Readytoride
Well-Known Member
- Region
- USA
- City
- Virginia
Thornburg was Friend A. I'll leave you to guess who was Friend B. 
Have fun riding to Beaverdam today! I'll be taking ebike #3 out today for some more road litter cleanup. Sadly, one of #3's two 20 mile batteries might be on the fritz, or it's connection is - discovered yesterday after #3's hub stopped working 2 miles from home and made me use granny gear (out of 21 gears!) to drag the converted kiddie-trailer-now-litter-bag-holder back home, uphill the entire way. I even had a jogger pass me and disappear into the distance. Talk about embarrassing. Finally got so disgusted that I got off and walked, which was much faster than spinning in 1/1. Why anyone wants to ride an unassisted bike is beyond me, especially pulling a kiddie trailer. And it was empty at the time. (I left the filled bag on the side of the side of the road for VDOT to pick up). Subsequent testing showed the one battery not to be pushing energy into the hub which sounded like it was in its final death throes. The other battery worked flawlessly, spinning that wheel like it was a Kentucky Derby favorite breaking from the starting gate.
Even with the good battery I will be staying within 6 miles of home for the road cleanups. Do not want to duplicate yesterday's 'Class 2 to Class 0' fiasco again. Ever.
Alaskan
Well-Known Member
I finally got my Homage back with a completely rebuilt Rohloff. I had forgotten what a superb bike it is to ride, so quiet, so smooth, so well behaved and capable. Nancy and I did a 40 mile loop on country roads, she on her 2018 Homage Rolhoff HS...fun social distancing.
RabH
Well-Known Member
I'm glad you got your Homage back, I hope it will remain trouble free for a long time! Its so heartwarming seeing the 2 of you enjoying your bikes together
I see you weren't hanging about, did you have a turbo fitted? I was only doing a mere 40.3mph today, which was down a 17% gradient 
Stefan Mikes
Gravel e-biker
- Region
- Europe
- City
- Mazovia, PL
Mr. Coffee
Well-Known Member
- Region
- USA
- City
- A Demented Corner of the North Cascades
Nicer day, rode a little further, ran into some wildlife on the way home...
Stefan Mikes
Gravel e-biker
- Region
- Europe
- City
- Mazovia, PL
You seem to have answered all the questions yourself, @Readytoride! Haha! The barking dog... Haha!
Stefan Mikes
Gravel e-biker
- Region
- Europe
- City
- Mazovia, PL
Along the Vistula Downstream of Warsaw (A Day In A Chafing Balaclava)
I lied to you. I said "Mazovia is as flat as a pancake" once and that was not right. A long time ago a mighty glacier stopped moving southwards approximately where the Kampinos National Park is today. It carved the lakes of Sweden; it carved the lakes of Warmia and Masuria, and it also made the terrain northwards of the KPN slightly rolling. Not that there are any big or steep hills in Mazovia but the terrain is decidedly less boring on the right bank of the Vistula River northwards of my place, and the Mazovian Lowland is very interesting to a tourist; on warm days and when the cold wind doesn't blow.
It blew again.
I brought my Vado to Nowy Kazuń with the car, fastened the front wheel to the bike's fork with the torque wrench, placed panniers on the rear-rack, applied balaclava to my nose and mouth and off I rode to explore the banks of the Vistula River. I started with places such as Kazuń and Modlin, which were very important for the military in the past, especially during the 123 years that part of the country belonged to the Russian Empire (1795-1918).
This photo was taken in 2015 from the Red Tower of the Fortress of Modlin. The fortress was built by the French during the Napoleonic Wars (completed in 1812) to protect the place where the Rivers Narew (at the left) and Vistula (at the right) join. The Fortress, renamed to Novogeorgievsk by the Russian in 1830s became an important element in the defence system of the Russian Empire. The brick building seen at the tip of the land are the remains of the Granary On The Narew in Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki (completed in 1844). The bridge at the right hand side will be seen soon on another picture.
I was focused on riding and I gave up taking good photos on the Monday's ride. Besides, the Fortress was closed down because of the epidemics.
The historical bridge over the Vistula built in years 1928-1934. It bears the name of "The First Marshall of The Republic of Poland Józef Piłsudski". Note how narrow the gangway is. I could ride through it but when I met cyclists riding from the opposite side, all of us had to stop and negotiate the passing.
I chose riding local roads (tarmac, gravel and dirt) on the tall right bank of the Vistula on the first segment of the trip. The Vistula is an un-channeled river. In Warsaw, only the left river bank has embankments. The river flows freely, forming sand islands, creeks and prongs.
I had an adventure with a barking dog there, @Readytoride, at around 15th kilometre. I stopped to take photos and before I got off the bike, a small cute doggie ran towards my feet and calves, barking loudly. The tiny hero tried to defend his Mistress! When she came along, the dog suddenly became the sweetest thing in the world!
The rolling terrain along the Vistula. The picturesque landscape was somewhat spoilt by square kilometres of plastic film spread on the fields to protect the vegetation against the frost and drought.
Very typical of Mazovia, especially the iconic willows.
The Romanesque church in Czerwińsk nad Wisłą (1155!) Czerwińsk is a fantastic tourist destination for a warm summer. It is completely secluded, quiet, with a beautiful view of the Vistula.
Vistula River in Czerwińsk nad Wisłą. Long time ago, there was a ferry operating at the location. I regret there is no ferry nowadays, as there is no bridge between Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki and Wyszogród for approximately 50 kilometres. Still, many people own rowing or motorised boats here.
A ruined wooden house in Czerwińsk. Sad to think some poor soul still has to live here...
A church in Wyszogród (1774). It was the 50th kilometre and I had to swap the bike batteries. And to eat kiełbasa
The view at the new bridge in Wyszogród. There was a beautiful wooden bridge at the location before. I used to drive through that bridge for several times when it existed. Unfortunately, the old bridge has not been preserved. On the other hand, the new bridge is a beauty and I missed the opportunity to take a fantastic photo a few minutes later when I was above the bridge. Meaning, I have to come back there in the Summer.
Ah, there were 40 kilometres to cover yet on the left river bank. I was spinning like a madman in the Sport mode to get to my car possibly quickly; that made me very tired and my bum is sore even now. "It was my idea a good saddle is yet to be found" Ah. The balaclava was chafing.
I lied to you. I said "Mazovia is as flat as a pancake" once and that was not right. A long time ago a mighty glacier stopped moving southwards approximately where the Kampinos National Park is today. It carved the lakes of Sweden; it carved the lakes of Warmia and Masuria, and it also made the terrain northwards of the KPN slightly rolling. Not that there are any big or steep hills in Mazovia but the terrain is decidedly less boring on the right bank of the Vistula River northwards of my place, and the Mazovian Lowland is very interesting to a tourist; on warm days and when the cold wind doesn't blow.
It blew again.
