Prime Days

It's prime time now. Terrific riding days. Pristine October New England days filled with blue skies, sharp sun, crisp air, clean vistas exploding in color.

Since nearly being taken out by the hawk on October 4th, I've ridden seven times. Fantastic afternoons after work storming the Reservoir, dancing up the cat 4 climb to the Airport, logging the Big Miles with El Virginian, noble Team Shad mate, on new roads in the Athol hills.

Unlike Herr Scrod in the German gloaming who suggests that "the season is nearing its end," here in the land of Shad we are gathering our tights and silky under things, our gloves and head warmers, our extra layers, we are clamping lights to our handlebars and celebrating the onset of autumn's capricious yet magical weather.

The truth is, I'm more than ready for colder rides. It's funny, when spring and summer comes and I can finally ride in shorts and a short-sleeved jersey, I'm always psyched. But then summer becomes a myriad of humid, sweaty rides and after a point I get tired of being slathered in a slick sunscreen sheen, perspiration running into my eyes. I want the crisper air, the snap and chill, the little shivery hum of setting out just on the edge of cold.

Plus, there is something about donning the layers of the cyclist's costume that appeals, a certain Boy Scout-ish or ninja-like sense of order and preparedness. I find plenty of satisfaction in assembling just the right kit, the perfectly-chosen layers to maintain a balanced, not-too-hot-and-not-too-cold temperature throughout a ride.

On the visual front, October marks the transition from the lush, green expanses of summery fullness to the psychedelic landscapes of orange, red, and yellow that presage the somber dun hues to come. October is the month of imps and sprites and woodland fairies, the last whimsical days of abundance when the great hoary hardwoods assume the garb of jesters for a few final weeks before shedding their whimsy and hunkering down for the long freeze.

Photo Gallery of the Last Seven Rides

Airport Paxton Loop October 5th

Woo City Airport Summit

Dubstoevsky falling into space

Holden Loop October 6th

Fecund but fading

Paxton Kettle Brook Loop October 8th

Getting out of the Woo

Lemonstar State Forest to Mt. Wachusett Summit Loop October 10th

Team Shad car

Lucas Rd, Princeton

Approaching Mt. Wachusett

Busy day on the summit

Team Shad Training Ride with The Virginian October 12th
Montague Shutesbury Wendell Orange Athol Warwick Northfield Sunderland

The Virginian setting the pace through Wendell

North Orange

October's bright blue sky

Sunderland, not Bordeaux

The French King Bridge

The final climb of the day

Shadows of the Dub

Reservoir Loop October 13th

On the fly

Reservoir Loop October 15th

Return to the Woo

A NAD Half Century and the Hermeneutics of 'fucknatty'

Three good rides in a week of sweltering mid-July. During a week in which the Tour entered the mountains and then rode across the scorching south of France, I rode across the scorching roads of the Greater Woo. Fantastic.

Today in particular. Sunday. A heated boomer. I got out reasonably early, by 8:50. It would have been nicer to hit the road by 7:30 but that wasn't in the cards this morning. It was 72 degrees when I set out, the sun was rising steadily into a sky scattered with thin clouds, and I knew I was due for a hot one.

Getting toward really hot early

Interestingly, I had my attitude well-adjusted both toward the heat and toward more philosophical matters. Just after setting out and cycling happily through the quite empty Sunday morning neighborhood streets, and flushed with the good vibe of a hot July weekend day, I decided this would be a NAD ride.

Drifting past Becker College, heading for the hills

NAD stands for No Animosity Day. I forswore feeling or expressing animosity toward anyone or any thing. I would sing the praises of competent drivers when I encountered them, and forgive the morons, do-gooders, and general inconsiderate & blithely unaware car-driving bastards that on any given ride are legion; instead, I vowed to manifest nothing but Positivity and Acceptance. I would embrace the Empathetic Response. No matter how provoked or righteously aggrieved I found myself, I would take the proverbial high road and let it all go.

