Well, I got in my planned 40 miles ride today. Woo-hoo!
Official stats:
- temps at 63°f, overcast skies, no wind.
- 40.17 miles ridden, 80% gravel roads, 20% paved.
- time: 4 hrs 18 min 33sec.
- Average speed 9.3 (because I didn't bother to pause the GPS when I stopped enroute to talk to several people and pet their dogs)
- 1,467' elevation gain
- 1.1k calories expended (yeah, that's debatable).
- level 3 used 60% of time, level 5 used 40%.
- gears used: 3 through 8 (8 gear internal hub)
- two 400w batteries carried. First battery drained down to red light status ( 20% or 8 miles left), swapped out at 34 miles. Second battery used 20% for remaining 6 miles (which were very hilly in spots and I used 5th level of assist for almost all those miles). So I used 400w for the 40 miles which comes out to 10w per mile.
Obligatory pic:
Background story: at 6.5 miles into the ride I reached what is known as a "low water crossing" - a bridge elevated just enough to be a dry crossing the majority of the time. I was not expecting what I found - which was the creek flowing over the road bed and forming a nice little waterfall on the far side. It was just shallow enough to drive through and not get the motor wet. That won't be the case in the next two days as we're expecting 3 inches of rainfall. I'm sure the entire road bed will be flooded again (the nearby tree was courtesy of the flooding 3 days ago), and I'm sure the Dept of Transportation will be closing the road off until the water receeds.
2nd obligatory pic:
14 miles into the ride. VDOT (Virginia Dept of Transportation) wasn't kidding with this gravel road. Just beyond the bend was a car's worst nightmare- an impassable road for vehicles, navigable only by horses, bikes, and pedestrians with tall wading boots. I managed to make it through, but at one point did have the water midway up the motor, and my feet in the water while pedaling. Freaked me out for a few miles, worrying about the motor, but it wasn't bothered in the least.
Obligatory story: Here goes. It's a long one (naturally).
Great weather and epic cycling adventures should, by default, go hand in hand. In my case it was weird winter weather dressed as springtime and a one day timeslot between cold fronts and endless rain. I had one day, one day only, to jump into a quickly planned 40 mile loop exploration of some historic old gravel roads in my area.
As typical in this day and age, the day began with a text to a friend. "Are you biking today?" Being 100 miles distant, we mutually share our rides in digital form. She had planned on riding with her club that morning, but woke up to drizzle and rain, so (she texted back) had turned off the alarm and went back to bed. That was a big nope.
I, however, in my neck of the woods, still had yet to see any rain, although the low hanging skies were one solid palate of abysmal gray. The radar app on my phone promised a few hours of rain free riding, but warned me to get a move on. I strapped my rain gear to the bike as backup insurance, loaded the water bottles and extra battery, said goodbye to poor hubby who had taken up residence on the sofa with warm blankets and lots of fluids to nurse a budding cold, and set my compass east.
Lots of gravel roads, lots of new rural scenery. Lots of peace and quiet and gentle riding.
The first half mile was pleasant. Paved road. Completely uneventful. Then the road turned to gravel ... right where the county had decided to groom less than a hour ago, laying down a rather thick coating of new gravel that was more stonedust than rock. Like deep sand. Quicksand gravel. My ride almost came to an abrupt end as my bike immediately took umbrage. It did not like that new gravel. Not one iota. It slipped and slid, trying to stay upright and moving forward while I white-knuckled the handlebars with a death grip. We got through unscathed, thankful that the road crews had stopped their improvements after dumping only a few truckloads. I was already drenched in sweat.
Half mile ridden. 39.5 miles left to go.
My bike was molified as the old, smooth, well trodden gravel surface reemerged, and we enjoyed the next 6 miles surrounded by leafless woodlands and open pasturelands. Our route turned down one of the many "unimproved" (narrow and very old) roads - this one having a low water "bridge" (if you would even call it that as it was barely worth the term) that spanned a wide creek. Recent rains had pushed up the creek levels to the point where it scoffed at the so-called "bridge", the creek water running rough shod in a wide, crystal clear, swift moving stream over the road surface, spilling into a rather impressive waterfall on the opposite side. Fortunately, a quick inspection proved the stream was shallow enough for the bike to negotiate a crossing without preamble. And, crucially, without getting the motor wet.
A quick snapshot, a fun ride through the rushing water and not-so-much-fun traversing the former-road-now-a-muddy-bog on the receiving side, and we were back on solid gravel, now heading north.
A few miles of rolling dirt roads lead us into deep woods hiding several lovely estates and beautiful houses, before we were ignominiously
ejected out of the peaceful enclaves into displaced suburbia and its far more populated and noisy paved roads.
Still, the smooth paved going, after so many slower miles of gravel, delighted my bike and it quickly ramped up to speed knowing full well that our gravel road journey was soon to resume.
In no time at all we were back on the gravel roads, and at this point I unintentionally went off course, bypassing at least two miles of my route. When I realized my error I debated going back, but decided I could always add on extra road later on. Plus my radar app told me there was no room to dilly dally. The rain was still far enough away, but also still advancing.
So, to make up for the missed section of route, I chose another gravel road that provided the miles along with some more highwater adventure. Last month the road crews had been working on this old road, attempting to repair the damage from our many recent winter rainstorms. The recent rains, however, had completely negated all that hard work, sending creeks and water runoff cascading over and down sections of the road to the point where the exasperated county, unable to play catch-up, finally just put up a road closed sign. It wasn't worth fighting Mother Nature over the road. That would have to wait for better weather.
