halfway just has to suffice.
But when your destination is Halfway, the time you spend getting there and back can be so rewarding. Even when little interruptions happen along the way.
Work around the farm demands some catching up while the weather is good, so stealing time away to do frivolous stuff, like napping or riding a bike, has to be carefully planned not to disrupt the flow of getting things accomplished on the To Do List.
So early enough in the morning, with aimless relaxed breezes that had yet to read the memo that they will be promoted to official "headwind status" by noon, appeared to be the best time for my last bike ride for the next few days (due to a full schedule of "very important stuff" that needed to be attended to).
Since my neighbor and I did a 23 mile gravel road ride yesterday, and barely managed to finish still breathing due to all the dust kicked up by way too many cars out enjoying a Sunday drive on the rural roads, we both had decided that we were going to stick to the paved roads until it rained enough to dampen the dust. She was busy today with her To Do List, so it was just my Vado and myself heading out for a nice circular ride below Middleburg.
While Middleburg is known as "Hunt County USA" for the overabundance of horses, breeding farms, foxhunts, and wealthy landowners going back centuries, this area has just recently, within the last 15 years, found a new nitch to exploit for tourism dollars - namely, wineries. Fields that used to house Thoroughbreds and purebred cattle now cater to thin vines all growing in strategic "military parade" rows of unparalled precision. Fiercely protected by 10' high wire fencing to ward off deer (those short tailed 4 legged pests that are determined to ruin both farmer's crops, expensive shrubbery, and unwitting automobiles in equal proportions), I found it highly amusing to see - while taking the photo above - an opportunist doe that had managed to breach the barricades and was happily engaged in eating the very fresh and well fertilized grass between the rows of very expensive and very cultured grape vines. Just how long she was going to manage to live the good life, before ending up as venison once the vineyards staff laid eyes on her, and got her within their rifle sights, was up to how enterprising she was at remaining hidden. Not being very smart to let me see her, she realized her error and slipped away before I could zoom in and take a snapshot of her.
Back on the bike and heading further south I had decided to stick to the main road and just enjoy the rolling scenery and terrain. Traffic is normally very light on this road, and today was no exception. I think I had a grand total of 4 motorists pass me the entire 5 miles to Halfway.
In a prior posting I had explained that Halfway has been thus named for being the road distance halfway between Middleburg and The Plains. It was not a town, not a village, not even a crossroads. In short it was a simple place marker with two or three houses built at varying distance from the road, a derelict building or two that may have been a service station or store sometime in the very distant past, much too long ago for anyone to really remember clearly.
But it had its own sign on the road, and thus was photoworthy enough for the Vado to do some posing.
Just beyond Halfway was my own halfway point, jumping off the main road to swing back towards home on an "unimproved" paved road which meant a slightly rougher surface, and no guide lines, but with terrific views of the Bull Run Mountains, and virtually traffic free.
Again, in a prior post I had waxed poetic on this incredibly lovely, almost private byway (for lack of traffic and shoulder-to-shoulder huge, showy horse farms and estates), and today was just as beautiful as the first time I biked this road....except... I had a small problem. Actually two small problems. No, make that three small problems, although the first one, at the beginning of my ride, had fortuitously been resolved. Allow me to digress to the first incident.
Somehow I had, upon leaving my driveway and heading up the first hill, managed to not turn on my bike correctly. At least I'm assuming I was the cause. My normally swift bike began lugging up the hill like an old Schwinn beach bike. We're talking heavy, lackluster, and zero pep. Confused, I powered the bike up to mid assist, then max assist. And got nothing but a dispirited bike continuing to lug up the hill, powered only by my legs. I looked at my ride display and saw all the lights happily lit, as if nothing was wrong. But something sure was. The motor was as silent as a grave.
I turned the bike around and let it float down to the bottom of the hill, and stopped to check that everything was working. Yes, everything was, and all lights were lit and on the job...except the motor. The motor was, for all intents and purposes, dead.
Now, being an old computer geek and web designer, the number one mantra for all things electronic that aren't working as they should, is to reboot. Turn everything off, and turn it back on again.
So I did. And lo and behold, the motor immediately engaged in concert with all the other electronics as if nothing had been wrong, its death had been merely a prank, and all was right with the world.
I should have taken that as a warning. Nothing ever happens as a single event. Disasters, pranks included, always come in threes. The magic number.
So, back to the present I have now noticed I had the aforementioned next issue arise, quite unexpectedly, in the guise of a squeaky right pedal. Not a continuious squeak, mind you, but a very annoying, rather loud, intermittent, teeth grinding sound that just came and went at its own pleasure.
