The Biking Weather of Autumn
The fall charity bike rides are in full swing in our area. This past weekend was the Civil War Century held by the Baltimore (Maryland) Cycling Club. I've been on this ride before -pre-pandemic - in the quarter century (25 miles) so it was time to step it up to the half century. 52 miles through the upper part of Maryland near the Catoctin Mountains, home of the presidential retreat Camp David, and into southern Pennsylvania along the roads once marched 150 years ago by the Army of Northern Virginia enroute to their fatal encounter with the northern Federal Troops in the pastoral killing fields of Gettysburg.
The ride was capped at 1,600 riders, and if the endless rows of cars in the field designed for parking was any indication that the ride had met their numbers, the hundreds of cyclists pumping tires, greeting old friends, hopping on bikes to start their ride, and general air of excitement at the start was more than enough to get the blood flowing and get the pedals turning. 3 divisions set off at 7am - the century, the metric century, and the half century - while the 4th division - the quarter century - waited until 9am to set off. It was a "go as you please" start. A lovely way to ease the congestion of cyclists on the in-town road and not provoke the ire of any poor motorist having to wait behind waves of bikes taking up the travel lane.
The entire route was both scenic and peaceful. Very rural, very quiet, very lovely. A cycling paradise.
We had been promised three covered bridges to ride through, but only one was still intact. The 2nd was blocked off by construction equipment to do repairs, while the 3rd for unknown reasons had been reconstructed as a steel bridge, even though it retained the original wooden floor. I didn't mind since it was rather nice to look down at the river flowing beneath.
The century riders had been directed up into the mountains to provide them with a bit of challenge, while the metric and the half century were guided across the bridges and straight into Pennsylvania to tour the Gettysburg battlefield.
It was very somber experience to glide through the silent fields , once the site of so much horror and death and bloodshed in the struggle to keep the US as one country, or to divide it into two depending upon which side you were on. Now a well visited National Military Park, the fields were surprisingly, although purposely, unshorn, ragged and heavy with weedy growth as if to depict their appearance in July 1863, almost obscuring the many many monuments built by the various states to honor their troop positions during that battle. Stern signs on the edge of the road forbade any cars from parking, directing them instead to designed parking areas, I guess to not obscure the somber view of the historic fields. The monuments furthest out in the overgrowth would have been impossible to visit, so I could only gaze on from a distance and wonder who had placed them there.
One particular monument had snagged a place close to the road, close enough to stop and read the inscription and marvel at the artistry that had chosen a prone soldier, gun at the ready, to shoot any approaching enemy. An enemy that may well have been a brother or cousin. It was a local battalion that had claimed this spot a century and a half ago, and had a monument erected to them in their honor as their "side" had eventually won the civil war.
A far more regal monument, worth quite a pretty penny in the day, was awarded a space of honor on a hill overlooking the battlefield. The noble steed and his noble rider, General Sedgwick, were set to forever look with intense concentration at the now long gone troops that had once arrayed in blue clad lines across the killing fields. They stood at attention, rain or shine, year after year, century after century. They didn't seem to mind me standing below looking up at them. They never wavered in their studied gaze high above, ignoring the random cars down below that would pass, slow down to look at them for a second or so, then move off to continue their automotive tour of history without setting foot on the ground. The general and his unnamed stallion have been long dead, but for that one day in history they have been given the rights to an eternal glory... or glory as long as history cared to remember.
The route solemnly wound it's way out of the silent battlefields and past the back entrance of the Eisenhower farm, once owned by the Army General and later US President who closed out the WWII era. From there the route turned towards home with 20 miles left to go
The ride back was just as pretty as the ride up, just as peaceful. I had switched to my second battery at mile 40 simply to keep my knee happy and unstressed. I still have plenty left in the original battery to get me the full 50 miles, but with a full batallion of electrons at the ready, I was more than happy to ride the rest of the way on Turbo. In no time I was in the midst of the quarter century riders heading back to the ride site, all of whom were riding in groups, all with happy smiles at their pleasant ride. They had not gone to Gettysburg but instead had looped around in Maryland to enjoy that state's beautiful scenery.
Back at the ride site my hubby met me at the start, and we walked back to the car, chatting away. The ride was starting to serve lunch as more and more cyclists began returning, so we loaded the bike, went back to the start to enjoy a great meal, an ice cream cone, and fun conversation with other cyclists. Then it was time to hit the road for the hour drive back home.
This weekend is a ride in Rappahannock County, Virginia, about an hour south of us. Stunning countryside and a fabulous ride that I can't wait to revisit. They are offering four divisions including two gravel routes, but I chose the simple 33 miles this time, because I have a metric gravel road ride the following weekend and don't want to stress the poor knee which has been doing great thus far.