Because of the anemia, I got very out of condition this summer; and fall weather being glorious for bike rides, have been doing them more regularly to try and get back into shape. When we first moved to this area, we often did the sunrise ride, which in fact necessitated our getting up about an hour before, since it's 8 miles to the start point, most of which is along a delightful bike path along the local river. The ride itself is 11 miles each way along a scenic winding road that continues to follow this same river much of the way; we stop at a restaurant, have breakfast, and turn around. From and to my house was 38 miles; since I was ramping up, I planned to cut off the last 8 miles by taking the bus home (from the ride start/finish point.)
I was wishing, a bit, for my winter boots on the ride out; and the two fellas that checked in at the park soon left me behind, upon learning I knew the route and breakfast stop. So much, I thought, for "moderate pace". However, the regular sunrise riders had departed a little further along, missing the main road (and the football traffic that would've greeted them upon their return) and I showed up about 5 minutes after they were seated; there was even a cup of coffee waiting for me. So that worked just fine: I didn't mind riding by myself, but I wanted to eat breakfast with the group.
Mist rising on the river as the sun rises. This isn't the greatest of pix, but I was in a tearing hurry, hoping to meet up with the group.
One reason I wanted to do this ride is that I thought the sunrise would be beautiful and the weather glorious, as indeed it was—sunshine, temperatures (eventually) in the 70s, the gorgeous beginnings of fall color. So, of course, I got a flat about a mile out from breakfast, which meant that I had approximately 10 miles to walk back to the next town (and the bus home.) The later ride by the same organization meant some number of other cyclists passed and enquired if I needed help; but as I'm incurably lazy, and usually rely upon the wizard to help with punctures (and he was doing a different ride, in the opposite direction) what I really wanted was a ride (well, ok, someone with a pump and a patch kit and the willingness to fix the damn thing would've been even better, but that's asking a bit much, though I have indeed run into folks that helpful. Just not today;)
And lo and behold I got one. I would've liked to have written the gentleman, who told me he was a retired police officer, a thank you note; alas, he doesn't seem to be listed. He certainly deserved one, as he plowed through the town's football Saturday traffic to drop me off right at the bus station. I'm not really certain what trouble he thought I could get into in broad daylight in a liberal college town, but he seemed to think I wouldn't be quite safe wandering on my own, which was rather disconcerting, since I started doing this (in rougher neighborhoods) since I was 10.
In any event, he was there to drop off a live-trapped raccoon that had gotten into his garage, a sentiment I perfectly understood, since we've treated a few groundhogs to similar fates. Lucky for me I got to get dropped off as well, (though, since the bus wasn't showing up for 45 minutes and I had no change for fare, I took off to the nearby farmer's market both to shop & get change, which kind of undid his door-to-door drop off. Oh, and stopped in a shop that features my friend Kristin's stuff, and it was very fun—the owner sells cool stuff and cuts hair, which strikes me as a little tricky to juggle.)
All in all, an enjoyable, if somewhat longer, trip than I'd planned. And, as I hoped, just the beginning of a series of group rides (starting in fall, when most people are finishing up their bike-riding season. Never let it be said I do this stuff in order...)
photo, file begun, 12oct; completed 29oct.
Unless otherwise noted, text, image and objects depicted therein copyright 1996--present sylvus tarn.
