The morning started out with both hubby and I on the tractors to cut the last of the Fall flush of lush grass in the fields before the coming cold weather puts an end to any more growth and gives the mowers a breather until next spring. By the time I'd spent 2 hours riding a mower, I was ready to switch to a more pleasant conveyance, and a change of scenery.
Hubby was still on his tractor as my gray Gazelle and I passed him, me heading down the driveway and him grooming the front field. We waved in passing as I took off on a 21.4 mile tour of the countryside to ostensibly see how many local estates had decorated their entryways in preparation for the upcoming holidays, while he remained to turn several scraggly acres into a pleasant vision of groomed perfection.
I chose to take the paved roads for a faster, less gnarly ride since the gravel roads were under siege from an influx of washboarding, and I had precious little time to crawl along bumpy roads for the 2 hours I slotted myself as an escape from home.
Of course, my first 3 miles had to be on a gravel road, but I was too happy to be back out on my bike to care about a few washboards. These two horses enroute grazing on the fresh grass of the waning fall days were diligently intent upon cropping the green stuff without pause, and paid little attention to me as I stopped to take their picture, and then rolled on.
Throughout the ride I saw a number of estates that had gone all out in decorating their entryway with pumpkin and gourds of all colors and descriptions. It is, after all, that time of year.
Invariably, each year, this one farm presents a solitary pumpkin of immense girth under their sign. Nothing else, though a pumpkin of this size is a standout all on it's own.
This farm had four residents in its front field: one horse and three tiny donkeys. The three long eared inhabitants were dressed in Hannibal Lector masks of varying cleanliness and cobbling together, the sole purpose being to thwart the little beasts of burden from eating too much of the rich grass. Not for a weight gain issue, but for a hoof ailment called laminitus- a severe swelling and debilitating issue that, if contracted and not immediately resolved via medication or veterinary intervention, could be fatal. Can't tell the little guys that fact as they would neither believe, or understand, the danger. After all, grass is their food source. However, genetically not in the quantity or lushness offered underfoot. Donkey are desert bred creatures who survive under the toughest of conditions with a sparce food source. Yet...here they are in Virginia with grass rich enough to kill them 100 times over. Hence the masks.
The route I chose is one that yawns and stretches along the base of tthe Blue Ridge, hemmed in by a stitching of precise wooden fencing and less precise, but much older, stone walls.
The corn fields that covered the landscape in a green vibrant blanket of waving stalks in the summer had succumbed to the withering drought of the past few months, enough so that the farmers, having no hope of the corn growing to any more profitability, had harvested earlier than normal.
Some corn was still standing, defeated by the lack of rain and the diminishing sunlight, waiting shoulder to shoulder with wilting heads in solidarity for the threshing machines to reap them of their summer bounty and crush the rest into winter fodder for the cattle.
A more pleasant view awaited on the other side of the road. One of greenery and trees yet to start dressing in reds and oranges and yellows for Autumn. That dance would be held in the next week or so when the temperatures dropped to "sweaters and woolen caps" level.
By now my route had started to swing me back home. Back to the gravel roads that populated my area with scant regard for the very few paved roads. There is a profound silence that moves in company with these unpaved roads, a watchful unseen presence that follows my bike as I cruise along, the crunch of gravel under my wheels the only sound besides the music playing in my ear from my Bluetooth headset.
I stopped and looked behind me at the retreating mountains, noticing that one or two trees already had gotten the memo to start changing their leaves. It seems as if the yellow trees are always the first to embark on the dance that will end a month later in a whirlwind flurry of leaves in flight and the first hint of snow in the air
I'm not sure why, but the Fall seems to be the preferred time to promote the birth of newborn calves here in Virginia. These little youngsters had been peacefully asleep under the watchful eyes of their mothers when I pulled up alongside the fence to take their picture. The moms were not amused, nor were the calves inclined to remain asleep as I made my noisy way to their fence. I had the briefest of seconds to snap a picture before the babies leapt to their feet and scampered away in abject terror.
I think I need to perfect the art of sneaking if I want to take better shots of sleeping babies.
No need to be stealthy for the landscapes photographs. It's as if the scenery takes a deep breath and preens itself for the camera's lens, swelling to encompass the horizon in color and majesty. It does make for a beautiful view, well worthy of admiration as I stopped to take a drink, and then lean on my handlebars for a bit, just drinking in the vast color palate of blues and greens.
At this point I was close to home, close to the end of an idyllic 21.4 miles and 2 hours of escape. My front field was empty of any machinery as I pulled into the driveway. Only the grass remained, meticulously cut to perfection for, hopefully, the final time this year. Hubby had retired inside to a well deserved lunch, and as I parked my Gazelle in the garage, I had every intention of joining him to entertain him with the highlights of my ride.
And then back on the tractor I'd be for the rest of the afternoon. Rain is forecast this weekend so all the fields need to be shorn before then.
Interestingly, an 8 km, 30 minute ride was reported as 1% off from the main battery or 5 Wh: used for lighting and the system with its sensors working. It translates to at least 55 ride hours on the main battery
I had covered close to 38 miles here so I turned south to take another of my favourite back roads to Hareshaw, not a single car once again here! Eventually this road takes you back on to the main road at Newhouse where I continued straight through instead of turning north to home and continued west to Holytown where I then turned north and took the road to Calderbank which is only 3 miles from home and I had covered just over 47 miles so it worked out nicely for my 50 mile recovery ride!
