Ride # 60: Tour de Heifer; with Team Shad in the Hills of Southern Vermont: Part I

Two thirds of Team Shad 
Tour de Heifer
Sunday, June 8, 2014

The fourth iteration of the Tour de Heifer out of Brattleboro, Vermont. Sunday, June 8. A big booming sky of sun and blue, a perfect day for cycling. Better be in shape! This isn't a race, it's a course upon which you challenge yourself. The challenge? Climbing! Huge climbs, relentless climbs, stupid steep inclines. Up Up and Away!

Team Shad was there, albeit without the third cog, Master I-Ward whose presence was excused due to family matters. The Virginian, back in the good graces of the team after the insubordination at the Rasputitsa, was early to the shaggy field where the team cars and cyclists gathered in the rough, dew-soaked grass. I showed up shortly thereafter. Suggested start time was 8:00 but, as it was not a bunch start, riders could set out at their own time. Knowing the day would be hot our goal was to start by 7:30. We'd get a jump on the heat and, who knows, maybe the other riders as well.

7:00 AM
Lilac Ridge Farm

And we would have started by 7:30 if The Virginian, uncharacteristically, hadn't locked his keys in his car. That development set us back ten minutes or so while he made calls for back-up. Once arrangements were made for someone to come with a spare key and leave it under the left front wheel, we were off.

Despite the sense of controversy that my blog entry Rasputitsa At Last: The Narrative engendered vis a vis my pique at The Virginian's predilection for attacking when the team strategy doesn't call for it, and for various other (probably imagined) transgressions, I hereby declare that The Virginian, aka Nut (short for Wingnut; the origin of that moniker deserves its own telling another time), is, in every sense, a rock solid teammate, a loyal wing man, and a dogged, unflappable cyclist. While Team Shad's brass considered fining, suspending, even firing him following The Rasp, cooler heads prevailed and Nut remained on the squad. Praise Jah for that.

It's worth contrasting these two organized Vermont rides briefly. The Rasputitsa, approximately 47 miles, takes place in mid April in the Northeast Kingdom and its panache comes from "mud season," that time of the spring when the dirt roads thaw and everything becomes soft, spongy, mucky. Snow lingers in places, icy mountain side run-offs force riders from their bikes, rain, snow, and hail all fell during the ride. Plus, it's a timed race with an official start, declared winners, a Lantern Rouge.

The Tour de Heifer, on the other hand, takes place in early June, the month that produces arguably New England's finest weather. This event is not a race, it's a loosely-supported ride with an organized lunch stop, intermittent water stations, and an air of laid-backness that runs counter to competitive cycling. Longer than The Rasp at 62 miles, the Tour de Heifer proved to be, when all was said and done, harder. Harder owing mostly to the amount of climbing. In fact, though my phone's battery died 3/4s of the way through and I wasn't able to track the entire ride by Strava, after 48 miles we'd climbed 5,965 feet already. I don't recall longer or harder climbs during the Rasputitsa.

In not having the full compliment of shad for the ride, we lacked a navigator, a voice of reason to reign in the ever full-steam-ahead Shaddy Dub and the I'm Easy Virginian. Consequently, at the five mile point we were feeling so good and cruising along at such a zippy pace that we missed the right turn onto Lee Rd. A mile or so later the road came to a T, we stopped and checked the cue sheet and the map and promptly misinterpreted both. We took a left and rode for a couple miles until we came to another T, this time with rt. 5. At that point we realized that we'd done something wrong and, groaning, returned the way we came. Eventually, after some 8 extra miles on pavement, we rejoined the course. And at the perfect spot, too.

"Guilford Center Rd forks left and becomes Sweet Pond RD 10.66 mi"

Sweet Pond Rd was sweet indeed! Several miles of tightly packed & slightly damp dirt road under forest canopy. Primordial! The sun explodes every dewy surface into diamondy sparkle, and dapples the road face with limb and trunk silhouettes. We sail along drifting in and out of quiet reveries. We know this stretch is long and comes to an end at a spot we're familiar with so we don't worry about missing a turn. We just zoom.

At the base of Sweet Pond Rd
After an awesome downhill run

Meditation Reservoir
Fresh off of Sweet Pond Rd

Conditions are stellar. Just the perfect dampness to the roads, they're all well-packed, not even that washboarded. And the air is brilliant! Cool, clean, crisp. You want to yell out loud it feels so good streaming over your body. And the sun, rising throughout the day, warming warming warming so that by late morning it's striking more directly from above and you get hot quickly in its sun wash. But it too is sharp and clean and you feel joy that you're riding through such sun-drenched landscapes.

The Virginian getting it going early on

On the great climb up Packers Corner you have plenty of time to consider such things as the climb goes up and up and up. At a water stop later on I overheard one of the volunteers say to a rider that he preferred the short steep climbs to the long drawn out grinds. I'm the opposite. I relish the relentless ascent. At my present level of fitness, and being twenty pounds lighter than I've ever been during a season, I can get out of the saddle and slip into a steady cadence that I can maintain for a long time going up. This gives me a huge advantage. Of course it's always the bigger guys laboring up the hill that I pass and most of them have no rhythm at all. They lug their thighs up and down, heave their shoulders, pull at the handle bars as if they could pull themselves up the hill.