Squeak, squeak, squeak, [silence silence, silence] squeak, squeak, squeak.
Then, not to be outdone, the third incident jumped in to add a weird, untraceable rattle somewhere around my front wheel/stem/handlebar.
I sounded like a one man band pedaling down the road.
Squeak, squeak, rattle-rattle, squeak, [silence rattle, silence] squeak, rattle squeak, squeak rattle-rattle.
I still had 13 miles left to ride, and knew, especially as I was now adding vocals of the "colorful" variety to the rattle/squeak racket, that I would never make it home before I either fixed both vastly irritating problems, or tossed the bike in the nearest creek.
I stopped at a very interesting old building next to the road to take some pictures - and calm my ire. I figured that if I had something to take my mind off the noise my bike was happily engaged in broadcasting, the urge to kill would subside until I could locate the rattle, and figure out how to deal with the pedal squeak.
Here is the pictures of this old building. If anyone can figure out what that weird concrete tank/subground storage container down the slope near the stream was for, I'd love to hear your ideas. The stone building gave no clue as to its original purpose, and just rudely shouted, by virtue of too many "No Trespassing " signs plastered on the boards covering every entryway front and back, that I wasn't wanted and to go away.
Actually, stopping to take the pictures was extremely fortunate as I was on a slope and was slow getting started up the road when I noticed that my (fairly new) phone holder was tilted a strange angle and seemed to be wobbling. I touched it to readjust it, and to my horror the holder's stem abruptly broke, and my phone took a downward tumble straight to the tarmac. I tried to grab it since the charging cord was still plugged in, holding the phone briefly on a tenuous lifeline. But I wasn't fast enough and the cord released the phone to plummet in a free fall right to the pavement. Face down, of course.
I leaped off the bike, kicked down the kickstand, and ran back to retrieve my phone. Wouldn't you know that there was actually a car, a very rare beast on this road, right behind me. He was stopped (he had to because I had my bike parked center of the road, on a hill, in a semi-blind curve), and I could feel the invisible mental waves of "oh, no!" emanating through his windshield. Maybe it was for my poor phone, or maybe for the lively string of words worthy of a sailor on shore leave bouncing off the trees, but as soon as I picked up the phone and saw it was perfectly fine, thanks to a great cover and the broken holder's soft plastic spiderweb grips around the edge of the phone, I gave the patient driver a relieved thumbs up, and moved my bike off the road so that he could continue.
That was the rattle sound, folks. The newish 3 week old holder in the process of breaking. Now, for some odd reason I had fortunately tucked the old phone holder in my panniers and had been carrying it around for the past week or so. As the pieces of the broken holder were tossed in the pannier, the old holder was retrieved and reinstalled back to the place of honor on the handlebar. The phone was set back in place, and the charging cord plugged back in.
Two issues resolved. One to go.
2 miles further I was within spitting distance of Middleburg, and the squeak was getting more obnoxious by the second. So as soon as I entered the town I made a quick right onto a side road, and pedaled about 100 feet to the repair shop of my mechanic, Matt. We have known each other for decades, nigh on 30 years, back when neither of us had gray hair, unlike now. Everyone, and I mean this seriously, everyone in Middleburg adores the guy. He can fix any car, any truck, and does it all with the gentlest, sweetest, most calming smile and manners anywhere. Without a doubt he is the Best. Mechanic. Ever.
I pulled in, called out for him, and as he popped up out from under a car in for repair, I asked if he had any spray lube. He said yes and his helper, Rick, immediately went and grabbed a can. Neither asked me what it was for - they just trusted that I needed it or I wouldn't have asked. I gave the contact points of the pedal's spindle a quick shot of the spray lube, and ... voilà! The squeak was gone!
The third - and hopefully last, if the magic number is to be trusted - incident had been resolved.
Of course my appearance to the shop on my bike led to both gentlemen asking copious questions about the electric bike, and to really look it over. Rick was looking for a better way to travel the 7 miles to work each day, and he was super interested in every feature of the Vado. They both finally had to get back to work, but I will stop in later this week with some electric bike literature for Rick.
The final miles home were cycled in blissfull silence, the motor humming so softly under me I could barely hear it even though I could feel it's strong effortless power, the pedal completely silent as it turned rhythmically, just it should, and my old phone carrier doing an outstanding job in not only capably carrying my phone on the handbar, but doing so without a peep or a rattle.
It was heaven.
And as if the day was apologizing for my suffering three bicycle trials and tribulations during my ride, here is what I'm enjoying right now... a sunset that is simply ....magic.