I brought my Vado to Nowy Kazuń with the car, fastened the front wheel to the bike's fork with the torque wrench, placed panniers on the rear-rack, applied balaclava to my nose and mouth and off I rode to explore the banks of the Vistula River. I started with places such as Kazuń and Modlin, which were very important for the military in the past, especially during the 123 years that part of the country belonged to the Russian Empire (1795-1918).
This photo was taken in 2015 from the Red Tower of the Fortress of Modlin. The fortress was built by the French during the Napoleonic Wars (completed in 1812) to protect the place where the Rivers Narew (at the left) and Vistula (at the right) join. The Fortress, renamed to Novogeorgievsk by the Russian in 1830s became an important element in the defence system of the Russian Empire. The brick building seen at the tip of the land are the remains of the Granary On The Narew in Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki (completed in 1844). The bridge at the right hand side will be seen soon on another picture.
I was focused on riding and I gave up taking good photos on the Monday's ride. Besides, the Fortress was closed down because of the epidemics.
The historical bridge over the Vistula built in years 1928-1934. It bears the name of "The First Marshall of The Republic of Poland Józef Piłsudski". Note how narrow the gangway is. I could ride through it but when I met cyclists riding from the opposite side, all of us had to stop and negotiate the passing.
I chose riding local roads (tarmac, gravel and dirt) on the tall right bank of the Vistula on the first segment of the trip. The Vistula is an un-channeled river. In Warsaw, only the left river bank has embankments. The river flows freely, forming sand islands, creeks and prongs.
I had an adventure with a barking dog there, @Readytoride, at around 15th kilometre. I stopped to take photos and before I got off the bike, a small cute doggie ran towards my feet and calves, barking loudly. The tiny hero tried to defend his Mistress! When she came along, the dog suddenly became the sweetest thing in the world!
The rolling terrain along the Vistula. The picturesque landscape was somewhat spoilt by square kilometres of plastic film spread on the fields to protect the vegetation against the frost and drought.
Very typical of Mazovia, especially the iconic willows.
The Romanesque church in Czerwińsk nad Wisłą (1155!) Czerwińsk is a fantastic tourist destination for a warm summer. It is completely secluded, quiet, with a beautiful view of the Vistula.
Vistula River in Czerwińsk nad Wisłą. Long time ago, there was a ferry operating at the location. I regret there is no ferry nowadays, as there is no bridge between Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki and Wyszogród for approximately 50 kilometres. Still, many people own rowing or motorised boats here.
A ruined wooden house in Czerwińsk. Sad to think some poor soul still has to live here...
A church in Wyszogród (1774). It was the 50th kilometre and I had to swap the bike batteries. And to eat kiełbasa
The view at the new bridge in Wyszogród. There was a beautiful wooden bridge at the location before. I used to drive through that bridge for several times when it existed. Unfortunately, the old bridge has not been preserved. On the other hand, the new bridge is a beauty and I missed the opportunity to take a fantastic photo a few minutes later when I was above the bridge. Meaning, I have to come back there in the Summer.
Ah, there were 40 kilometres to cover yet on the left river bank. I was spinning like a madman in the Sport mode to get to my car possibly quickly; that made me very tired and my bum is sore even now. "It was my idea a good saddle is yet to be found"
Ah. The balaclava was chafing.
Last edited:
Readytoride
Well-Known Member
- Region
- USA
- City
- Virginia
Yesterday's ride was just as it should be - a soul soothing escape, a chance to reconnect with the warmth of humanity, meet and greet neighbors, and enjoy all the beauty Nature has to offer.
Oh, yeah...and also to stop by Beaver Dam and check it out. The old place certainly is looking great, Mulezen. All ready for your visit.
But, I digress. Let's start at the beginning, shall we? With a map, a plan, a lovely day, and an ebike.
Our ride starts from home with a small but experienced LaFree setting off on a gravel road tour, an extra battery packed securely in the panniers, and the ever ready to ride rider at the helm, charting a course that sailed south on one of the quietest and prettiest gravel roads in the county.
Tour Stop #1: Willisville. At the end of the quietest and prettiest gravel road in the county, a left turn onto the next gravel road took me through a very small, very historic settlement that began its humble life as a retirement community (for lack of a better term) for the former slaves of the surrounding estates. Virginia law, prior to the American Civil War, was very specific in the humane treatment of slaves that had reached a venerable old age and were unable to continue to work in their former capacity. A homestead, along with certain quantity of livestock and land, was coded by the law to be given to said slaves, including a "place of worship" for their mortal souls.
Just recently awarded a place on the National Register of Historic Places, Willisville still retains a certain charm, it's peaceful gravel byway taking one, in a purposeful straight line, past many of the old houses whose ownership goes back in an unbroken line to their original slaves. The lilacs in the front yards were in full bloom, adding a fragrant dash of color to the village tour.
But, time and history were also once called "Progress", and even bucolic Willisville was not immune. An old house and it's ancient cloak of older trees, none deemed historic enough to be protected, were recently wiped from existence, leaving just a solitary stone fireplace to mark the remains of what once had been. It will be interesting to see what will be born to stand testament for the next century.
But my tour was more about the journey of the gravel roads, and so my bike continued on, past old estates, older landscapes, the soft crunch of stones under the tires a melody that echoed of the ancient songs of humanity's love of travel.
And so, a number of miles further, my bike reached Tour Stop #2: Beaver Dam.
This lovely 1816 stone house, erected by a builder so proud of his work that he set his initials "W.R." and the date in stone onto the house itself, sits on a knoll next to the shallow flowing tributary of Beaver Dam creek. It was build during the time when the Quakers, a religious sect that embraced a more personal relationship with their Creator than those espoused by other religions of the era, had settled the agriculturally rich western end of the county in an attempt to find the peace and harmony they espoused to practice what they preached. Which, in a nutshell, was "work hard and you will be rewarded", materially and otherwise. This lovely house, and equally beautiful estate of rolling hills dotted with herds of fat purebred Angus cattle, and sleek purebred Thoroughbred horses, certainly provided proof that hard work did indeed result in those rewards.
I was amused by the dog statue in the front yard which appears to be new. Or maybe it's a foal? I don't know, frankly. Next time I'll take a closer look. I promise.
(Link Removed - No Longer Exists)
Onward the gravel road took me and my bike, up winding hills, and down into intimate valleys, always heading in an easterly direction until we hit Tour Stop #3: St. Louis. No, not THAT St. Louis. THIS St. Louis.
Yes, we'd get there in a few minutes. Nothing spectacular, just a lofty name for a village that might have, at one time, aspired to some level of greatness, but never managed to rustle up the energy to do so. Still didn't mean the collection of wistful, eclectic houses, facing every which way of the compass on their little village plots, didn't continue to harbor visions of grandeur vicariously through their enclave's notable name. But that's neither here not there, and not even the gravel road felt it necessary to dwell on such thoughts for less than the time it took to travel through, leaving the village of St. Louis behind.
The gravel road dipped below a coating of firm unyielding pavement for a short space before reemerging with a grateful sigh, tracking east to an intersection with a fellow gravel road. This fellow road beckoned my bike to explore its peaceful byway, and my bike, ever the adventurer, thought the idea was quite the lovely one.