Climbing Packers Corner Rd

In my richly absurd imagination, I am engaged in a game of hunter and prey. There are rabbits up the road. The slopes are teaming with them. Easy pickings. The key thing about hunting rabbits is that you must make sure that you have utterly dispatch your prey. You must devastate them, leave them quivering and cowering as you ride away from them and out of sight. If you don't do this? If you leave behind a wounded prey, do you know what happens? You become the hunted. You become the prey. Never take chances.

Setting the pace
The Virginian in arrears
Thinking about becoming the hunter

But today the vibe is positively fraternal and as my imagination returns to reality, the rabbit I'd ridden up to with the intention of dispatching turns into a mellow, jolly-faced dude I nod to and exchange pleasantries with. One guy in a Ben & Jerry's jersey we passed three times; once within the first couple miles, a second time after we got lost and rejoined; and the third time after we'd taken a tiny detour to explore a nearby reservoir. Each time we greeted each other civilly and continued on at our own paces.

The Rasp was different. It was every shad for himself that day and I took pleasure at the expense of those herring I left flapping ineffectual tails in my wake.

After 28 or so miles (because of our 'detour' our odometer was no longer in sync with the cue sheet) and after an absolutely delightful ride north along the Green River, we came to the lunch stop. Watermelon wedges and a Vermont beef stick. I mix organic green tea in with a half a bottle of water, yum! And get back on it. Actually, up it. Up Jacksonville Stage Rd for a good long steep way. Immediately glad I didn't opt for the turkey sandwich.

End of Part I
Go to Part II

Ride Summary: 66.88 miles (107 K), 12.4 mph, 5 hours and change. 5,965 feet elevation. Strava partial details.

Ride # 5: Layer Up

January 25, 2014

I had no intentions of riding today. A Saturday at the end of January, it didn't even register as a possibility. The forecast was for snow. But it didn't snow. Not when they said it would. And then the temperature topped 34 degrees (1.1 C). It was a little after noon. I was home and had all afternoon which really, for winter riding, was like having all the time in the world. A couple of hours ransacking the hills in almost-freezing gray shroud, why not?

So I layered up, saddled up, and set out eagerly, in a good humor.

Lucas Rd, Sterling, MA

Fantastic. In the craw of winter. Like a crow, I steal a morsel from the road. I saw several crows en route and enjoyed their caw croak. I saw blue jays and robins. Steel gray smoke-hued cloud frowns. I saw black birds I couldn't identify. And I was ever mindful of the road, the treacherous joyous sandy road of Forward.

I think that because the forecast had been for snow, a lot of people stayed off the roads. I encountered few cars. Always a good thing. But there is a spookiness about the raw winter landscape that, in the absence of other people, seems almost menacing. It's a stark and cranky place with ghosts whispering across hundreds of years of Januaries.

Mirick Rd, Princeton, MA

Today, brisk wind. Gusts in the treetops. Gusts across the road. The tree trunk silhouette black against the crusted snow. I think that at a certain point on every ride you realize what you're actually doing, you grasp where you actually are. You are hurtling along hilly winter countryside roads on a bicycle. And it amazes you! It amazes me. Every time.

Shad Style in Amazement

Of course, the only way to ride in the winter is to ... ride in the winter. I feel silly sometimes, all costumed-up in layers, pedaling roads in the crappiest conditions, how absurd! Yet in the end, absurdity is part of the Big Embrace. Best of all when we conduct our absurdity with grace. And mindfulness.

Frozen Gnomic Flow and the Grace of Troll
January 25, 2014

From a training perspective, the best part of today was getting out there and experiencing a hint of what the Rasputitsa might present. Cold, bluster, treachery, the indifference of sand. No mud, but a few patches of frozen road sludge unavoidable, the Crux handled it all superbly, this bike is fine! I'll get a new rear tire for the Big R in April. And a new chain. Nearing a thousand miles on the present one.

Ride Stats: 23.08 (37k), 12.4 mph, an hour and fifty minutes. 33.3 degrees when I left (an auspicious number! I enthused myself), 35.2 degrees (1.6 C) when I got back. Maintained good humor the entire ride, felt strong on the hills.

Ride # 2: Because I Could

January 16, 2014

The snow is receding and we're in the midst of a stretch of reasonably mild weather. The temperature almost hit 40 (4 C) today which doesn't sound so warm but the humidity was high and the air lacked bite. I'd thought it was supposed to rain but it didn't. Instead, the afternoon unfolded in sepia tone glow and by 2:00 o'clock the thick cloud cover had thinned noticeably.