Dubstoevsky in a state of grace

And it worked. The entire ride was incident-free. No one shouted at me, no one cut me off or pulled out in front of me, no one hovered behind me afraid to pass or broke the flow of traffic trying to be nice and let me go when they shouldn't. For fifty miles I sailed along in a state of irie acceptance. Only once did someone lean out their window to shout at me as they sped by, and that person only wanted to compliment my "Steal Your Face" jersey.

"Nice shirt, man!" he shouted as he leaned halfway out the passenger window. I gave him the thumbs-up.

Aside: I don't think a ride has passed that someone hasn't complimented, or remarked approvingly upon, the Dead shirt when I've worn it. A fraternity of Dead Heads, a tribe of kindness. 

Early in the ride I came upon stretches of Forest and Holden Streets that had been scraped over in preparation for re-paving; they were rough, and corrugated, and unpleasant and my reaction upon encountering them was to utter a spontaneous expletive - "fucknatty!" I immediately caught myself, thinking that I was breaking the NAD Dictum, but then I wondered if, in fact, I was engaging in animosity. I came to believe that I wasn't.

Picking my way carefully but steadily up the ascending stretch of un-Belgian pavé, it occurred to me that sometimes the meaning of an utterance depends very much on the emotion behind the outburst. By shouting "fucknatty!" in this instance I was not expressing animosity for the road (which would be silly anyway), nor did I feel any particular antipathy toward the Department of Public Works for leaving the road in a state of disrepair; indeed, this was evidence of an improving situation, one that required time, and one that shouldn't be subjected to the animus of a temporarily inconvenienced rider. Indeed not.

So what I was actually expressing was the emotion of frustration. That lead to the realization that the utterance of the oath "fucknatty" in this context meant that the term was actually multi-dimensional. Of course I accepted the verity that in certain circumstances "fucknatty" might clearly be invoked in a fit of animosity, but I also concluded that the term was not necessarily used for that purpose. In fact, contextual circumstance must be considered when evaluating the hermeneutics of spontaneous expletives. One cannot codify an expressive outburst by a narrow interpretation of the verbiage deployed.

A further use of what I now realize to be a very versatile expletive emerged later on in the ride. The specifics of the incident escape me but I found myself yet again barking "fucknatty!" aloud, but without animus or frustration. This time I used it as a means of expressing incredulity, as if to say "are you kidding me? this again?!"

Wachusett Reservoir, near Sterling

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. I was sailing along. I was sweating profusely, baking in the sun, ecstatic to be alive and in moderate discomfort (the discomfort reminded me that, being healthy, I had nothing to complain about). I was turning the pedals - "the wheel is turning and you can't slow down" - I was living the cycling life.

At one point, I whizzed by a painted turtle, its head peaking quizzically from its shell on the side of the road. I braked to a halt, turned around, and went back to steer it off the road and into the shrubs.

The compass always points to Terrapin.

Or perhaps to Rome.

Roman ruins excavated by Dr. Dubstoevsky

The point is that we drift far and wide and that, under the best of circumstances, we disavow our animosity and embrace the incredulity of Life itself. The circle is wide. The planet spins on its own tumultuous gyration. We're just along for the ride.

New Roads in Princeton and Paxton

Good rides this passed week, some longer ones over the Memorial Day weekend, a 41 miler and a 33 miler exploring up toward Princeton and Paxton having examined the maps closely in advance. Some really beautiful stretches of country road - Prescott St. into Hillside Rd in Paxton fantastic, Hillside Rd in particular a narrow, shaded, byway that at times seemed like it would peter out altogether into dirt and forest, but didn't; and also Ball Hill, Princeton, and Jefferson roads coming down from the northern reaches of Princeton, long sloping farm roads descending to Holden.

I've noticed that something felt a little different these last few rides and it finally occurred to me what it was - because all the trees and shrubs have their foliage now, the landscape is no longer visible, the long vistas into the rocky & stone-walled countryside have been replaced with thicket. The narrow country roads are now dense and overhung with greenery, so much so that I began to have vague feelings of claustrophobia. Nothing alarming, just a sense of being encroached upon, a sort of green enveloping.

