An (almost) 50 Mile Gravel Roads Ride, a Gnome Convention, and "Photo Opp" Buildings
3 miles doesn't seem like much much to push to obtain 50 miles when you're at 47 miles already, but I challenge anyone to come out to Virginia during June and let's see how they'd fare when the afternoon temps are cresting 86°F (30°C), and any pause with the bike brings copious streams of sweat created just under the helmet to cascade down the face.
The 3 miles to make a 50 even just wasn't in the books today. Too close to home, too hot to go another mile. Maybe next time.
It was going to be all gravel road riding today, skirting the paved roads as much as possible. All in my own neighborhood, the maximum distance from home being about 8 miles at any one time. I actually do have more than 50 miles of gravel roads in a big circle around the epicenter of my farm, but 50 was my goal for today. It seemed doable with the cooler temps presented in the morning. I deliberately didn't check the weather forecast- whatever it said wasn't going to matter. I was going to ride regardless.
So this was the view I enjoyed for the next 4 hours, from the front, and following behind.
On one of the gravel roads I discovered the ruins of an old stone barn...or maybe it was an old house. Hard to tell. There was a man just out of a stone's throw reach doing something in a weedy patch of ground. He seemed to be studying the ground as he walked slowly along, pausing now and then to bend down to pick something up, look at it intently, then drop it as he continued to walk forward. Figuring he was the owner of the property, and, by rights, the owner of the barn (house?) ruins by virtue of the fact that a gator had been parked and was waiting up near the stone walls, I called out, waved hello, and asked if he would mind me taking a photo of the old building. He waved back and hollered for me to "help myself", then proceeded to continue walking very slowly through the weed patch, still inspecting the ground. I was halfway ready to ask just what he was doing, but figured it best just to pose the LaFree for a photo shoot, and leave it at that.
I still have no clue what he was doing, or looking at (for?) as we exchanged goodbyes and I headed off down the gravel road.
It was a day for views, and at each crest of each gravel road there were ample opportunities to give the phone camera a workout. No permission needed.
At one point I decided to adjust my route slightly to take a gravel road that (unfortunately) ended on a major 4 lane divided highway with a wide, densely overgrown median strip full of trees, brush, brambles, and other noxious things I'd rather not encounter with traffic speeding past on both sides. I decided if I didn't want to quickly bike the short 1/4 mile on the "wrong side" (my side) of that highway to the next gravel road (also on my side), I could always turn around and go back.
Maybe it was this convention of cheeky gnomes at the end of someone's farm driveway who decided it for me, especially the one hanging in the tree by his britches. They all seemed to say go for it...and so I did. But not before taking their picture in case I wanted to point to someone to blame for what would be a bit of a hair-raising, very fast sprint, riding the wrong way against major traffic, to the next road over.
Suffice to say, I pushed the LaFree to the max on the paved shoulder of the highway, and probably scared about 20 oncoming motorists to death since I was pretty boldly breaking traffic laws. Next time I do something that foolhardy, I'll go with the flow of traffic. This time it was impossible, however, because there was no crossover from the proper side of traffic and through the overgrown grass and tree median in order to get to the road I wanted. I would have had to have gone over a mile on the main road's shoulder, further past the gravel road, enduring 60-65mph traffic at my shoulder before I finally reached a proper crossover, and then turn back and go 3/4 of a mile back with 60-65 mph traffic coming up behind me, again at my shoulder. Legally I could have walked my bike the 1/4 mile on the shoulder against traffic, but with no law enforcement in sight it was easier to be a scofflaw and ride the bike on the highway shoulder against traffic in a fast, short run for the road I wanted.
It took only a minute or so, and I was then safely back on the gravel roads, this one going through a number of horse farms, one of which had carriage horses. I thought their sign was hilarious.
Back on my old familiar network of gravel roads, I took opportunities to enjoy posing the LaFree next to a few picturesque scenes: a tiny, ancient and very tired wooden and concrete abutment bridge stepping over a small energetic brook, an old paint chipped building that used to be a service station and general store more than 60 years ago that still had a boot advertisement glued to one window pane, and an old-public-road-now-private-farm-lane where I could stop and eat a snack under the cool shade of the nearby trees, and within spitting distance of the mountains.
By the time I hit 40 miles the heat was rising, jumping up the thermometer towards 90°F (32°C) much faster than I'd anticipated. I was losing steam, the breezes had become a headwind, the air was now hot rather than cool, and both my knee and my resolve had lost enthusiasm for collecting any more miles. All my effort was, at that point, focused towards the job of moving forward. Thankfully, the LaFree could rocket right along when I asked, especially when we hit those rare instances of paved roads between the gravel ones. I also found I was pretty adept at taking a photo while riding...as long as the going was smooth and traffic was at zero.
At 46 miles I was within a mile of home, following my next door neighbor who was hauling hay rolls on a farm wagon. I was aimed at 6 more miles of gravel roads to my left...but the heat had done a number on me, and my knee, after so many miles of rolling roads and a 3,000+ elevation change record, outright lobbied to cease and desist for the day. I capitulated, and decided to head to the right and go the one mile to home.
There will always be another day to do a 50 mile gravel road ride. I'm sure the gravel roads will wait until then.
The Army cannot of course put a remark "Hey, we have a range here!" on a tourist map. Instead, there was a sign: "Military range. By entering here, you put your own life at risk". I assumed they wouldn't be shooting on the holiday