It was time to ride. I had about 2 hours of good light and then an hour of fading light. Unfortunately, I do not have a well-lit bike; no headlight and, do'h!, a taillight that's running low on batteries (so it blinked rather feebly and probably wasn't very visible). Road conditions were better than expected, not that wet but really sandy. Nonetheless, these haphazard rides on gloomy afternoons in poor light are challenging and demand complete mindfulness. This is part of the allure.

One of the great appeals of cycling for me is the necessity of paying attention, of being completely present. When you are riding a bicycle, especially in inclement conditions, you are, first and foremost, RIDING A BICYCLE. It's like sitting meditation only faster and with more visceral stimuli. But it's freeing. You are free from having to do anything but pay attention and pedal, you are relieved of the burden of burdens. You are one being on two revolving circles with your legs (and lungs and heart and fiber ...) carrying you ever forward.

The Same Road is New Every Ride

And each ride is different. Even when you've ridden the same road fifty times, the fifty first time might as well be the first. You may know where the road leads but you do not know what the trip will be like getting there nor what you'll see or feel or think along the way. This is how riding the same roads time and time again never becomes boring. Boredom is a weakness of imagination.

It's half way through January and the calendar is marked. There's a big red hammer & cycle inside a chain ring stamped onto Saturday, April 19. Three months and three days from today. The Rasputitsa. Already I'm feeling both anxious and excited, nervous yet pumped. Today's ride was good. I felt great in the saddle. The bike felt like a comfortable extension of myself. I relished the damp, the cold, the raw immediacy of the sand and ice and roadside gunk. Everything looked like punishment but the ride was total joy.

Ride #2 Stats: 26.45 miles (42.5 km), 14.5 mph, about 1 hour and 49 minutes in the saddle. Lemonstar to Lancaster to Shirley and back. No fresh roadkill! Weight this morning: 145 lbs even (65 kg).

Rasputitsa

From the good people in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont who brought us the Dirty 40, we can now look forward to the 1st ever Rasputitsa. Huh? Sounds vaguely salacious.

Turns out that Rasputitsa, in Russian, means "mud season when roads become difficult to traverse." Or so the web page says. Turns out that's essentially correct. Gnarly, dude! Indeed. Covering some of "Vermont's coldest and barren landscapes" this inaugural race covers 47 miles, 31 of which are described as being on "gravel." Or more likely on mud and ice and potholes and frost heaves.

So now I have a training goal ala Ventoux Calls. I have essentially three months to develop some race conditioning. My weight is good right now but I'll need to build strength and endurance. That may prove challenging given the time of year, but InI must try.

"Remember, the Lanterne Rouge Goes to the Gulag"

Ride # 1, 2014 Underway

January 12, 2014, Lemonstar

January in New England can run the gamut of weather conditions. The first ten days of this new year are evidence of that. Between the 1st and the 10th we saw a nor'easter dump a foot of snow, temperatures dip below zero several nights, daytime highs in the mid teens, an inch of rain, and temperatures as high as 58 degrees F (14 C) during the proverbial January Thaw.

Yesterday it nearly hit 60 degrees. Today, Sunday, it wasn't that warm, topping out around 48 or so, and it was windy. Normally something of a curse, the wind in this instance was a blessing as, overnight and through this morning, it dried out all the roads (for the most part). Great conditions for a winter ride, so I seized the moment.

Flat Hill Orchard, January 12, 2014

Ride # 1 of the year comes three days earlier than ride # 1 last year. That means nothing in the long run, but in the short term I'm psyched. It's always good to notch the first ride of a new year. I'd say "of a new season" but I'm operating under idea that there is no "off season," that while winter presents many challenges, it's still a time for riding. Cycling is a continuum, a way of life.

During the New England winter you have to take every opportunity to ride that presents itself. Last year, I rode on the 15th of January but then winter went into overdrive with massive snows and Siberian cold and I didn't ride again until the middle of March, two months later. Of course I'm hoping that this year doesn't ape last year and that I'll manage another ride this week. The forecast is for continued mild conditions and no significant precipitation.

But that's getting ahead of the game. Back to ride # 1 of 2014. Astride the Crux Elite, I launched from Lemonstar and made for Lunenburg and Shirley. It was sunny earlier but by the time I headed out huge swathes of thick gray clouds had rolled in. I nailed the apparel today so I was warm but not too warm and didn't miss the direct sunlight, except for missing the cheery sense of being that sunshine conjures. Instead of dancing on the pedals with solar joy, I rode purposefully, carefully, ever vigilant, mindful of the danger of being unmindful.

Keep Off Dam

Traffic was light. I stuck to back roads. There were no incidents, no close calls, no drama. It was a workmanlike ride, I was just happy to be in the saddle, my legs pumping and turning the wheels, the chain gliding around and around on its cogs. The Crux performed flawlessly.

Being disciplined about something like cycling, being willing to really embrace it and make it an integral part of your life, brings many rewards not least of which is self-empowerment. When presented with choices (to ride? or not to ride?), you opt not for what's easy but for what's hard. In turn, your practice validates your passion. You go to sleep at night honestly tired, you wake up in the morning with the echo of the previous day's effort murmuring in your core. Discipline is like a smoldering fire in the belly laugh of life.