And thus we accepted this road's gracious invitation to a rollicking jaunt up hill and down, my bike carefully picking out the best of the varied surface to safely transport me while I looked around in enjoyment at the houses and vast fields, the old stone fences and the elegant farm signs that spread out around as a banquet for the senses.
It wasn't until my bike reached a turn at an intersection with a paved road that I could pull myself away from the tranquility of the gravel byway and school myself to pay attention to the modern road's faster speed. My bike wasted no time with frivolity, but set a stern business-like pace to get me back to the gravel roads that were just a mere 3 miles west for the next stop on our tour.
Tour Stop # 4 - Rocks. Old rocks. Really REALLY old rocks.
One of the things that fascinates me about my area of the Virginia Piedmont is the geographic features of the rock strata. Granted, we are at the foothills of the Blue Ridge, one of the oldest mountain chains on the planet. Apparently, these mountains have risen and fallen once before in an ancient pre-historic pre-dinosaur pre-bacteria- pre-any life form at all era, then rose again as the drifting continents crashed together again. They are reputed to be on their second fall, and all that momentum has left its mark in the subsurface rocks that had somehow migrated from miles below the crust up to the surface to dot the landscape in unique configurations.
These rocks in the picture above were no exception. It was if the landowner recognized their unique artful forms and groomed the rough landscape around them, and even built a stone walled opening, to provide the appropriate frame in which to display Nature's exquisite artistry.
I stood for a while, admiring the twisted and uplifted rocks until my bike suggested that the afternoon would not wait for us and we best be getting on our way.
It was along these next stretches of gravel road that I was to reconnect with humanity. The first being in the form of a black furred bundle of explosive Aussie energy known as Penny. Penny was made to love life, to run as fast as her legs could go, to love everyone she saw, strangers especially, and make sure they KNEW she loved them with a love that knows no bounds, and to completely ignore any and all frantic calls from her owner to come back right this instant. Penny was energy personified. Penny was Mach 10 in dog form. Penny was so thrilled to see my bike go past her house that she just had to take off down her driveway with the speed of a Tesla in Ludicrous mode, paying zero heed to her owner's increasingly desperate calls for Penny to come back while Penny, so charged up to meet me and my now stopped bike, completely overshot me and raced past in top speed to see first a gentleman who had just exited his driveway a bit above me to engage in a quiet walk down the road. Penny whipped around that nice man like a comet slingshotting around the sun, gaining speed as she did so, which meant that Penny overshot me yet again, passing by so fast that she was a blur, the biggest, happiest doggy grin on her face. She overshot her driveway, too, zooming past her owner who now stood in the road, despondent, with no hope left of Penny listening to anything except the wind in her flapping ears. And to make matters worse, Penny was quickly joined by her sibling who, while not as energetic, was just as happy and welcoming. At least he was happy to come up and exchange friendly hellos, while Penny continued to break all land speed records up and down the road.
I waved to the owner, who waved back and called out a thank you for me stopping (I had called back that I hadn't wanted Penny to follow me down the road) for which she was very grateful.
With one last look back at Penny, who was now running speed laps around her sibling, and still not aware that her owner was pleading for her to come back right now PLEASE, my bike set off, soon catching up with the gentleman walking the road. I smiled as I passed him and remarked that Penny certainly was full of energy. He laughed and shook his head. Probably was quite relieved he wasn't Penny's resigned owner.
A bit further up the road I saw a lady walking her very well behaved dog that instantly sat on command as I approached. A Weimaraner, I thought, and stopped to ask. No, it was a Lab. I was astounded, never having seen that color before. It's a silver Lab she exclaimed, and I looked down at the sweet dog who was just itching to come over across the Social Distance to say hello. I asked the owner if she would allow her dog to do so, and she did. The dog just put all his best loving moves on me with complete abandon while I waxed poetic, petting him and cooing every phase that good dogs love to hear. He almost turned himself inside out with joy at my loving him back. Almost knocked me off my bike a few times, too. He was a BIG dog!
The owner and I talked, and she mentioned she was actually enjoying her "Coronacation" (the latest buzzword variation for the standard "Staycation" home vacation because of the virus induced "Stay at Home" mandates). She said she was getting really fit from all the walking and it was one thing she was really going to miss when "all this was over". We both agreed it was one silver lining - getting out and getting fit - and I patted my bike as my reason to be out enjoying the fresh air and the gravel roads.
I gave her darling Lab one last pat before sending him back to her side of the road, we said our goodbyes, and wished each other well as we continued on our respective ways.
A few miles later the gravel road lead me to its inevitable conclusion at an intersection of a major byway. I wasn't quite ready to return home, even though my time was running short before I had to be home to bring the horses in for dinner. My bike was patient, letting me make a decision. The roads still called, so I answered, turning west to the next stop on our tour.
Tour Stop #5 - A Tractor Review.
It's not often one is treated to an engaging chorus line of tractors on a front lawn. I figured the open gates of the home's driveway sufficient invitation to step onto the perfectly groomed acre to take a picture. After all, why choreograph a perfectly placed lineup of colorful farm tractors on a manicured carpet of exceptionally green grass if you didn't expect some random cyclist to stop to take a picture. Amiright?
Gotta admit, the smiley face on the oldest tractor was a hoot! Thanks Mr. Whoeveryouare for setting up such an entertaining review.
In short order I was finished traveling west on the paved road and turning south onto one of my favorite gravel roads, and in even shorter order turning down the (Not) Closed Road with the creek crossing. For those unfamiliar with my past stories of traveling down this delightfully archaic road, allow me to fill you in. Several months back, in the winter, VDOT spend a considerable amount of time trying to tame a rather wild creek from consistently crossing and overflowing this narrow little old one lane wide gravel road. The creek had reached the point where the dashing and wide watery intrusion made a rather formidable obstacle for modern motorized vehicles to cross. Whether VDOT was truly successful in its taming endeavor is a matter of conjecture and entirely subject to the whim of any heavy rains which, no question, encouraged the bad behavior of the wild creek into being even a little bit more wild and bad. Frankly, even after much heavy grading and a heavy handed application of brand new gravel, which did little to mitigate the continuing antics of the wild creek, I think that VDOT just finally gave up and called the battle a draw. As it was, VDOT took all of its repair equipment home with the exception of a pair of Closed Road signs, still parked on either end of the road months later.
I greeted the one sign standing vigil like a steadfast old soldier on guard duty, and turned the bend in the road to see that, yes, the creek was still in command of the road, its water still merrily flowing over the gravel, undisciplined, unabated and unchecked.
I decided it would be fun to set my phone to video the bike going through the flowing creek water crossing the road. And yes, it was fun, I got a cute video but ... upon reviewing it I concluded it nothing to write home about. Somehow it lacked the excitement of actually riding through the water. Like watching someone else's home movies. Snoozeville.