I realize that I miss the bare landscape, I miss being able to see far into the forest from the road, miss seeing the contours of the countryside, the hills and slopes, the big rocks left behind by glaciers. Now, with the full emergence of leaf cover, the landscape pulses with a trembling green, a fluttery tangle of photosynthesizing leaf cover.

The encroaching green

Of course, the farmland now hums and radiates, the fields verdant and the blue sky yawning vast above. Farm roads, like short duration oasis, like coming up for air before plunging back into the tangle and shadow.

Mason Rd

Visuals from the week of May 18-24.

May 23, 2015

Holden Reservoir monster
(Look carefully)

Princeton St

And a couple of shots of Bancroft Tower.

May 19, 2015

May 23, 2015

The days haven't all been warm and nice, however. In the midst of this run there were two days where long sleeves were involved. One day the temps were barely in the 50s and it was breezy, I had to done under armor and full-fingered gloves.

Chilly style

Four Days in a Week: May 11- May 16

It's been quite a week. Perfect weather, four rides, the reverence of motion and the meditation of spin.

Steal Your Dubstoevsky

Today, for example. A slightly humid but overcast Saturday, dull sun glare filtering through the grayish blanket. Almost 70 degrees, but still cool, the perfect temperature. All afternoon available. Opt for a dash to Princeton, a revisit to Mason Rd, to River Rd. in Holden, and an exploration of Ball Hill Rd, Jefferson Rd, & Princeton Rd. (never ridden upon before today), beautiful pastorals, the rural Idyll.

Jefferson Rd and the beginning of
a run of hoary maples lining the way

I almost didn't ride today, was up late last night, questioned my motivation when the time came, then saddled up and rode BIG.

I am concentrating on my pedaling these days, trying to be more uniform, more aware of the muscle groups being put to the test, trying to sync the Whole Stroke into a continuous 360 rotation of power. I can't maintain it for an entire ride but I can turn it on as need be.

Take Monday night. I rode with the Barney's crew again. This time I acquitted myself much better than two weeks prior. This time I hung with the fast group. In fact, I engaged in great duels along the way, heart-pumping, spirited racing, the rush to stay attached, then to climb ahead, to force the pace, to FLY. The usual route, but I averaged 16+ mph, a reputable speed given the terrain.

On Tuesday I rode again, and Thursday yet again. Honest 20+ mile rambles, solo afternoons. Beautiful stretches of empty roads, forest on both sides, sun-dappled tarmac, cars few and far between. There's been no rain for weeks but the foliage persists in its lime green emergence and the landscape is abloom and awash in the Freshness. New growth. New England landscape glory, the rolling terrain, the stone walls, the hardwoods.

Lemony burst of South Rd

Spring Shad, South Rd
May 12, 2015

South Rd, and the New England moment

Today, I discovered new roads. Went back to Mason Rd then up the long climb to Princeton center but instead of dropping back south on rt. 31 I headed west on rt. 62 until I came to Ball Hill Rd, which I turned left onto, and then enjoyed a glorious stretch of empty rural wonder. In fact, for many miles at a time this afternoon, no cars passed. Just me and the landscape and the birds - red-wing blackbirds, robins, cardinals, catbirds, doves, a cowbird, finches & sparrows unidentified.

And I saved a snake! So far this year, road kill has included a plump ground hog, a turtle, several chipmunks, and a gangley heron. Today, I almost ran over a tiny milk snake, I'm surprised I even saw it but I did as I flashed passed, so I turned around to see if it really was alive. It was, and I herded it off the warm tarmac and into the dull leaf mass shoulder, to safety.

Herding the milk snake

The snake lives!