Ride Stats: First ride of the year. 25.98 miles (41k), 13.6 mph, almost 2 hours in the saddle. PBR day. Roadkill tally* - 1 squirrel, 1 nuthatch (I think). 45 degrees, overcast mostly. Pleasant. Sandy roads.

* Am going to document/record fresh roadkill for each ride. Example from today:

Dead Squirrel

Some Notes on 2013

First ride, Tuesday, January 15. Did a Sholan Loop, about 15 miles (24k). I was on the road bike. Next ride? March 16. On that particular Saturday I started riding the new cyclocross bike, a Specialized Crux Elite, and went about 12 miles (19K). In my ride book I noted that I "loved the comfort of the beefier tires."

I climbed Mount Wachusett for the first time in years on Tuesday, April 30, the 16th ride of the year. Sweet! The entire road up and down was now completely repaved and re-marked, it was beautiful to ride on.

On Saturday, April 27 I did the first giant ride of the season (still riding the Crux). 43 miles (69k). Lemonstar - Shirley - West Groton - Pepperell - Ayer - Devens - back through Shirley - to Lemonstar again.

For ride #28, on June 26, I switched to the road bike. The computer on it was broken. I did the next 16 rides without it. Those 16 rides were important and grew increasingly lengthy time-wise. I rode to the top of Wachusett three times.

August 15, a Thursday, the Virginian came down and we incorporated a Drumlin Ramble with the summit of Wachsett, 42 miles (67k).

August 22, Saturday, the D2R2! The pinnacle of the season and the longest ride, 95 miles (150k). A spectacular day in the hills of southern Vermont and the hill towns of Massachusetts outside Deerfield.

September 7, Saturday, I did my longest solo ride, 71 miles (114k). That included, in the first 14 miles, the top of Wachusett (the 6th ascension to date). This ride also included about 50 miles of completely new roads. Lemonstar - Princeton & Wachusett - Sterling - Boylston - Wachusett Reservoir - Berlin - Bolton -Harvard - Ayer - Shirley - and back. My intention had been to do a century by continuing from Harvard up to Groton and from there on the rail trail all the way to New Hampshire and then back to Lemonstar that way, but I ran out of time; I'd had to stop too many times at various points to consult my map.

November 9, a Saturday, I met the Virginian at Lake Mattawa in Orange and we rode the cyclocross bikes on dirt roads and forest paths all through Wendell, New Salem, Shutesbury, Montague. It was cold, 40 degrees, weak sun, but fantastic. 47 miles (75k).

Wachusett summits? 13, an unprecedented number for me in a single year. Interestingly, they became routine. Whereas in years past, a Sholan Loop (about 15 miles) was the standard ride and a round trip to Wachusett was an ass-kicker (about 28 miles or 45k). This summer, the Wachusett summit (or a ride of equal length) became the standard ride. Instead of coming home thrashed, I came back feeling great.

Mileage Count 2013

Crux - 788 miles (1268k)
Road Bike - 1,212 miles (1,950k) (+ additional 16 rides w/out a computer)
--------
2,000 miles (3218k)

Fat Measure

Beginning of the year - 170 lbs
End of the Year - 147.2 lbs

Ninety-Nine!

Bless the capricious New England weather. When I got up Tuesday morning, December 17, the temperature was .1 degree F (-17 C). It 'warmed' throughout the day, reaching almost 15 F (-9 C). But it snowed too. Heavily. By Tuesday night, 8 inches of snow of the finest kind - powdery, fluffy, granular, light as air - had fallen. Peering out and watching it snow, I admitted defeat in my goal of reaching 100 rides by Christmas.

Yet four days later, after shifting fronts, varying winds, warming trends, and two days of sustained temperatures above freezing, Saturday heats up to 55+ F (12+ C), a wan sun shines through the ashy clouds (they remind me of the clouds cover over the Somme or Verdun in 1916), and the roads are ice-free. Classic New England about face.

55 Degrees F, Good for Riding

To my delight. Ride # 99 is a gift unforeseen. And what a fine ride! Despite the sloppy & muddy crossing of rt. 2 and having to navigate a hell web of holiday mall traffic, when I'm on the other side of the maelstrom I am riding happily and all alone along little traffic'd back roads through semi-rural Lunenburg and my own home town. Not quite a PBR day (though I tucked the paper bag inside anyway), I'm almost too warm. It's fantastic.

Lemonstar, Not the Somme or Verdun

The Crust performs flawlessly. I've always loved Specialized bikes and this one is a joy to ride. Stable. Comfortable. Zippy. Responsive.

The one thing I don't have on the Crust, however, is a fender. So today, knowing that with the road side snow piles there'd be snow melt streams, I positioned a plastic shopping bag inside my tights, spreading it out to literally cover my ass. 'Ingenious!' I thought and it actually proved to be effective. I didn't get butt-soaked.