Anyway, I turned the camera off as I continued a few hundred yards up the road when, all of a sudden, Master Reynard leaped out of the underbrush on an embankment in front of me, landed gracefully on the road, turned his elegant brush to me as he made swift bounding tracks up the road before leaping gracefully, once again, up the same embankment, disappearing into the underbrush.
My mouth dropped open. Hindsight smacked me alongside my head, declaring had I kept my camera going, I would have gotten a video of the fox.
"Yeah, well, bite me." I growled back. I missed a golden opportunity that probably won't come again in a long time. Rest assured I won't be ready then, either. So here is a representation picture (that someone unknown took and posted on the internet - thanks random unknown person!) of what I saw. You'll just have to believe it happened.
That (Not) Closed Road never disappoints.
After that excitement, the tranquility of the roads returned, and my bike continued on its way, heading south towards home. I was still reluctant to yield the remains of such a beautiful, sunny, warm day to the responsibilities of home, so instead I stopped, removed my jacket and shoved it in the near side pannier, and pointed my bike onto a small, narrow, very old gravel road that would take me several miles further south.
Time, however, was moving into the long shadow part of the day and the uneven features of the road surface were beginning to be obscured by the contrasting shadows. Besides, I was already a half hour overdue to be home and my bike's battery indicator gently reminded me that we had, indeed, enjoyed quite a few miles of touring, but, notwithstanding the spare battery I had in the panniers, it was time to seriously think of returning home to those ever-patient horses waiting for me, and their dinner.
Reluctantly, I agreed, and spent the remainder of the tour miles soaking in the last of the sunny warm afternoon, watching the sinking sun draw the long shadows across the road even longer, and peering down old roads that used to be numbered routes way back in the old days but now were little more than farm paths, private roads, closed and gated, preceeding the next, and final, tour stop.
Tour Stop #6. The old, abandoned gravel byways that crisscrossed the western landscape of this county were once numerous and busy roads that connected the rural with their commerce. Over the years the dirt roads continued to proliferate in number until the 1960's when, at the height of a period of economic recession, the county decided the maintenance and upkeep of the lesser traveled gravel roads was merely a burden on the taxpayers. They got rid of the problem by simply giving the land that the road was on back to adjacent landowners. The abandoned roads devolved, yielding back to nature, now traveled only by their adjacent farm's trucks and tractors. They, for the most part, continued to remain welcoming for horses and foxhunters to pass through. Not a bicycle. I sighed. I knew this road, and others of the same ilk, and have ridden them all many times on my horse. Sad that I would never feel their ancient history under the wheels of my bike.
Still, it is reassuring to know how many miles of public gravel roads I have that are open to my bike to explore, and that they, one and all, will be waiting tomorrow, and the days and weeks and years to come, offering more adventures.
I cast a final look and nod goodbye at the old abandoned road, silent in its quiet dignity and the history it held in its ancient well trodden dirt, then turned my bike towards home.
My friend 100 miles south texted me after the ride. She'll be going out with her club tomorrow on their Tuesday "unofficial" ride. 9am, she said. Can't wait to hear of her adventures. Tomorrow, up here 100 miles north, we are expecting rain and gusty winds.
Oh, yeah...and also to stop by Beaver Dam and check it out. The old place certainly is looking great, Mulezen. All ready for your visit.
But, I digress. Let's start at the beginning, shall we? With a map, a plan, a lovely day, and an ebike.
Our ride starts from home with a small but experienced LaFree setting off on a gravel road tour, an extra battery packed securely in the panniers, and the ever ready to ride rider at the helm, charting a course that sailed south on one of the quietest and prettiest gravel roads in the county.
Tour Stop #1: Willisville. At the end of the quietest and prettiest gravel road in the county, a left turn onto the next gravel road took me through a very small, very historic settlement that began its humble life as a retirement community (for lack of a better term) for the former slaves of the surrounding estates. Virginia law, prior to the American Civil War, was very specific in the humane treatment of slaves that had reached a venerable old age and were unable to continue to work in their former capacity. A homestead, along with certain quantity of livestock and land, was coded by the law to be given to said slaves, including a "place of worship" for their mortal souls.
Just recently awarded a place on the National Register of Historic Places, Willisville still retains a certain charm, it's peaceful gravel byway taking one, in a purposeful straight line, past many of the old houses whose ownership goes back in an unbroken line to their original slaves. The lilacs in the front yards were in full bloom, adding a fragrant dash of color to the village tour.
But, time and history were also once called "Progress", and even bucolic Willisville was not immune. An old house and it's ancient cloak of older trees, none deemed historic enough to be protected, were recently wiped from existence, leaving just a solitary stone fireplace to mark the remains of what once had been. It will be interesting to see what will be born to stand testament for the next century.
But my tour was more about the journey of the gravel roads, and so my bike continued on, past old estates, older landscapes, the soft crunch of stones under the tires a melody that echoed of the ancient songs of humanity's love of travel.
And so, a number of miles further, my bike reached Tour Stop #2: Beaver Dam.
This lovely 1816 stone house, erected by a builder so proud of his work that he set his initials "W.R." and the date in stone onto the house itself, sits on a knoll next to the shallow flowing tributary of Beaver Dam creek. It was build during the time when the Quakers, a religious sect that embraced a more personal relationship with their Creator than those espoused by other religions of the era, had settled the agriculturally rich western end of the county in an attempt to find the peace and harmony they espoused to practice what they preached. Which, in a nutshell, was "work hard and you will be rewarded", materially and otherwise. This lovely house, and equally beautiful estate of rolling hills dotted with herds of fat purebred Angus cattle, and sleek purebred Thoroughbred horses, certainly provided proof that hard work did indeed result in those rewards.
I was amused by the dog statue in the front yard which appears to be new. Or maybe it's a foal? I don't know, frankly. Next time I'll take a closer look. I promise.
(Link Removed - No Longer Exists)
Onward the gravel road took me and my bike, up winding hills, and down into intimate valleys, always heading in an easterly direction until we hit Tour Stop #3: St. Louis. No, not THAT St. Louis. THIS St. Louis.
Yes, we'd get there in a few minutes. Nothing spectacular, just a lofty name for a village that might have, at one time, aspired to some level of greatness, but never managed to rustle up the energy to do so. Still didn't mean the collection of wistful, eclectic houses, facing every which way of the compass on their little village plots, didn't continue to harbor visions of grandeur vicariously through their enclave's notable name. But that's neither here not there, and not even the gravel road felt it necessary to dwell on such thoughts for less than the time it took to travel through, leaving the village of St. Louis behind.
The gravel road dipped below a coating of firm unyielding pavement for a short space before reemerging with a grateful sigh, tracking east to an intersection with a fellow gravel road. This fellow road beckoned my bike to explore its peaceful byway, and my bike, ever the adventurer, thought the idea was quite the lovely one.
And thus we accepted this road's gracious invitation to a rollicking jaunt up hill and down, my bike carefully picking out the best of the varied surface to safely transport me while I looked around in enjoyment at the houses and vast fields, the old stone fences and the elegant farm signs that spread out around as a banquet for the senses.
