Yes Yes Yes Nooooooo!
Saturday was the 26th annual
Rappahannock Rough Ride, the 2nd of my 6 chosen charity rides for the 2022 Fall cycling season.
Their capped limit of 600 cyclists had been filled quickly as the rural scenery along their 4 routes was spectacular. Rolling and hilly, but spectacular none the less.
Now, when I say "rolling and hilly", just envision swells on an ocean, rising and falling in an endless choreography over beautiful farmland with mountain views as far as the eye can see. Each swells rose to catch glimpses of the blue tinged mountains in the distance, while the troughs dipped down into the woodlands where the scattered enclaves of rural houses, some old, some even older, hugged the byways with freshly mowed lawns and the assorted bric-a-brak of humanity via an organized line of comfy sitting furniture on the front porches.
Two groups of riders were scheduled to head off on gravel road voyages, while the remaining two groups, a half metric and a full metric century, would be cruising the countryside on the faster paved roads. My selected route was the half metric cruise - a route I'd enjoyed in the past which lent a bit of familiarity to the sea of hills I knew were to come.
But first was the arrival, the checking in, the socializing as bikes were unloaded from a flotilla of cars, tires pumped, and the start line-up swelled with colorfully dressed riders on smart bikes as the start time grew close. Then came the speeches, the ride instructions, and the results of the raffle (which I had not been aware they had). I happened to be standing towards the back of the line, watching as the winner of a 2 day stay at a local B&B was declared. The assembled crowd cheered and clapped for the happy winner as she raised her hand in the air in delighted acknowledgement of her win. The 2nd raffle item was a gift certificate for dinner for two at the 3 star Michelin "
Inn at Little Washington" restaurant. If ever there was a destination restaurant along the east coast of the US, this was it. I had dined there, once, decades ago for an anniversary, and it was beyond measure the best I'd ever eaten. It was expensive back then 20 years ago. It was even more so today. My hubby had (jokingly?) suggested we stay after the bike ride to have dinner there, and I had looked at him in astonishment. "Are you crazy?" I asked. "We talking upwards of $750 for just dinner? Dream on, pal!"
So there I stood, in the back of the crowd of bikes, thinking how great it would be if they called out my name as the winner. And then...they did!!!!!!
YES!!!!! I jumped up and down, waving my arms while all the cyclists around me erupted in cheers. I dashed to the announcers, got my certificate, had my picture taken with one of the charity officials for their Facebook page, and dashed back to my bike, still among the cheers of the surrounding cyclists. While the start countdown took place, I took off to where my car was parked to give the treasured certificate to my astonished hubby. He was going to get his dinner at the Inn after all!
The flow of cyclists had started streaming down the road as I got back in line, and soon all the divisions had set off, following their respective routes into the vast seas of rural America.
A more perfect day could not be found. The weather was spectacular - cool, bright, and calm - and the roads drifted onwards, up one swell and down another, in the gentle silence that only a quiet Saturday morning could promise. It was a
YES everywhere one looked.
I was amused at the variety of road signs named after individuals of the local population, or the effort travelers encountered sailing these terrestrial waters, and couldn't resist stopping to take a few photos.
Our passage was noted by the local canine population, safely secured behind front and backyard fences. Their eagerness to announce our passing through their territorial waters was both loud and enthusiastic. I suppose we made their day, there were just so many of us to acknowledge.
There was just so much to see, so much to enjoy in this exquisite part of middle Virginia. Well known as part of the Foxhunting Capital of Virginia, the sweep of pasturelands was legend, bounded by fences dotted with hunt "coops" for horses and riders to jump while following the hounds in pursuit of a fox. The season had just begun, so all of the hunt jumps were already opened and groomed, ready for the fall and winter sport that only the well heeled could afford.
For those of us cruising along on our bikes the scenery was ours to take in and enjoy. For those of us on electric bikes, there was a lot more enjoyment as the deeper into the countryside one sailed, the greater and more numerous the hills swelled. I was on my Vado, which had performed flawlessly in last weekend's 50+ mile ride, and which was once again performing flawlessly, speeding up one steep hill after another, and zooming down the backsides. For miles.
YES!
The rest stop was well packed, well attended, and well organized. I paused only briefly, then took off, counting down the rolling miles as the route looped back towards the start.
I was about 8 miles from the finish when I heard the sound coming from my crank shaft. Softly at first, then progressively louder.
Clunk, clunk, clunk. I frowned as I looked down at my pedals. Something was wrong. At each turn of the crank the sound increased until it was too loud to ignore. I dropped down a level of assist and the sound went away...for a moment. Then it began to ratchet louder. I dropped to the lowest assist, trying to get away from the worry that my motor was rapidly failing. No such luck. The
clunk, clunk, clunk became
CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! In one last ditch effort I turned off the assist. My glorious speed boat had become a rowboat in open water. The noise stopped, but I was now faced with the daunting prospect of 6 remaining miles of hills, all determined to drown me. I tried to power the bike on my own up a hill, but it felt like I was dragging an anchor. It just wasn't going to work. I turned the assist back on, and rather than simply clanking, it now sounded like two cats in a bag fighting. Then 4 cats, then 8 cats, and then...and then...the motor gave a death scream, a screech so loud and piercing it was probably heard in the surrounding counties. And promptly died.
NOOOOOOOO!
I was on my own now, adrift, with 6 miles of agonising hills between me and the finish. And no motor. This was not good. Not good at all.
It was time to call in the coast guard.
Fortunately my motor had blown right at a cross roads manned by a ride volunteer standing vigil to stop cars to let any cyclists across the road to take the short cut back to the start. It was easy for my hubby to find, so I waited and chatted with the volunteer until my rescue appeared with the car. We loaded the bike on the rack, waved goodbye to the volunteer, and headed back to the ride meet so that I could check out, and hubby could get a Cajon burger at the food truck parked next to the registration tent.
Then we made a bee line due north, through several counties, until we hit Winchester, the big town just 24 miles west of where we lived, and pulled into the parking lot of the Specialized dealer. They took the bike, gave it a trial run around the parking lot, and came back with the diagnosis that something was "seriously wrong". Like, yeah. I already knew that. The necessary paperwork was exchanged digitally (bless the synching capability of the internet across platforms, and retaining sales receipts and documents online!), a warranty claim submitted, and we left the beached, disabled bike in the bike shop's capable hands while we sailed home in the car, happily discussing plans for our dinner at the Inn.
Next ride is this Saturday, the
Tour de Conservation - a metric century on the gravel roads in my own neck of the woods. The Gazelle will be on deck for this adventure, as well as several of the other upcoming rides on pavement since I'm not sure how long it will take for the Vado's motor to be repaired, or replaced.
Upon reading up on my bike's problem I found motor issues have plagued the 2019 and 2020 Vado and (especially the) Levo models, something I hadn't been aware of until now. Wouldn't you know - my Vado is a 2020. And 5 months out of warrenty. Guess I'll be keeping my fingers crossed that (with the raft of issues regarding these '19-'20 model year motors) Specialized will extend the 2 year warranty to fix mine. We shall see!