The other consideration besides watery run-off today (and for the next few months) is sand. It's a hazard and complete mindfulness is a must. Winter riding in these conditions means riding conservatively. Scrod's unfortunate crash last month proved to be a Zen cudgel, whacking me squarely in the Consciousness and reminding me to ride with focus and care.

Mindful Shad

Interestingly, before taking off on ride # 99, my beloved ND fairly pleaded with me not to go, telling me that she had a bad feeling about this ride and didn't want me to ride. She was straying into "manifest the occurrence of that which you fear" territory and I had to reassure her with casual bravado not to worry & that everything would be all right (even though her talk of danger had begun to spook me).

And in the end? Everything was fantastic! The wan sun. The empty melting sandy roadways. The snow depths shrinking in the woods and fields. Periodic blasts of cool air off the snow banks. Raw wet farm land. Picturesque town commons, church and town hall as white as the snow cover.

Shad's Hometown Commons, December 21, 2013

Ride Stats: Ride # 99, 24.95 miles (40 km), 14.2 mph, 1 hour 20 mins (more or less). Wet & sandy but fairly warm, 55+ degrees F.

Two Shy of 100

A dusting of snow earlier in the week foretold the likely end to riding this calendar year, and then a fairly serious snowstorm Saturday night, December 14th made it a certainty.

Sunday Morning Out My Front Door
Lemonstar, December 15, 2013

I won't manage to notch 100 rides in 2013 but that's okay. It's been a triumphant year in many ways not least of which is having learned how to lose weight and curtail my gluttonous maw. I'm ending the year 20 pounds lighter than I began it last January. This bodes well for 2014.

The key for the next couple months is to maintain focus & discipline. I want to be ready to go as soon as I can safely ride the roads again. There will surely be spotty opportunities in January or February, there almost always are each year. Yes, one year we had almost no snow and I was riding in bunches in January. Other years, when there's heavy snowfall, consistent riding may not happen until April. But there always seems to be one or two days in the winter months where the snow has melted back enough and the roads are no longer icy at the edges and it's reasonably safe to ride. But a couple rides scattered across 60-90 days doesn't cut it in terms of keeping in shape.

Life is a roll of the dice and weather is impersonal. The goal is to control one's own debauch through the cold, dark months and then emerge on the other side, in the spring, with enthusiasm and energy for the road.

Freezing at Landmark Storage, Ride # 98

I wanted at least one ride this weekend and I got it, although it almost didn't happen. I squandered a chance to ride on Friday, a day I took off from work rather spontaneously (I had errands to do, food to procure, things that took precedent over riding). Plus, I thought it was going to rain but it turned out not to and the roads dried out and as I was driving toward Boston at midday, all hopes for changing plans scrapped, it was 50 degrees and overcast and utterly conducive to riding.

Then Friday night it began to rain and as the temperature dropped the rain became sleet and then finally snow in the early a.m. so that when I woke Saturday morning there was a white coating of snow over everything, and icy roads. I thought, 'Crap! I should have ridden yesterday and now I won't get to ride this weekend at all.'

Sunday Morning December 8, Lemonstar Starting Line

But then Sunday dawned clear and cold (24 F at 7:30 a.m.) and the thought began to grow in my mind that I might actually be able to ride today. I was fuzzy from whooping it up last night with guests & dinner but I thought that if anything could clear my mind and get me back on track it would be an icy winter ride. By 11:00 a.m. the temperature had climbed to 30 F so I suited up (long underwear bottoms, bike shorts, tights; upper body long underwear, a zip up short sleeve bike jersey, a polyprop turtleneck, a fleece pullover, a zip-up insulated over garment; 2 balaclavas; winter gloves; booties), and launched.

Landmark Storage, 32 Degrees

Oh, and I made the bike switch. It's the Crust now, from here on out. And how sweet! It's like riding in a luxury car, a Cadillac, a Lincoln Town Car. The wider tires cushion the harshness of the road; the gearing is perfect for climbing; the wide aluminum tubing and carbon fiber fork absorb road vibrations. And because of its durability and stability, you don't have to worry about your line when riding and when cars approach from behind; pot holes, cracks, sand, rough surface, the Crust handles it all, the tires are sturdy and the rims super strong, you can ride flush to the roadside and not be concerned with crashing or flatting out.

Leaving the 'hood

Route 2 Eastbound, Lancaster, MA

So ride # 98 unfolded with a meander through the 'hood en route out of town to the south (instead of west), climbing up and away from the local mall (long known as "Sears Town" to locals but re-dubbed "The Mall at Whitney Fields" by Orwellian developers), then a long climb out of Lemonstar toward Gove Farm and the road that parallels rt.2. in Lancaster. Cross rt. 2 and go on toward Shirley and past the gravel company. Dirty gray sky, like the loss of innocence.

Not breaking any speed records to be sure but speed isn't the point of these winter rides. Now, it's all about getting out and grabbing some road time while it's available. It's about standing up and riding with a steady rhythm up long hills; it's about spinning with focused attention and taking care and notice in every second; it's about burning calories and keeping the body lean.

