Winter took a hiatus for a few days...
....and Autumn stole that opportunity to sneak back and warm the air with a gift of what we all were longing for...perfect riding days. Hubby and I had spent the morning fighting traffic and the last-minute shopping crowds at the grocery store who were stocking up on the scant remaining bits of Thankgiving staples for the feasting tomorrow night. The store shelves had been picked clean like a carcass on the Serengeti and the checkout lines would rival commuter lanes in rush hour traffic. It was a madhouse out there, although people were smiling and sincerely happy, ready for a day off tomorrow to devote to family, dysfunctional or not, and over-eating.
We escaped suburbia with most of our shopping items in hand, at least those items that had been still left on the grocery store shelves, to make our way home to rural. By the time we arrived back at the farm the day was at the height of its warmth. 60°f (15.5°c). Time for a bike ride.
I dressed for the temperature in a lightweight silk jacket and took off down the road. I got exactly 1/2 mile and whipped that bike right around so fast it would have made your eyeballs spin. I raced back to the house to put on a heavier fleece-lined jacket, my high vis windbreaker, a neck scarf, and a head band. The temps may have seemed warm standing still, but it sure as heck got cold fast when zipping along at 20mph on a bike.
Once more, suitably dressed this time in warm layers, I hit the road. My plan was to enjoy the gravel roads and leave the paved roads to the increased traffic of cars in a hurry to take their rushed occupants to the stores or to start on the journey to a relative's home hours away where family would be gathering for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I didn't want to be in anyone's way since my aim was to relax and enjoy the views. I wasn't disappointed in my choice.
The afternoon sun was brilliant in the sky, and while there were a few more than normal vehicles sharing the roads with me, all racing past quickly enough to kick up clouds of dust in their hurry, for the most part I was left with clear breathable air, and all the views to myself.
I had missed riding when the cold had gripped our area, so I was delighted to extend my afternoon ride further and further as my bike's GPS logged the miles. I even bumped into my cycling neighbor, G, on her way to her boarding barn to collect some item she would need for the Thanksgiving foxhunt tomorrow. This holiday always marked the beginning of "formal season" for the hunts where the lightweight autumn hunt coats were changed to the heavy formal winter black melton, or whatever color (dark blue in the case of this hunt) for members who had been awarded their "colors". She and I stopped mid-road to enjoy a few seconds of conversation, and for me to borrow a bit of lip balm as (for some unknown reason) mine was missing from my saddle packs. We only parted to head our separate ways when another car came into view, even though the driver seemed happy enough to wait patiently until she and I said our goodbyes. I will be at the hunt tomorrow to watch her, the rest of the field, horses and hounds go off into the morning light. Opening hunt of formal season is a big affair, and usually takes place at some extensive estate. Such a grand sight that is one not to be missed. A delicious hunt breakfast in the estate's main house is always planned for this special day after hunting, but I won't stay for that.
Some internet photos of the hunt opening meet in years past. The huntsman, Jordan, is a pretty cool, super friendly guy. He rides a bike as well and can even exercise the hounds in the off season via two wheels as well as a horse.
Scarlet is worn by the huntsman, parts of the staff, Master, and any male member in good standing that has been awarded his colors (worn on the collar. Being awarded colors is a discussion for another time as it can be both lengthy and detailed). Scarlet coats helps to stand out senior members who should be followed at all times. Ladies (excluding staff) wear the traditional dark hunt coat in the color dictated by the hunt. In this case, dark blue. Everyone else is in black as to blend in with the rest of the "field" (all the other riders).
The elegance of sidesaddle can never be overrated.
Below is a stock photo of the Middleburg Hunt in 1924. The only things missing in 2022 are the floral buttoneers, the top hats for members (except for ladies riding sidesaddle as that is part of their formal attire) and the grooms (always in tweed as they were not a member of the hunt) following any lady riding sidesaddle to render aid to her if necessary. The rest remains unchanged since the last century and the one before that. Tradition plays a strong role in foxhunting.
Along the miles it was fun to see so many of the estate entryways still decorated with bright orange pumpkins and colorful gourds, tightly wrapped corn stalks dried enough to rustle in even the slightest breeze, and numerous pots with now faded maroon and yellow crysanthamums. By this weekend they would all be memories as the holly wreaths and assorted Christmas decorations would take their place for the remainder of the year.
This whimsical red mailbox teased me to stop for a photograph.
And this red barn as well.
I had quite forgotten that the sun was in a hurry these days, dropping down the sky towards the mountains much faster than it did in summer, and catching me by surprise. Halfway through the ride the warm air turned cool and the surrounding scenery became awash in a gorgeous golden light.
I was still warm in my layers of jacket, but the headband was a lightweight one that offered no help beyond my ears to the rest of my head getting chilled with the cold draft through the helmet vents. My hands were toasty warm in my gloves, but that wouldn't last much longer. As much as the gravel roads begged me to stay and keep riding, I only allowed it to persuade me to take a final road heading further west, a bit of a mistake when I found the sun shining directly in my eyes was making it difficult to see the road. Even through my expensive sunglasses the road was getting harder and harder to see as the fading sun angled its increasingly orange beams right at my eyes.
A few more miles of second guessing the road under my tires was enough for me. It was time to head home. At the 20 mile mark I was cruising up my driveway, relaxed and happy and still warm, ready for tea time. A wonderful way to close out an afternoon in the waning month of November.
The Black Loch was still pretty low which was a real surprise given the weather in recent weeks, as you can see the water is flat calm which meant there was almost no wind to speak of!
Its looking pristine now though, I keep saying it but what a brilliant bike this has been, 23,257 miles and it rides like it was brand new!
If the batteries don't solve the issue (I'm sure they will) they will happily check my gloves out and replace if necessary, fantastic sevice from Sealskinz!
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