To safety

The beauty of today's ride was its meander, its newness, its length. 43 miles. Put me over 100 miles on the week, certainly the most prolific six day run I've had since last autumn, 2014. And I feel pretty good, like I'm just coming into form. In fact, by the end of the week, I'd dropped more than five lbs, I dipped below 154 lbs for the first time this year. That's still four lbs above optimum riding weight but it's not yet June. I am on pace for being in peak condition for the D2R2.

Tarmac shadow splash

Of course, of four rides, two climbed up to Bancroft Tower, the long, grinding slog to its base a rite of getting-out-of-town passage now.

May 12, 2015

May 16, 2015

Summary: A week of perfect weather, four rides: 16.4 (Barney's group ride, Monday), 20.5 (Tuesday), 23.6 (Thursday), 43.1 today (Saturday, May 16th). With the super niceness.

Parting Shots

Northern end of Holden Reservoir
May 14, 2015

Spring! May 16, 2015

Way the fuck out there

And if anyone has the inclination, listen to The Eleven from July 7, 1969.

Perfect Days

We are enjoying a run of perfect weather days, lots of sun and warmth and no wind worth mentioning. The glory of spring! Everyday in the 70s, moderate to low humidity, a cyclist's joy. And how quickly riding in shorts and a short-sleeve jersey has come to feel normal again. As if the whole wrath of winter had never occurred. Incredible.

And along with the sun and warmth have come flowering bushes and trees, the emergence of foliage, all the trees aura'd in pale lime, a color that couldn't be fresher nor suggest ALIVE any more aptly. And yet the trees are not yet fully leafed so while spinning along the hardwood forest roads in Holden and Princeton, you can still see clearly into the woods, still see the graying stone walls running nobly into the hilly and tree-trunked distance.

Almost two weeks ago now (April 27), I road with the crew from Barney's Bikes on their Monday night ride. Among the riders (14 in all) was a scrum of fast guys that I did my best to keep pace with. I did for a while but once we reached the reservoir, try as I did to hang onto the wheel of the last guy, the eight or so guys ahead kept the pace at around 19 mph and I dropped off the back.

Monday night speedsters

Whirring by the reservoir, in vain pursuit

That chilly, darkening Monday night was the last ride with tights and long sleeves. Since then the earth has apparently shifted, the juncos have flown north, and the happy days of spring riding have arrived.

I followed up this past Sunday's spirited and lengthy sojourn to the Mountaintop with a reasonably fast-paced 20 mile Reservoir Loop on Tuesday (May 5) (a ride not captured by Strava as I had technical difficulties with my tracking device). Managed 15 mph solo, but that's easier to do when there's no wind and when you're clad in minimal attire. Still, given the hilly nature of that loop, I was pleased.

Today's ride was logged on Strava, and a fine ride it was. More irie weather, hot even. Unlike the previous two full-sun rides, today I lathered on the sun screen before setting out. Smart. Yet riding directly into the sun for much of the day was challenging at times and before long my exposed pink forearms gleamed with greasy sweat. Still, like Harry Crosby in his sun-worshipping mania, I welcomed the solar intensity. It's far too early in the spring/summer season to complain about the heat.

One thing that doesn't change is getting out of town. Though there are various ways of exiting the Woo, almost all of them entail some semblance of this:

Intersection of Pleasant and Park

Then there are the west side neighborhoods to traverse. They're reasonably traffic-free, generally quiet and, these days, just beginning to leaf over. They all look something like this:

In the Thickly Settled

One can never be too careful and must keep a wary eye on everything, 360 degrees, the full circle of awareness.

Dubstoevsky; ever wary, ever alert to danger

Finally, after generous energy expenditures, you get out of the city limits, into Holden or Princeton or Paxton, and you're in the hills and the forests, and some roads are better and safer than others, some are narrow and cracked and dangerous, and many are sweet and mostly empty of cars and it is on these streets, whether hilly or flat, curvy or straight, that you can let you mind roam and contemplate the Immensity of Everything, and your own minuscule place in it all.

Mason Rd. and the onset of spring

Today: 35 miles, 15.3 mph, 2000 ft of climbing, allez!