Now, of course, a road closed sign means zilch to a person on horseback, or a cyclist who isn't afraid of a bit of water (and possible bogs of sucking mud on either side). True to form, I greeted two very pleasant ladies on horseback walking up the road, having already successfully negotiated the closed portion, and being none the worse for the wear. They had made it through. So would I. But when I reached the closed portion, I did pause for a moment to assess my chances. The water flowing over the road was somewhat deep, fast, and quite expansive. If I threaded my way along the edge of the road I would spend less time in the water. It seemed like a good idea at the time. What I didn't know, and couldn't judge, was the depth of the water I had to cross.
I took my chances. And learned first hand what it feels like to have your bike dive into water deep enough that one's feet are actually underwater as one pedals through the overwash. It was both shocking to the senses as my feet were now soaked, thank you so very much, and panic-worthy regarding the electric motor which treated the entire incident with both professional and complete nonchalance.
The remaining mile of the road could have been a faithful recreation of a WWI battlefield. Deep narrow ravines full of rushing muddy water criss crossed the road, cutting like a knife through the gravel road bed into the substrate below. Deep bogs of gooey, nasty, wheel grabbing clay mud resided on the remainder of the road, a nightmare of slow advance where one had to carefully chose a zigzag course to cross without getting mired down. There was no gravel left on the road. It was solid, wet, clay mud. Both ditches on either side were full of rushing water, in one case being the only option if I didn't want my wheel caked with mud to the point where it couldn't rotate.
The bike and I finally reached the end of the road, exhausted. We were at 17 miles with 23 left to go.
The roads ahead, however, were more amiable, and the skies, while still glowering overhead and looking downright mean, were holding off any rain. I took the opportunity at one point to stop and give my poor sickly spouse a call to see how he was doing. One of the dogs was now sharing one end of the couch in sympathy, he said, oblivious as only a dog can be to all the hacking and coughing coming from the human occupied end. He had just had lunch and was wrapped up in multiple blankets, ready for another nap if his coughing would allow him. Poor baby. He was happy to hear from me, and that I was already halfway through my ride and having fun. I gave him a virtual over-the-airways pat of spousal concern, said my goodbyes as I told him to rest, and signed off with a promise of hot soup and sympathy when I got home.
I checked my apps, checked the radar- all good - mounted my bike and continued down the road.
I was heading south now, on a beautiful interlocking series of gravel roads that were familiar and friendly. The few potholes being presented were easily skirted, and any washboarding of the road was graciously flanked by narrow sections as smooth as glass.
My bike flew along, making quick work of the glorious wintertime scenic miles while I sat, pedals turning with ease, enjoying the countryside. At 27 miles I passed the foxhunt meet just as the trailers were pulling out, hunters and horses, and then the hound truck, all heading home. I waved at each truck and trailer, and received big smiles and waves in return. I was also polite enough to pull off to the side of the road since these byways are very narrow with no room for a bike and a motor vehicle to pass without someone pulling off to the side. Usually it would be a car graciously granting me the right of way of continuing on while they pulled over, but trucks and horse trailers are a different story. One should properly and respectfully always offer them the road. Every driver was very considerate and appreciative. I think I must have been passed by 12 trucks and horse trailers - the most traffic I'd encountered the entire day. Everyone seemed very happy with big smiles - I hope they had a good hunt, although I thought the morning was much too warm for any decent scenting to hold.
The convoy of trailers now passed and rattling their way home, left me blissfully alone with the road again. The undulating road under my bike wheels rolled on.
At 30 miles my remaining battery indicator light changed from clear to red. I checked my app which assured me I had at least 10 miles left of charge. 10 miles from home. At 34 miles, however, with only 6 miles left to go, I was facing some stiff hills and decided it was better to switch to the second battery rather than run the first one completely dry. I'd carried the 2nd battery the entire way anyway. Might as well use it. A lady, a cyclist as well she told me later, walking her cute blue merle mini Aussie stopped to talk to me, and we stood roadside, chatting away for 10 minutes. She took a picture of me crouched down with her adorable Aussie pratically in my lap, and then we parted, saying our goodbyes and hoping to bump into one another again.
At this point I was within hailing distance of home and on familiar ground. With the new battery lighting up my controller, I switched to maximum assist to make the remaining hills, which were quite a few and rather steep, fly by. I passed the hunt kennels which was surprisingly bone quiet. The hounds that had hunted that morning, and had passed by me in the trailer earlier, had been off loaded as soon as they were home, fed and bedded down. They were probably sound asleep by now, and not one voice was raised to acknowledge my passing.
I sped along, as much as the gravel road would left me, watching the miles tick off. My one app had announced through my Bluetooth each milestone reached throughout the ride. I had planned the ride perfectly, the detours perfectly, listening as mile 39 was announced at exactly one mile from home. Just before hitting my driveway the app proudly announced I had reached 40 miles. I rode up the driveway and halted my bike at exactly 40.17 miles.
It was a fabulous ride, full of adventure. I had beat the rain, too. A total win-win.
The rain is now falling as I write this, the wind kicking up and a cold front barreling in to ignominiously shove the unusual balmy summer temperatures back down south while returning us to true cold miserable winter.
Time to make that hot soup and dispense some sympathy...as soon as poor dear sicky hubby, who is snoring away on the couch, wakes up.