It wasn't until my bike reached a turn at an intersection with a paved road that I could pull myself away from the tranquility of the gravel byway and school myself to pay attention to the modern road's faster speed. My bike wasted no time with frivolity, but set a stern business-like pace to get me back to the gravel roads that were just a mere 3 miles west for the next stop on our tour.
Tour Stop # 4 - Rocks. Old rocks. Really REALLY old rocks.
One of the things that fascinates me about my area of the Virginia Piedmont is the geographic features of the rock strata. Granted, we are at the foothills of the Blue Ridge, one of the oldest mountain chains on the planet. Apparently, these mountains have risen and fallen once before in an ancient pre-historic pre-dinosaur pre-bacteria- pre-any life form at all era, then rose again as the drifting continents crashed together again. They are reputed to be on their second fall, and all that momentum has left its mark in the subsurface rocks that had somehow migrated from miles below the crust up to the surface to dot the landscape in unique configurations.
These rocks in the picture above were no exception. It was if the landowner recognized their unique artful forms and groomed the rough landscape around them, and even built a stone walled opening, to provide the appropriate frame in which to display Nature's exquisite artistry.
I stood for a while, admiring the twisted and uplifted rocks until my bike suggested that the afternoon would not wait for us and we best be getting on our way.
It was along these next stretches of gravel road that I was to reconnect with humanity. The first being in the form of a black furred bundle of explosive Aussie energy known as Penny. Penny was made to love life, to run as fast as her legs could go, to love everyone she saw, strangers especially, and make sure they KNEW she loved them with a love that knows no bounds, and to completely ignore any and all frantic calls from her owner to come back right this instant. Penny was energy personified. Penny was Mach 10 in dog form. Penny was so thrilled to see my bike go past her house that she just had to take off down her driveway with the speed of a Tesla in Ludicrous mode, paying zero heed to her owner's increasingly desperate calls for Penny to come back while Penny, so charged up to meet me and my now stopped bike, completely overshot me and raced past in top speed to see first a gentleman who had just exited his driveway a bit above me to engage in a quiet walk down the road. Penny whipped around that nice man like a comet slingshotting around the sun, gaining speed as she did so, which meant that Penny overshot me yet again, passing by so fast that she was a blur, the biggest, happiest doggy grin on her face. She overshot her driveway, too, zooming past her owner who now stood in the road, despondent, with no hope left of Penny listening to anything except the wind in her flapping ears. And to make matters worse, Penny was quickly joined by her sibling who, while not as energetic, was just as happy and welcoming. At least he was happy to come up and exchange friendly hellos, while Penny continued to break all land speed records up and down the road.
I waved to the owner, who waved back and called out a thank you for me stopping (I had called back that I hadn't wanted Penny to follow me down the road) for which she was very grateful.
With one last look back at Penny, who was now running speed laps around her sibling, and still not aware that her owner was pleading for her to come back right now PLEASE, my bike set off, soon catching up with the gentleman walking the road. I smiled as I passed him and remarked that Penny certainly was full of energy. He laughed and shook his head. Probably was quite relieved he wasn't Penny's resigned owner.
A bit further up the road I saw a lady walking her very well behaved dog that instantly sat on command as I approached. A Weimaraner, I thought, and stopped to ask. No, it was a Lab. I was astounded, never having seen that color before. It's a silver Lab she exclaimed, and I looked down at the sweet dog who was just itching to come over across the Social Distance to say hello. I asked the owner if she would allow her dog to do so, and she did. The dog just put all his best loving moves on me with complete abandon while I waxed poetic, petting him and cooing every phase that good dogs love to hear. He almost turned himself inside out with joy at my loving him back. Almost knocked me off my bike a few times, too. He was a BIG dog!
The owner and I talked, and she mentioned she was actually enjoying her "Coronacation" (the latest buzzword variation for the standard "Staycation" home vacation because of the virus induced "Stay at Home" mandates). She said she was getting really fit from all the walking and it was one thing she was really going to miss when "all this was over". We both agreed it was one silver lining - getting out and getting fit - and I patted my bike as my reason to be out enjoying the fresh air and the gravel roads.
I gave her darling Lab one last pat before sending him back to her side of the road, we said our goodbyes, and wished each other well as we continued on our respective ways.
A few miles later the gravel road lead me to its inevitable conclusion at an intersection of a major byway. I wasn't quite ready to return home, even though my time was running short before I had to be home to bring the horses in for dinner. My bike was patient, letting me make a decision. The roads still called, so I answered, turning west to the next stop on our tour.
Tour Stop #5 - A Tractor Review.
It's not often one is treated to an engaging chorus line of tractors on a front lawn. I figured the open gates of the home's driveway sufficient invitation to step onto the perfectly groomed acre to take a picture. After all, why choreograph a perfectly placed lineup of colorful farm tractors on a manicured carpet of exceptionally green grass if you didn't expect some random cyclist to stop to take a picture. Amiright?
Gotta admit, the smiley face on the oldest tractor was a hoot! Thanks Mr. Whoeveryouare for setting up such an entertaining review.
In short order I was finished traveling west on the paved road and turning south onto one of my favorite gravel roads, and in even shorter order turning down the (Not) Closed Road with the creek crossing. For those unfamiliar with my past stories of traveling down this delightfully archaic road, allow me to fill you in. Several months back, in the winter, VDOT spend a considerable amount of time trying to tame a rather wild creek from consistently crossing and overflowing this narrow little old one lane wide gravel road. The creek had reached the point where the dashing and wide watery intrusion made a rather formidable obstacle for modern motorized vehicles to cross. Whether VDOT was truly successful in its taming endeavor is a matter of conjecture and entirely subject to the whim of any heavy rains which, no question, encouraged the bad behavior of the wild creek into being even a little bit more wild and bad. Frankly, even after much heavy grading and a heavy handed application of brand new gravel, which did little to mitigate the continuing antics of the wild creek, I think that VDOT just finally gave up and called the battle a draw. As it was, VDOT took all of its repair equipment home with the exception of a pair of Closed Road signs, still parked on either end of the road months later.
I greeted the one sign standing vigil like a steadfast old soldier on guard duty, and turned the bend in the road to see that, yes, the creek was still in command of the road, its water still merrily flowing over the gravel, undisciplined, unabated and unchecked.
I decided it would be fun to set my phone to video the bike going through the flowing creek water crossing the road. And yes, it was fun, I got a cute video but ... upon reviewing it I concluded it nothing to write home about. Somehow it lacked the excitement of actually riding through the water. Like watching someone else's home movies. Snoozeville.
Anyway, I turned the camera off as I continued a few hundred yards up the road when, all of a sudden, Master Reynard leaped out of the underbrush on an embankment in front of me, landed gracefully on the road, turned his elegant brush to me as he made swift bounding tracks up the road before leaping gracefully, once again, up the same embankment, disappearing into the underbrush.
My mouth dropped open. Hindsight smacked me alongside my head, declaring had I kept my camera going, I would have gotten a video of the fox.
