Thanks, Ian. Not!
My number 4 out of 6 charity rides ain't happening according to their Facebook page:
Soooo, thanks to Hurricane Ian, who after whalloping Florida to the tune of billions of dollars worth of damage, has now smashed into the mid-Atlantic coast of the US, heading inland and northwards, intent upon further destruction and disruption ... and causing the cancellation of my 4th out of 6 charity bike rides.
Bummer is one of the lesser phrases that comes to mind.
Not surprising, though. The track of the hurricane has been broadcast for days, and the probability that the ride would be cancelled was a no brainer, even for the most optimistic.
(The above graphic was taken at the time of this writing. Currently outside the winds are whistling and the rain coming down. But I digress. On with the story...)
So, I did what any prepared cyclist would do. I rode the 30 mile division...from home. But I had only a small window of time to ride, even though the eye of the depression was several hundred miles south, before the first far reaching bands of the hurricane rains and winds moved into my area.
The morning sky was heavy with sullen gray clouds forming an impenetrable blanket so thick that the sun had no chance to make an appearance. It was chilly, too, without the sunny warmth, because an advancing cold front was waging a war of dominance against the tropical depression. For the first time since Spring I shrugged on a lightweight coat, neck warmer, and winter gloves before throwing a leg over the Gazelle and heading off down the driveway.
I was probably tempting fate heading south towards the northern heading hurricane, but these roads were my favorite fast rides, and today "fast" was imperative. I had 5 hours before the rains began if the weatherman was accurate. If not, at least I was dressed warm.
The cold deep clouds weighed heavily on a landscape that seemed to just shrink into itself, waiting quietly for what was to come. Even the animal kingdom was silent except for the ever cheerful crickets who, having no concept of the wretched weather to come, kept up a steady chirping harmony as my bike glided along the empty roads. Every now and then in passing I caught the sound of a bird twittering, but otherwise the world was wrapped in a heavy contemplative pause.
Despite the gloomy overhead, the landscape itself was not without its late summer charms. I have photographed these fields and stone walls so many times in the past, yet they still invite me to stop and admire and capture the changing views every time. I have never been able to resist their charms.
The corn has been growing all summer, fattening the ears for the fall harvest. The stalks are just now starting to dry up and turn brown, a clear sign that the colder days of autumn are on our doorstep. The goldenrod is in full bloom, the last of the flowers to be pollinated by the anxious bees rushing to finish their summer employment before sealing their hives for winter, and the butterflies who will soon head south with the geese to winter over in the tropics.
Even the fleabane is in full bloom, adding it's spray of bright daisy white blooms to the overgrown grasses and weeds alongside the roads.
The gravel roads were quiet, dusty, and slow with recently raked gravel. I looked for signs of the hundreds of bikes that had traveled down these roads just a week before in the Tour de Conservation bike ride, but there wasn't a trace of their passing left on the roads. So I made a new trail, still following the road south.
The road took on a languid pace, threading a narrow ribbon between beautifully maintained estates with fancy stone entryways, and rough cattle pastures dotted with grazing bovine.
I paused to take a shot of the cow far overhead at the top of this hill, prompting a rare passing motorist to stop to see if I was OK. I graciously assured her I was, and as we chatted she told me about a helicopter just down the road a piece. She thought they were working on the helicopter blades, so I hustled off, the top-of-the-hill cow now forgotten, to the bottom of the gravel road to see if the helicopter was still there.
Sure enough I found the small whirly bird relaxing on the far side of the railroad tracks with two men and a reclining black Lab in attendance. The one gentlemen told me they had been using the copter for scouting the power lines from overhead. The big RV belonged to the pilot as well I was told.
I would have talked to them longer, but time was pressing as the cloud cover continued to thicken overhead. The gravel road had run its course. Now it was time for me to turn north again and outpace the advancing hurricane.
Heading past one of the many vineyards that draped acres of grapevines along the rolling hills, I wondered if the grapes had already been picked for this year's vintage. I was too far away to see, and without time available to swing into the property for an upclose look, I could only surmise the harvest was yet to take place. The need for the vineyard to surround itself with a high wall of fence wire to fend off the deer was pretty clear in the unprotected privacy treeline of this property where Bambi and his 4 legged pest friends had cropped the trees right at munching height.
By now 20 miles had passed with 10 left to go. I found more horses the further north I traveled, many that were already blanketed against the coming bad weather. Many more that had been left to their own devices, and still more happy to come to the fence line for a bit of offered grass.
A friendly leopard Appaloosa and a very Quarter Horse looking palimino that were happy to take some proffered grass from me.
The wind, which had been absent for most of my ride, now began to make an appearance. I knew the rain wasn't far behind, and a quick peek at my radar app on the phone verified my suspicions. I was only a few miles from home, however, and not in enough of a rush not to stop to take a picture of a neighbor's Halloween display being trotted out for yet another year of hilarious entryway comedy.
A bit further up the road two old campaigners were parked under an ancient oak tree, silently contemplating together the roll of the clouds as the first bands of the hurricane, hundreds of miles away, came into view over the Blue Ridge mountains.
A final turn towards home took me past my "across the street" neighbor's fields where a Connemara mare and her spring foal were close enough to the fence to pose for a picture. I'm amazed at how big the foal had gotten over the summer.
I turned up my driveway just as my GPS logged a successful tour of 30.3 miles through a beautiful rural countryside.
I tucked the Gazelle into the garage to recharge its battery, and headed inside to greet my hubby before the two of us teamed up outside with the extension ladder and leaf blower to clean the house and barn gutters before the rains and wind began.
You can see the platform in the second picture!