In that sense, the ride is a triumph. I am warm (another ride for which I dressed perfectly; definitely a PBR). I am comfortable. There's a New England Patriots game on at 1:00 so the roads are mostly free of cars. The sun never comes out but does sullenly glare through the dingy cottony cloud cover. Visibility is good. The Crust is velvet-like, buttery, the chain slides over the chain rings in silence, I can stand and pedal and maintain a relentless low gear rhythm; I could grind uphill indefinitely, I can tap into the same rhythm that I established during the Assault on East Hill during the D2R2 this past August. It's a Zen-like confident turning of pedals and revolution of wheels; hard enough that the body knows it's working but not so hard that the body's energy diminishes in the effort. A comfortable relentless grind of savage pleasure. I will ride this way for hours (I think) ....

But I don't. Friends are coming for lunch in a couple hours, I have to get home and rub salt & pepper into the ribeye, have to trim the brussel sprouts, have to watch the Patriots game against the visiting Cleveland Browns. I have to live off the bike.

In the last couple miles I'm climbing up an old cracked and worn farm road toward a more major road that'll take me to a road with stoplights and a clear shot past the gas stations, the Jiffy Lube, Athens Pizza, Magic Fuels, the Hess Station (not Rudolph), over the Nashua River, back over rt. 2 again, through the lights to Priest St and then left onto Harrison St and home ... but before all that I pause along the roadside to gaze out across a big tract of farmland, a sullen sun trying to carve its way through a gray blanket sky. I would not be here to see this, I realize, if I weren't riding a bike.

A Sullen Sun and Sigh Lows

Ride Stats: Ride # 98, basically an hour; 14 mph, 14 miles, 60 minutes in the saddle; 32 degrees at departure, it never warmed up.

Charly Gaul and "The Rider"

Just finished Tim Krabbe's "The Rider," a book that the Mighty Scrod suggested we read together. Given that he finished the book over a week ago, that means that I'm the Lantern Rouge of this non-competitive collaborative effort.

Of many, many things I enjoyed about the book, one was coming across the role that Charly Gaul plays in it, Charly Gaul being one of the great climbers of all time. He died in 2005 and I made mail art from his New York Times obituary (which was written by the great cycling sportswriter, Samuel Abt).

Charly Gaul Obituary Mail Art, 2005, front

Charly Gaul, Obituary Mail Art, 2005, rear

Note to Scrod - will take up the discussion of "The Rider" on Ventoux Calls soon.

Ride # 97, Crust or No Crust

December in New England can be cruel - snowstorms, ice storms, freezing rain. But it can also be like it was two days ago for ride # 97, which is to say almost 50 degrees and mostly sunny. I took advantage of it and enjoyed a spirited 85 minute roust-about in the west Lemonstar & Sterling hills.

Into the Lemonstar Hills, December 3, 2013

I'd considered making the inevitable seasonal bike switch before the ride. In fact, I went so far as to switch my little saddle bag & blinking light to the Crust thinking that the time had come. But just as I was locking the door to set out, the sun came out in full late afternoon low slant warmth and irie light and I thought, fuck it, I'm staying with the road bike. I wanted the sleek arrow feel, I didn't want the whompy whir whir of wide tires on pavement. So I swapped the bag & light again, and also, enthused by the sun, shed one layer of upper body garb.

Sterling, MA, December 3, 2013

Turns out that taking the layer off was the right move but I might have been better served on the Crust. As soon as I started climbing into the hills, the roads became pretty sandy. D'oh! Just two days prior there'd been drizzly conditions that froze overnight and caused dangerously slick roads and the town DPW crews had been out sanding heavily. So for my purposes, I'd have surely been safer with a wider tire with some tread like those on the Crust. But nothing bad happened, I didn't crash, I was just extra cautious on some of the downhill cornering.

Sterling, MA,  Up Hill

Today, as I write, it's been raining, and tomorrow there's more rain in the forecast. Then it turns colder over the weekend, highs in the 30s, though mostly dry. If I'm going to make 100 rides by Christmas, I need to get at least one in this weekend.

Ride Stats: 19.59 miles (31 km), 14.1 mph, 1H 24M, some sun, mild. Tuesday, December 3.

Giving Thanks, Rides 95 and 96

That I was able to get out on Thanksgiving Day (for a solo ride) and the day after (with NJ Uncle Steve, he of the 68+ years and he of the 5000 miles ridden this year) is enough for a shouted THANKS to the powers that be - the Bike Gods, the Life Gods, the God Gods, the Ganesh and Krishna and Buddha Gods, whatever. I'm still riding this late in the year and as I scribe this blog entry it's December 1st and I almost managed to get the third ride of the Holiday break in today but today, alas, was cold & raw, 34 degrees, drizzling, a miserable, Dickensian downer of a raw Londonesque day. Instead of notching ride #97 and paring away a thousand calories, I noshed on cheese & crackers & Belgian ale and watched the New England Patriots come from behind (again) and win a football game.