"Yeah, well, bite me." I growled back. I missed a golden opportunity that probably won't come again in a long time. Rest assured I won't be ready then, either. So here is a representation picture (that someone unknown took and posted on the internet - thanks random unknown person!) of what I saw. You'll just have to believe it happened.
That (Not) Closed Road never disappoints.
After that excitement, the tranquility of the roads returned, and my bike continued on its way, heading south towards home. I was still reluctant to yield the remains of such a beautiful, sunny, warm day to the responsibilities of home, so instead I stopped, removed my jacket and shoved it in the near side pannier, and pointed my bike onto a small, narrow, very old gravel road that would take me several miles further south.
Time, however, was moving into the long shadow part of the day and the uneven features of the road surface were beginning to be obscured by the contrasting shadows. Besides, I was already a half hour overdue to be home and my bike's battery indicator gently reminded me that we had, indeed, enjoyed quite a few miles of touring, but, notwithstanding the spare battery I had in the panniers, it was time to seriously think of returning home to those ever-patient horses waiting for me, and their dinner.
Reluctantly, I agreed, and spent the remainder of the tour miles soaking in the last of the sunny warm afternoon, watching the sinking sun draw the long shadows across the road even longer, and peering down old roads that used to be numbered routes way back in the old days but now were little more than farm paths, private roads, closed and gated, preceeding the next, and final, tour stop.
Tour Stop #6. The old, abandoned gravel byways that crisscrossed the western landscape of this county were once numerous and busy roads that connected the rural with their commerce. Over the years the dirt roads continued to proliferate in number until the 1960's when, at the height of a period of economic recession, the county decided the maintenance and upkeep of the lesser traveled gravel roads was merely a burden on the taxpayers. They got rid of the problem by simply giving the land that the road was on back to adjacent landowners. The abandoned roads devolved, yielding back to nature, now traveled only by their adjacent farm's trucks and tractors. They, for the most part, continued to remain welcoming for horses and foxhunters to pass through. Not a bicycle. I sighed. I knew this road, and others of the same ilk, and have ridden them all many times on my horse. Sad that I would never feel their ancient history under the wheels of my bike.
Still, it is reassuring to know how many miles of public gravel roads I have that are open to my bike to explore, and that they, one and all, will be waiting tomorrow, and the days and weeks and years to come, offering more adventures.
I cast a final look and nod goodbye at the old abandoned road, silent in its quiet dignity and the history it held in its ancient well trodden dirt, then turned my bike towards home.
My friend 100 miles south texted me after the ride. She'll be going out with her club tomorrow on their Tuesday "unofficial" ride. 9am, she said. Can't wait to hear of her adventures. Tomorrow, up here 100 miles north, we are expecting rain and gusty winds.
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D
Deleted member 18083
Guest
Morning break under the mango tree …
Mount Crosby, Brisbane
37 km on map
37 km on map
Pine Mountain, Ipswich
62 km on map
62 km on map
Borallon, looking SE
66 km on map
66 km on map
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Mr. Coffee
Well-Known Member
- Region
- USA
- City
- A Demented Corner of the North Cascades
Saw a road across the river yesterday that looked interesting, went to check it out. Found a rough, steep, sandy road with great views.
BlueBomber
New Member
Readytoride
Well-Known Member
- Region
- USA
- City
- Virginia
OMG. I didn’t realize we were racing!. Where am I now??
Get in the saddle and ride a metric century. You'll catch up!Next up - a century!
Meanwhile, on the hotter side of Okanogan County, I took off on a bike ride. I hadn't figured out where I would ride until I got there. Temps were around 70 something. I threw in some water and left the house. The sunflowers were at their peak--I know, balsam root but in this write up they shall be...SUNFLOWERS.
I decided I would explore The Green Lake Road. I'd never been there and had heard the road was closed. And it was. But I thought I'd ride the 1.5 open miles and see where that was. On Googlemaps it looked like a bike might could get around the lake. My battery wasn't fully charged, but I figured it was charged enough, so I went into the unknown. Besides, after going up, I'd have to have a downhill ride so no worries.
I rode past the ROAD CLOSED barrier. It had been placed on the side of the road and lots of traffic had been driven by. I rode until I came to the washout. Then I pushed my bike around it and continued the ride. My feet stayed dry and so did the bike tires. This is a picture of Brown Lake. Dunno the reason for the name. The water was quite clear.
After Brown Lake, the road drops a bit and Green Lake appears. Six Mule Deer were startled by my appearance and they didn't stop to pose for a picture. I also rode by a family of people. They were teaching their munchkins to operate teeny little ATVs. I have mixed feelings about that, but, that's just the way it is. This part of the ride was through good smelling piney woods.
The road was not closed along Green Lake and it showed it. It was wash boardy and rough. I just took it easy as it was downhill. The road eventually arrives at the Salmon Creek Road, which I had ridden before. I still had lots of battery left at that point and knew I would make it home with power to spare.
I stopped to take a picture of a pear orchard in bloom. Apples are just barely starting to bloom. The Wenatchee Apple Blossom festival has been cancelled, by the way. I used to have to march in that one as did the rest of us band nerds. Here is the pear orchard.
The stats for the ride are: About 21 miles. 6 mule deer, one little brown snake, which I fear I ran over, and 3 wild turkeys. And I still have about half a battery left. I'll be riding this again.
I decided I would explore The Green Lake Road. I'd never been there and had heard the road was closed. And it was. But I thought I'd ride the 1.5 open miles and see where that was. On Googlemaps it looked like a bike might could get around the lake. My battery wasn't fully charged, but I figured it was charged enough, so I went into the unknown. Besides, after going up, I'd have to have a downhill ride so no worries.
I rode past the ROAD CLOSED barrier. It had been placed on the side of the road and lots of traffic had been driven by. I rode until I came to the washout. Then I pushed my bike around it and continued the ride. My feet stayed dry and so did the bike tires. This is a picture of Brown Lake. Dunno the reason for the name. The water was quite clear.
After Brown Lake, the road drops a bit and Green Lake appears. Six Mule Deer were startled by my appearance and they didn't stop to pose for a picture. I also rode by a family of people. They were teaching their munchkins to operate teeny little ATVs. I have mixed feelings about that, but, that's just the way it is. This part of the ride was through good smelling piney woods.
The road was not closed along Green Lake and it showed it. It was wash boardy and rough. I just took it easy as it was downhill. The road eventually arrives at the Salmon Creek Road, which I had ridden before. I still had lots of battery left at that point and knew I would make it home with power to spare.
I stopped to take a picture of a pear orchard in bloom. Apples are just barely starting to bloom. The Wenatchee Apple Blossom festival has been cancelled, by the way. I used to have to march in that one as did the rest of us band nerds. Here is the pear orchard.
The stats for the ride are: About 21 miles. 6 mule deer, one little brown snake, which I fear I ran over, and 3 wild turkeys. And I still have about half a battery left. I'll be riding this again.
