Monday, December 31, 2007
damp ride dodging golf balls and roosters
I rode alone Saturday. I'm assuming the holidays and the dampness kept everyone else indoors. When I set out, there was still a light but steady drizzle, and I considering going home. I'm glad I didn't.
I set out on the Ninety Six loop, a ride I've done more times than I care to think about, down the trail to Florida Avenue, then through Wisewood to hook up with Scotch Cross Road. The drizzle stopped after about 20 minutes, though there was enough water and mud on the road to keep things damp despite my fenders and front mudflap.
No matter. There was a car waiting to trip the light for me at the intersection with 25 South, and I headed on down the long hill at a relaxed loping pace. Under the flat grey sky, everything looked painted, with certain stretches of the roadside resembling backgrounds from various works of art. I rolled on, turning the 70-in. fixed-gear and hearing the swishing of my tires on damp pavement where it was smooth, and rumbling a little over the patches and broken-up sections.
At the bottom of the long hill I turned right, heading out Louden Road with an eye out for coyotes. I saw none, but did wave to a couple of hunters standing in a field talking. I grunted up the two hills on Louden fine, standing for both of them, and pulled in to the parking lot at Star Fort. I took a minute to remove my leg warmers and shove my jersey sleeves up my arms before heading on. At the edge of town I turned left, skipping the loop extension that goes by the high school and heading for home.
The houses that used to be the homes of generations of bike-chasing pitbulls looked empty. It felt a little colder and a little damper now, and the promise of the sun had slipped back into the clouds. It peeked out a little just as I rode past a rooster standing near the road, red comb and all, looking just like the old corn flakes emblem. Of course my camera was at home.
On the flat next to the golf course, I could hear clubs striking balls. There was a line of guys out practicing their drives, and the course was littered with yellow golf balls. Unfortunately, there were a lot of those same balls on the road's shoulder to my right, and I felt my shoulder blades tighten each time I heard a "thwack!" behind me, anticipating a wild shot caroming off my helmet.
Luck was with me, and I rode safely past the course. A moment later I turned right and started the climb up Lebanon Church Road, where my favorite Australian cattle dog no longer runs along beside cyclists, happy to have someone to run with - I hope that dog is okay somewhere. I turned left onto the Canadian Mist Highway and headed for home. I had mud spattered all over Julius the fixed-gear, mud on my leg warmers and shoes, and 28.5 miles for the day. ¶ 10:20 AM
I set out on the Ninety Six loop, a ride I've done more times than I care to think about, down the trail to Florida Avenue, then through Wisewood to hook up with Scotch Cross Road. The drizzle stopped after about 20 minutes, though there was enough water and mud on the road to keep things damp despite my fenders and front mudflap.
No matter. There was a car waiting to trip the light for me at the intersection with 25 South, and I headed on down the long hill at a relaxed loping pace. Under the flat grey sky, everything looked painted, with certain stretches of the roadside resembling backgrounds from various works of art. I rolled on, turning the 70-in. fixed-gear and hearing the swishing of my tires on damp pavement where it was smooth, and rumbling a little over the patches and broken-up sections.
At the bottom of the long hill I turned right, heading out Louden Road with an eye out for coyotes. I saw none, but did wave to a couple of hunters standing in a field talking. I grunted up the two hills on Louden fine, standing for both of them, and pulled in to the parking lot at Star Fort. I took a minute to remove my leg warmers and shove my jersey sleeves up my arms before heading on. At the edge of town I turned left, skipping the loop extension that goes by the high school and heading for home.
The houses that used to be the homes of generations of bike-chasing pitbulls looked empty. It felt a little colder and a little damper now, and the promise of the sun had slipped back into the clouds. It peeked out a little just as I rode past a rooster standing near the road, red comb and all, looking just like the old corn flakes emblem. Of course my camera was at home.
On the flat next to the golf course, I could hear clubs striking balls. There was a line of guys out practicing their drives, and the course was littered with yellow golf balls. Unfortunately, there were a lot of those same balls on the road's shoulder to my right, and I felt my shoulder blades tighten each time I heard a "thwack!" behind me, anticipating a wild shot caroming off my helmet.
Luck was with me, and I rode safely past the course. A moment later I turned right and started the climb up Lebanon Church Road, where my favorite Australian cattle dog no longer runs along beside cyclists, happy to have someone to run with - I hope that dog is okay somewhere. I turned left onto the Canadian Mist Highway and headed for home. I had mud spattered all over Julius the fixed-gear, mud on my leg warmers and shoes, and 28.5 miles for the day. ¶ 10:20 AM
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Hey Russ! I'm glad to see that you are doing fine and that your blog is being updated regularly (John Lake's site has not been updated since August). Keep up the good work my friend.
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