Rewards, smelling the roses, and a big ol' mountain
I was very happy with myself today. After working like a slave all morning long on every farm chore that needed to be done, and finishing up the garden fence and laying the first of the slate walkway, I was going to reward myself by giving myself the afternoon off to do whatever I wanted. Anything I wanted. Despite a tired body and a real argument over a nap vs. a ride, the ride won by a whisker and a promise to be short so that the nap could be squeezed in.
(Yeah, right)
My friend 100 miles south of me had been out riding in the morning, and texted me that it had been both windy and cold. It was the same up here, 100 miles north, but there was a promise of warmth and calm for the afternoon, which I took literally. Literally enough to dress for winter biking, but hoping for summer biking.
Good thing I did dress warm because right out of the driveway the cold winds got right into my face and did not let up for the first 10 miles. It wasn't until 15 miles that the winds died down, the temperature shot up like a rocket, and I could shed the extra jacket and the windbreaker overpants and enjoy the first 70 degrees (F) in several weeks.
Stats:
The ride started off slowly (tired body) but I wasn't in a hurry. I planned about 7 miles, just a short out and back. Nothing strenuous, nothing long. I had that nap waiting...see?
So it was a ride to smell the flowers, listen to the birds, and see what Mother Nature had popping up in her wild gardens. Which meant a ride on the gravel roads, which meant the LaFree and I would be partners today.
The phlox (see below) and the fleabane are in full bloom already - both field flowers that bloom in early summer.
The long peaceful gravel roads kept me protected from the wind and the sun. Surprisingly, it was quite warm where the winds were not allowed to blow me about, and I almost surrendered my jacket several times. Discretion prevailed, however, as soon as I was out in the wind again the cold reasserted itself with a vengance.
My ride took me north to Bluemont where, for some strange reason I looked up at the mountains and completely lost all my marbles (sense of reason) deciding, on a harebrained whim, to ride up the slope of the mountain to see what the view was like at Dirt Farm Brewery. Yes, I had completely lost my mind. Allow me to show you what the elevation was and the slope gradiant:
Elevation 1,059'. Valley floor: 591'. Maximum Grade: 22.9%. Distance: 1 Mile. Probability of Killing Myself riding up to the top: 100%
Here is where I started: Doesn't look so bad, does it? Guess again.
Here is the view halfway up: I was already in the lowest gear, gasping for breath, and my legs already questioning my sanity and debating whether to give it up at that point. I figured the sign was encouragement. (Actually, the sign was lying, but I didn't know that until later)
And here is the view from the top. I will never, ever, EVER, do that again! I was in Granny gear (1), top assist, and wishing I had a Great Great Great Granny Gear climbing up that road. I could barely breathe for gasping for air, my legs were about to mutiny, and I could hear the motor saying "We can do it We can do it We can do it" while I chanted to myself "Don't look up Don't look up Don't look up". I honestly, at one point didn't think I would make it because the slope was so steep. To take this photo I had to hold onto my bike because it was not going to stay upright on that extreme slope with the kickstand.
So I arrive at the top, still gasping for air, my lungs on fire, legs shaking, just ready to throw myself down and die for at least a few minutes, when out of the brewery comes a very nice young lady, heading toward an outbuilding with a tag along cart. I can't even catch my breath to say hello, so I simply watched her as she loaded the cart with some brew, and turned to go back into the building. She caught sight of me then and called out a hello. At that point I was less on the verge of collapse, was gasping only moderately, and could answer back. She asked if I needed any water, and I raised my bottle aloft to show her I was good. I explained I had just come up to take photos, and she told me that a lot of cyclists love to come up the mountain, and some even have contests to see how many times they could ride up the driveway/road. One guy apparently did it 20 times in a row.
My jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" I asked. She said "Yes" with a smile. "Honey," I said, "that was not a cyclist. That was a machocist with a side order of sadism." She laughed and checked again that I didn't need anything to drink. I told her I was good and thanked her again. She headed back into the brewery as we waved goodbye to each other, and I commenced to walk...not ride, WALK... my bike back down that road, both brakes on hard. There was no way on this green earth that I would have climbed on that bike for a ride down. You couldn't pay me enough to put my foot on the pedals. I would have broken every land speed record ever recorded and overshot the turns like an out of control toboggan on Mt. Everest. Nope. I walked down, leaning back against the pull of gravity, while my LaFree was kept on a tight rein. I had to turn the LaFree around and face uphill to take the photo below, otherwise the bike would have taken off like a shot and raced down the hill all on its own.
So much for a relaxed, smell-the-roses ride. Finally at the bottom my legs were still in shock, my lungs not quite recovered, and here was this nice winery next door just begging to be visited. Yeah.... that's a big NOPE. I'll come back in my car to take photos. No more mountain climbing for me today.
My sanity restored, I decided it was time to get back to relaxing, and so headed south towards Upperville. There is a delightful old gravel road that takes you straight to the east end of Upperville, and enroute just oozes charm and tranquility. It was the perfect road to center myself and restore some peace and calm. It was also getting warm enough to shed the jacket and over-pants, and enjoy some sunshine as well. I did meet a husband and wife riding a Cannondale tandem at the top of this road, so we stopped to chat for a moment. They had started out in Middleburg and had already finished about 20 miles and were heading back to finish up at 40 miles. Both looked like they were having a blast, and I complimented them on riding up the gravel road, rather than down. (Yes, it makes a big difference as there is a steep incline coming the opposite way). They were impressed with my electric bike, and after a few more exchanges of pleasantries, we waved goodbye and headed different directions - them back to Middleburg, and me towards Upperville.
At the bottom of the old road is a bridge built in 1916 by a bridge building company in York, PA - or so the historical plaque claimed. All the creeks in the area were running fast due to yesterday's rain, but none at flood stage, thankfully,
A mile later:
Now, the funny thing about the "Please Drive Slowly" is that it is a bit of a hidden joke. You see, way, way, way, WAY back in the past, when stagecoaches ran the roads from Alexandria and Washington DC, through Middleburg (hence the name as it was a midway overnight stop) and then west the remaining miles to Winchester (which was, at one point, the farthest west you could go before you hit the Native American territory), all the coaches had to go through Upperville. Way back then, Upperville had a bad reputation and was home to quite a few highwaymen, thieves, miscreants, and neerdowells, so the stagecoach drivers were told to whip up the horses and gallop through town and not to stop for anything otherwise they'd be robbed blind of not only their money but also of the stagecoach horses!
Kind of funny that the once badboy town now asks people to drive slowly, don't you think?
It is a pretty town with lovely historic homes that have been beautifully restored. And quite the pleasant ride now that the highway men and the criminals are all just history book characters.
Turning north towards home out of Upperville, the Blue Ridge is so close you could almost reach out your hand and touch it.
The remaining 9 miles were so quiet, so serene, so temping to just keep going on. But my nap awaited, and so the LaFree and I made a beeline home at a relaxed pace. Rest assured we will get out together another day to enjoy these roads once again.
Or, better yet - go to the top of Bluemont Vineyards. And then tell us all about it. We'll be down below waiting with bated breath. 