Twin Valley
Well-Known Member
great pictures and history lessons, Stefan, if we can't travel these days one can still get a feel from these stories, you are pedalling some long miles these daysAlong the Vistula Downstream of Warsaw (A Day In A Chafing Balaclava)
I lied to you. I said "Mazovia is as flat as a pancake" once and that was not right. A long time ago a mighty glacier stopped moving southwards approximately where the Kampinos National Park is today. It carved the lakes of Sweden; it carved the lakes of Warmia and Masuria, and it also made the terrain northwards of the KPN slightly rolling. Not that there are any big or steep hills in Mazovia but the terrain is decidedly less boring on the right bank of the Vistula River northwards of my place, and the Mazovian Lowland is very interesting to a tourist; on warm days and when the cold wind doesn't blow.
It blew again.
I brought my Vado to Nowy Kazuń with the car, fastened the front wheel to the bike's fork with the torque wrench, placed panniers on the rear-rack, applied balaclava to my nose and mouth and off I rode to explore the banks of the Vistula River. I started with places such as Kazuń and Modlin, which were very important for the military in the past, especially during the 123 years that part of the country belonged to the Russian Empire (1795-1918).
View attachment 50411
This photo was taken in 2015 from the Red Tower of the Fortress of Modlin. The fortress was built by the French during the Napoleonic Wars (completed in 1812) to protect the place where the Rivers Narew (at the left) and Vistula (at the right) join. The Fortress, renamed to Novogeorgievsk by the Russian in 1830s became an important element in the defence system of the Russian Empire. The brick building seen at the tip of the land are the remains of the Granary On The Narew in Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki (completed in 1844). The bridge at the right hand side will be seen soon on another picture.
I was focused on riding and I gave up taking good photos on the Monday's ride. Besides, the Fortress was closed down because of the epidemics.
View attachment 50413
The historical bridge over the Vistula built in years 1928-1934. It bears the name of "The First Marshall of The Republic of Poland Józef Piłsudski". Note how narrow the gangway is. I could ride through it but when I met cyclists riding from the opposite side, all of us had to stop and negotiate the passing.
View attachment 50414
I chose riding local roads (tarmac, gravel and dirt) on the tall right bank of the Vistula on the first segment of the trip. The Vistula is an un-channeled river. In Warsaw, only the left river bank has embankments. The river flows freely, forming sand islands, creeks and prongs.
I had an adventure with a barking dog there, @Readytoride, at around 15th kilometre. I stopped to take photos and before I got off the bike, a small cute doggie ran towards my feet and calves, barking loudly. The tiny hero tried to defend his Mistress! When she came along, the dog suddenly became the sweetest thing in the world!
View attachment 50418
The rolling terrain along the Vistula. The picturesque landscape was somewhat spoilt by square kilometres of plastic film spread on the fields to protect the vegetation against the frost and drought.
View attachment 50419
Very typical of Mazovia, especially the iconic willows.
View attachment 50420
The Romanesque church in Czerwińsk nad Wisłą (1155!) Czerwińsk is a fantastic tourist destination for a warm summer. It is completely secluded, quiet, with a beautiful view of the Vistula.
View attachment 50421
Vistula River in Czerwińsk nad Wisłą. Long time ago, there was a ferry operating at the location. I regret there is no ferry nowadays, as there is no bridge between Nowy Dwór Mazowiecki and Wyszogród for approximately 50 kilometres. Still, many people own rowing or motorised boats here.
View attachment 50422
A ruined wooden house in Czerwińsk. Sad to think some poor soul still has to live here...
View attachment 50423
A church in Wyszogród (1774). It was the 50th kilometre and I had to swap the bike batteries. And to eat kiełbasa
View attachment 50424
The view at the new bridge in Wyszogród. There was a beautiful wooden bridge at the location before. I used to drive through that bridge for several times when it existed. Unfortunately, the old bridge has not been preserved. On the other hand, the new bridge is a beauty and I missed the opportunity to take a fantastic photo a few minutes later when I was above the bridge. Meaning, I have to come back there in the Summer.
Ah, there were 40 kilometres to cover yet on the left river bank. I was spinning like a madman in the Sport mode to get to my car possibly quickly; that made me very tired and my bum is sore even now. "It was my idea a good saddle is yet to be found"
View attachment 50425great
Stefan Mikes
Gravel e-biker
- Region
- Europe
- City
- Mazovia, PL
There's one thing that makes me sad, @Twin Valley, and that's the covid situation.
When I was on the Vistula ride, I consulted the GPS navigation. It turned out the city of Płock was well in my bike's range. Płock has historically been the capital city of Mazovia, it's the place my late wife was born, and that's the site of ORLEN (Polish National Oil & Gas Company) that is one of my largest customers. So I thought I could ride up to Płock and stay at the hotel overnight.
What hotel? All hotels are closed down!
That's very, very sad.
P.S. The thought I hadn't taken a charger with me came later
Some pictures from the Modlin area taken in earlier years:
The Modlin Fortress involves a chain of the longest fortified barracks known (as a continuous building). The total length is 2.25 km (1.4 mi). The distance between the Red Tower from which this photo was taken to the White Tower is 950 m (almost 0.6 mile).
Only half of the Granary On The Narew has remained. The land is a private property now and the ruins are only accessible by foot (and illegally but the owner seems to have abandoned that place long time ago).
The detail of the Granary's gate. The friend standing by the gate is 2.00 m tall (almost 6' 7").
The Modlin Fortress Red Tower. It is actually behind the River Narew.
The River Narew and buildings of the Modlin Fortress as seen from inside the Granary.
The Modlin Fortress as seen in the right perspective. The Russian fortress saw the combat only once in 1915 when the German easily captured it as the Russian understood it was more practical to retreat (the fortress was indeed a trap for the Russian). During that era the Russian military understood well that fortresses were an outdated and expensive concept and actually left all of them, destroying most of them before the retreat. Modlin Fortress was one of the few that remained intact.
The captor of the Modlin Fortress, the Prussian General Hans von Beseler became the Governor in Warsaw. Warsaw, albeit being the third largest city of the Russian Empire (after St. Petersburg and Moscow) was indeed a small city before 1916 because the City was kept inside the ring of Russian fortresses encircling it, and everything outside was wooden (for military reasons). Von Beseler gave the green light for the expansion of Warsaw. Although Warsaw became the capital city of Poland as early as in 1596, the modern history of the city began only in 1916.
When I was on the Vistula ride, I consulted the GPS navigation. It turned out the city of Płock was well in my bike's range. Płock has historically been the capital city of Mazovia, it's the place my late wife was born, and that's the site of ORLEN (Polish National Oil & Gas Company) that is one of my largest customers. So I thought I could ride up to Płock and stay at the hotel overnight.
What hotel? All hotels are closed down!
That's very, very sad.
P.S. The thought I hadn't taken a charger with me came later
Some pictures from the Modlin area taken in earlier years:
The Modlin Fortress involves a chain of the longest fortified barracks known (as a continuous building). The total length is 2.25 km (1.4 mi). The distance between the Red Tower from which this photo was taken to the White Tower is 950 m (almost 0.6 mile).