But Thanksgiving Day was different, all the cooking was well in hand by 11:00 AM and voila, a window of sunny opportunity presented itself so I got my proverbial shit together and took to the road for an hour. Actually, for one hour and four minutes, enough to feel euphoric.

Pile of Garb

Shad with Bike, Giving Thanks

The Halfway Point, Thanksgiving Day Ride 2013

Thanksgiving Day, Ride # 96

The day after Thanksgiving dawned in brightness and sub-freezing temperatures. Uncle Steve (my beloved's Uncle, in town visiting Mama D, my mother-in-law) brought his bike with him. Steve is retired now and manages to log oh let's say 5000 miles per year en bicyclette. He is a mad man, a savage, though the predominance of his miles come from long group rides touring, a hundred miles a day of leisure-paced ambling to get from point A to point B in order to get up the next day and get to point C. That sort of thing. Which is not to take anything away from him. At 69, he could, if pressed, probably take me to school. Yes, I can drop him on one of the West Leo Hills but were it to come down to mile-to-mile, a question of dutiful distance, he would kick my ass. He's got the distance thing down. I'm constrained by lack of time. I simply don't have extended hours to put in on the bike. I've had to hone my riding fitness to the time trial style - a limited amount of time to ride means that I get out there and hammer.

It was just freezing (32 degrees F) when we left. Multiple layers. The paper bag. Now I categorize rides as PBRs or not. A PBR day is a Paper Bag Ride meaning that it's cold enough that stuffing a paper bag between your layers is well-advised. But we were both dressed properly and we were both comfortable. My fingers were chilled at the start but even they warmed up after the first spirited hill climb.

Of course we went west, into the hills. Fewer cars. Prettier. Safer. Besides, Uncle Steve hails from Elisabeth, NJ, not exactly the most sylvan riding terrain, so when he comes up here to Lemonstar I feel it incumbent upon me to take him into the real Massachusetts countryside. So we did a Sholan Loop with the added section of Tuttle Rd (a wonderful extension of farmland and back country riding). And it was great. Sharp. A pristine day of air clarity. A good day to log some miles. And when we returned, turkey sandwiches. Allez!

Shad and Uncle Steve

Shadow Shad

Now the raw ending of the holiday weekend slides down upon me this Sunday night, a wretched icy froth in Lemonstar, the cold unpleasant reality of work tomorrow, a thousand losses, one hundred deaths by ennui, a cradle of plenty and a footlocker of loss. There are plateaus and peaks, valleys and troughs. There is the run to the Sun and the dismantling of one's self-respect. There are decisions to be made, limited resources, meat haunches to cook, bottles of empty promises to consume. There is the debauch of living larded with the lean fat of spiritual awakening. 

Each ride is a raw accomplishment. I give thanks for that. If I have moved my debased self over 15 miles on the thinnest of rubber tires, then I have moved my Self forward. I have avowed to Live and have fulfilled the promise of Life for another day.

Ride Stats: # 95, 14.7 miles, 13.6 mph, 1 H 4 M, 32 degrees.

                   # 96 22.19 miles, 13.6 mph, 1.39.17, 32 degrees and less. Both days sunny.

Drumlin Ramble, Ride # 94

A drumlin, according to one online dictionary, is "a long, narrow or oval, smoothly rounded hill of unstratified glacial drift." Fair enough.

There's one in nearby Lancaster at the base of George Hill Rd and across from the campus of what was once the Atlantic Union College. Called the Dexter Drumlin, the huge graceful mound swells upward like an earthen great blue whale.

The Drumlin

I like to ride by there from time to time. Any ride that takes in the Dexter Drumlin I call a Drumlin Ramble. Ride #94 on a sunny, not exactly warm, but bright Saturday afternoon was one such ramble.

Earlier in the year, maybe late April, I'd ridden the Crust over there and ridden right up to the top and, though it's a very gradual slope and doesn't appear, from the base, to be that high, from the top the view is sweeping and far. This time, though, on my road bike, I contented myself with a view from the base.

As I type this entry a day after the ride, I'm looking out on a covering of snow that came overnight. And, it's 21 degrees F outside and blustery. It may warm up some this week and rain but seeing the snow cover this morning suggests to me that I may not manage another six rides before Christmas. Nevertheless, on yesterday's Drumlin Ramble I was dressed perfectly so wasn't cold at all and didn't mind, for example, slogging into a head wind across the wind open expanse of farmland that takes you over the hill and into the town of Sterling.

The shaggy Scottish Highland cattle didn't seemed perturbed by the gusts or chill either and grazed without looking up to acknowledge my shouted "bonjour!"s.

Farm of the Scottish Highlanders

Heading Toward Sterling

The gusty wind combined with a lot of climbing (a Drumlin Ramble, like a Sholan Loop, takes me west of Lemonstar and into hill country), made for a slow average speed (just about 14 mph). About three quarters of the way through the ride, I started to get chilled; not badly, but my fingers got pretty numb. No surprise why; I checked the temperature after returning and it had fallen to 36 F.

