the return of the pocket camera
It was brisk this morning when I headed out for the traditional Saturday morning club ride. I wore wool - sleeveless undershirt, scratchy jersey, moth-holed leg warmers - and some seriously warm gloves. By the time I got downtown, as always, I was a bit too warm. Fortunately, I had other gloves in my capacious saddlebag.

Connie and Donnis were already there, wondering if I was going to make it on time. I apologized for my tardiness, then hung out as tires were pumped up, helmets forgotten and remembered, and bikes were readied for action.

As we set off, we were joined by Fred. He hadn't been on his bike in a while, so he opted to ride with the touring bunch instead of with the hammers. I managed to get a picture of him as we rolled out along the rail-trail conversion. Moments after the photo above was shot, he picked up the pace - enough that Donnis was having to work at it to maintain the speed.

We turned left and went through Wisewood and eventually down Scotch Cross Road, a route I've ridden a zillion times. At the intersection with Highway 25, I was just too slow with the camera - we crossed paths with a truck hauling a trailer full of really impressive goats with huge, curling horns. Donnis and I conferred - goat hair, goat faces and ears, but what was with those horns?

At the bottom of the big hill, we turned right and headed out Louden Road. In about the same place I saw a coyote a few months back, I looked up and saw Fred all but nose-to-nose with a cow. Again, too late to catch the look they shot each other, but time enough to capture an image of the bovine menace.

Connie wanted to know if we should go back and shoo the cow back into its pasture with its buddies.

"Well, I usually use a golf cart and a broom," Donnis allowed. She shared that she used to help get Big Red the Bull back into his pasture, until the day Big Red raised a Ford F-100 up onto two wheels while on his way back into his enclosure.

"I decided then and there that I was done with herding Big Red," she said.

Jim Cox and Chris caught us on the Canadian Mist Highway, and we rode in together listening to Jim's review of the newly-opened pub Orde's of England. Alas, their location is not one that lends itself to the classical pub hopping via bicycle.

I had 28.5 miles by the time I got home.  ¶ 9:48 PM