Only half of the Granary On The Narew has remained. The land is a private property now and the ruins are only accessible by foot (and illegally but the owner seems to have abandoned that place long time ago).
The detail of the Granary's gate. The friend standing by the gate is 2.00 m tall (almost 6' 7").
The Modlin Fortress Red Tower. It is actually behind the River Narew.
The River Narew and buildings of the Modlin Fortress as seen from inside the Granary.
The Modlin Fortress as seen in the right perspective. The Russian fortress saw the combat only once in 1915 when the German easily captured it as the Russian understood it was more practical to retreat (the fortress was indeed a trap for the Russian). During that era the Russian military understood well that fortresses were an outdated and expensive concept and actually left all of them, destroying most of them before the retreat. Modlin Fortress was one of the few that remained intact.
The captor of the Modlin Fortress, the Prussian General Hans von Beseler became the Governor in Warsaw. Warsaw, albeit being the third largest city of the Russian Empire (after St. Petersburg and Moscow) was indeed a small city before 1916 because the City was kept inside the ring of Russian fortresses encircling it, and everything outside was wooden (for military reasons). Von Beseler gave the green light for the expansion of Warsaw. Although Warsaw became the capital city of Poland as early as in 1596, the modern history of the city began only in 1916.
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pmcdonald
Well-Known Member
I quietly slip out of the house into the dark street. The saddle feels comfortable. I relish the ease of gliding along through the empty suburban streets, motor quietly whirring. Countless living rooms sit occupied, their owners idling away the young night around countless and ever-expanding televisions screens.
The path is empty. Mid-Autumn air is pleasantly cool on my skin, still t-shirt and shorts weather. I ride through icy pockets of air, pooling in the occasional hollow. The houses begin to fall away as the path gets darker. The rich smell of decaying forest matter replaces the odd dryness of suburban streets and smoky backyard fire pits. There is no light in sight. My light urgently, vainly tries to flood the darkness ahead, illuminating the unbroken path my bike pierces a second or two later.
The pathway returns to civilisation. It weaves its way along and past empty streets. A light ahead on the fence line! Two road cyclists slip past, the first nodding as they go. The path quickly returns to absolute darkness. I slip down, following the ghosts of colliery trucks a century ago, laden with coal and making the slow climb past me. A gust of warm air hits me, surprises me.
The decline tapers off. Ghostly eucalypts are replaced with peeling paperbarks, their overhanging branches laden with fingers of lichen. They appear stark and haunting in my little pool of light. This is the quiet stretch of track. Few houses, no chance of haphazard walkers. My legs are burning. I ease off and roll to a stop, suddenly aware of the cacophony of noise around me. A nearby bat colony feasts on goodness knows what. Frogs call out from all directions in the swamp that envelopes the track. It's the surround soundtrack to an Everglades scene. I take a photo of the stark path ahead.
I make the mistake of looking back at the path behind. It's enveloping, suffocating black. My rear light doesn't make the slightest dint in the darkness. I shake off a shiver and ride on.
Halfway point, exhale, a sigh of relief. I force myself to unclench the grips. I circle tightly and propel myself back into the swampy void, not bothering to stop. Back past familiar territory. My mind is more at ease. Any humans out here are as alien as me in this landscape. I enjoy the sensation of burning in my legs, the rhythmic whir, whir of pedals pushing against the motor, meeting resistance. I make a game of it, keeping just above the assist speed. It hurts, so I back off.
I switch my display off. Instant relief. I'm no longer fixated on metrics, no longer blinded by the glow of the screen. It feels good, pure. I listen to the bike and motor for cues on gear changes.
Then my light catches a rider gliding towards me. He has no lights, no reflectors, no helmet. I throw my light aside but he's already. He shields his eyes and rides past, head turned away. I wonder where he was going, where he came from. It occurs to me my arrival in his path was more startling to him than he to mine. I shake off the musing, but my mood has shifted. At night every stranger is viewed with suspicion. It feels like a hardwired response, painfully seared in over millenia.
I'm now climbing. Bit by bit the track advances up, the incline gentle but neverending. Another light. This one advances quickly. I see a silhouette in front of it - another rider. They're sitting on small motor bikes. The name peewee 50 flashes through my mind. Two teens cruise past, looking a little sheepish. Again, the balance of power instantly shifts in my head. They're caught riding motor bikes where such things are illegal. They quickly disappear behind me. I cut the motor and coast on, listening for the sound of their motors, gauging intent. They pass away into the distance. They're gone.
I reach the top of the hill. It's a long, weaving blast home from here. Slightly exhilarated I stand on the pedals, pushing the cadence into the triple digits. The motor assist gave up a long way ago. I feel superhuman. No, wait, a wave of nausea overwhelms me and I back down. Too fast, too hard. I suck in the cool night air. The path travels through a tunnel, sloping downhill for the final, long descent to suburbia. Somewhere above me sits an empty six lane highway.
I sweep off the path onto empty streets. I feel very alive. This ride can't end, not yet. There's another way home, slightly longer, past gaping empty drains and deserted, dark parks. I take it. A few minutes later I pull up back home, sore, very much alive, a little exhilarated.
Riding at night away from the familiarity of the urban landscape is just as much exercise for the mind as the body. The mind leaps to conclusions I'd never entertain during the day, plays tricks. It's a battle of wills to avoid being overwhelmed by it.
I'm thankful for the privilege of being male and the (sometimes illusionary) cloak of confidence that affords me in the night. I'm grateful for living in a town and country where such frivolous nocturnal pursuits are safe, with the assumption (again, sometimes illusionary) I'll return home in full ownership of body and bike. I'll keep doing these rides while the lockdown is in place. I need my commute, I need time on the bike. It recharges and energises me. It's elemental time: my body, my mind. And the comforting whir of my motor.
D
Deleted member 18083
Guest
Crossing the Brisbane River ...
Wednesday morning was spent pootling around Ipswich and the western suburbs of Brisbane. Some of the places will be revisited; others will be added to a no-need-to-go-there-again list.
Stopping by the river is always worthwhile! Today's photo was taken looking upstream from the old Mount Crosby Weir which was constructed in the late nineteenth century to satisfy Brisbane's needs.
Mount Crosby Weir
20 km on map.
Click for Google Street View.
20 km on map.
Click for Google Street View.
Wednesday morning was spent pootling around Ipswich and the western suburbs of Brisbane. Some of the places will be revisited; others will be added to a no-need-to-go-there-again list.
Stopping by the river is always worthwhile! Today's photo was taken looking upstream from the old Mount Crosby Weir which was constructed in the late nineteenth century to satisfy Brisbane's needs.
Stefan Mikes
Gravel e-biker
- Region
- Europe
- City
- Mazovia, PL
@David Berry, did you use to be such a long-distance cyclist before you got the first e-bike? You don't make short trips at all!
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