 Ride Stats: Ride # 94, 28 miles (45 km), 14 mph, 2 hours in the saddle. 44 degrees to start and 36 degrees at ride's end.

Chick-a-dees and Letting Go, Ride # 93

I ride alone. Probably 95% of my rides are solo. That's partly due to circumstance and partly due to choice. Riding alone affords time for reflection, introspection; it's a turning inward powered by repetitive pedal strokes. The meditation is to stay present & mindful in the Riding Moment while at the same time allowing the mind to free flow. One can achieve a sort of physical humming presence of Moment while also meandering through ideas, reflections, and mental landscapes past and present.

Today I rode to the nearby town of Shirley, to the house in which I grew up and where my father was living alone in May 2012 when he passed away. No one has lived in the house since. Yet I pay a neighbor to keep the yard properly mowed, to park a car in the driveway to suggest occupation, to keep an eye on things. My father's estate is still not officially closed after all this time so no decision has been made nor action taken on disposal of the house and accompanying 15 acres of land.

Shad Head & the House, 11/21/13

One thing is certain - I won't ever live in the house again. And yet, despite the logic of letting go and moving on, of transforming the structure and land into money (a tool that can be used to get along in this culture), I ponder schemes that would allow me to hold onto some if not all of the property. There are 15 acres at stake, mostly woods with hemlocks and white pines and some hardwood (old maple trees, younger oaks), also a beaver pond and a swampy area. Most of it isn't suited to development. I think of donating it to conservation but retaining the deed; I think of carving out a couple acres with the old stone wall as a border and keeping it, maybe building a meditation hut on it.

In the long I should just sell it and be done with it. But not yet.

Instead, I ride over there in the late afternoon, it's about ten miles one way, and what do I do? I fill the bird feeders with sunflower seeds. Yes, nearly 18 months after my father died, I'm still feeding the birds. And they are plentiful. Chick-a-dees mostly but also titmice and nuthatches and blue jays and cardinals. I stand still next to the feeders in the gnarled old French lilac bush and the birds' wings hum and whir around me. I delight in their enthusiastic and frenetic darting and feeding.

I realize that I'm sentimental and attached to the damn songbirds!

This I contemplate on the ride back to Lemonstar. I wonder where this quality in me came from, this deep well of sentiment and empathy (some might say pathological sentiment and empathy). It's as if I cannot distinguish between one type of sentient being and another. I grieve for them all, I celebrate them all, I feel responsible for them all. I meditate on this riding back and try to get out of the trap. What would the Zen Master in Zen Mountain Monastery say?

Shad Blur in Ventoux Yellow, Backyard

I also think about what my good friend Mawgz emailed me a couple days ago when we were discussing this very thing, the process of letting go (or not being able to), the reality of Loss and aging and transformation and how it all can weigh on you. He shared a proverb which I paraphrase:

It is a foolish man that trips over something behind him.

It occurred to me with a flash of recognition that I am a foolish man, one who quite easily stumbles.

The house, the birds, the fantasy of small and large mammals living in bucolic harmony in the woods I once roamed, these are my trip wires.

The ride is beautiful but I'm a little later than I want to be getting back to Lemonstar, it's starting to be darker than is safe (despite my rear blinking light and my bright yellow jersey, a gift from Scrod and his triumph at Mont Ventoux). Nevertheless, I pause at the top of the hill by Gove Farm and look down the slope of the last apple orchard in the birthplace of Johnny Appleseed and take in the sunset.

I was strong in the saddle today. The bike rode like velvet; soft and silent.

Sunset over Lemonstar

Ride Stats: Ride # 93. 23.26 miles (37 km), 15.2 mph, 1 hour 31 minutes approx. Temperature in the low 50s; sunny at the start but the sky clouded over as evening approached.

Lemonstar to Lunenburg to Shirley, Ride # 92

Blustery. Wind rush, leaf swirl. Why is wind so much louder when it's cold out? A clear day, sun bright, sharp. A full layer day, booties to boot.

Shad Rides

It's that great time of year in New England when the afternoon light is frequently dramatic - huge pure skies with puffy pink clouds, or milky blue canopy dome of deep infinity; and the countryside awash in creamy buttery yellow sun-sink. And purple, there is always purple in there at some point.

Time after work to ride through Lunenburg and to nearby Shirley, loop through that old town with its classic New England town commons, then back to Lemonstar. At mid-afternoon there is little traffic on the roads and so the ride is pleasant. I feel good and pedal like a gazelle running (I imagine), I fly over newly paved roads with a muted whir.

Shirley Center Town Commons, Nov. 19, 2013

Lemonstar
Late Afternoon, Nov. 19, 2013

Ride Stats: Ride # 92, 21.82 miles (33 km), 15.2 mph, 83+ minutes, sunny bright day but really windy!