I am happy to say I got the bike (and me) coated with mud, leaves and all manner of dirt. I am even happier to say I did not break any bones, in fact, didn’t fall at all (but wow, ALMOST did a whole lot of times). I did manage to bend the rear derailleur when I got a branch stuck in the chain and spokes, and getting back to the car from that point on was a bit tricky as the bike would not stay in any gear very long, but I made it! And it was WONDERFUL. The only shock I had was at the end, looking at average moving speed. So much different from road biking, but then again, a LOT of it is different. I can tell it will be a challenge for me to decide what I will ride come the spring and summer. I definitely want to mix it up.

What I didn’t do this first time out:

* Log hopping. Gonna wait until I develop a feel for the bike.
* Fast descents. Gonna wait until I know trails/routes and develop a feel for the bike before I let it out.

What I did do this first time out:

* Stopped and de-biked, completely laid the bike down, whenever we came upon horse and rider (three of them on this ride).
* Tried to let momentum be my friend, but was a little tentative at times.
* Rode through a coupla small streams without dismounting (but slowly).
* Wore way too much clothing for the weather (60 degrees).
* Had a freakin blast.

Official documentation of my first ride

Until then, I have the new Talon to take out and explore with.  It’s kind of exciting, doing something new.  I have lived all these years without doing any mountain biking, and today I take it out on a trail for the first time.  About time, huh?  It’s kind of like the feeling I had earlier in the year, in the summer, when a late afternoon thunderstorm was rolling in, and I took the Synapse out on the road, and headed straight into it.   Kind of a stupid exhilaration.    That describes the moment pretty well.   I feel less stupid about taking the Talon out today than I did taking the Synapse into the storm earlier in the year, but the exhilaration part…the anticipation, the wonder…applicable.

Yesterday’s ride was that way, one that had me absorbed in every delicious moment. A beautiful spin in the countryside. It was 28 miles, hardly a car, rolling hills, farmland and old barns, blue skies, late afternoon sun on gorgeous trees, long shadows, and the wonderful aroma of fallen leaves. Sometimes I wonder how many rides I have left, but then I quickly sweep that thought out of my head, and live in the now.

As for my riding log, it’s not much to look at, really. Only 72 rides. But it seems like much more than that to me. A lot of great moments on the road, some of which have become crystallized in my memory. Anyway, if you are curious, my riding log is here.

Long may you ride!

Rolling along in the morning, my shadow keepin me company.

At the school, we registered for the 100 mile route, and paid for the ride.  It’s for a good cause: The Hope Food Bank and Youth Outreach programs in the community get all proceeds.  There was a pancake breakfast, and it seemed like there where hundreds of cyclists there.  I had already eaten so I skipped the breakfast.  I knew there would be PLENTY to eat along this ride, and there definitely was!

The weather was cool and I wore my arm and leg warmers, but that was plenty.  After 50 miles I took em off.  The sky was a crystalline blue with fluffy white clouds and the few pics I took don’t really do this ride and this day justice.  But anyway, I loved the whole experience.  Definitely going back next year.  Here are some more pics from the ride:

I skipped the first SAG at Hartsville; this one was at Newbern.

Big doins’ at the Winery around mile 33.

What’s a hit party without a line to the restroom?

The sky was crystal blue persuasion.

At the midway point, 50 miles,in front of a mural.

After I missed a Dan Henry, somewhere before Adams VFD rest stop.  But the scenery was still just as gorgeous.  I got back on route when I realized I missed the turn.

Well, today, the Bling climbed it without walking. My friend Linda said that my nickname should be Bling because of the cross I wear whenever I ride.  I am not sure the nickname will stick, but as I prepared to climb Pixley, I decided I needed to do it right and plant a “flag” once I made it to the top.  And I thought it appropriate to put my current designated nickname on it.

In order to make this work, I had to build up to it.  I consulted folks who had been up it successfully.  I drove up it in a car, remembering how it was to give up and walk it in the past.  I ensured I had several miles of riding behind me this season before I attempted it (1,000 +).  I rode up to it a few weeks ago, to once more get an “up close and personal” feel about it.  Finally, I developed a strategy on how I was going to take the hill, what gear I would be in, when I would stand (I would start out sitting), when I would sit back down, how I would breathe, what day of the week to attempt it, and what time of day to best do it without traffic.  And then I decided: I was ready.

Google Earth doesn’t really do the place justice, but it is fun to play with.

I planned for the best day of weather I could in the upcoming week, took that day off of work, drove to a place about six miles out, and began my ride out to the hill, determined that I was not going to quit.  As I rode, I was trying to push any potential negative thoughts out of my head, like…the headwinds, will they slow me down? Will I bail again this time? What if a car comes up behind me just as I start up the hill? (It did.) That kind of stuff.  All those thoughts just needed to go.  So, as I pedaled, I just looked around and let my mind take in the visuals around me.  The late summer corn was blowing in the breeze, the morning sun was aflame with goodness, a gorgeous blue heron took off over a lake, a pileated woodpecker said Hi to me as he flew overhead. All of it served to take my mind off the spooky climb that lay in wait. Soon, I was at the base of the hill, and I had almost no thoughts of trepidation (well, a few maybe).

I might have seen some Buddhist prayer flags at base camp.  No, wait–that was just the finery in the Love’s Truck Stop parking lot.

The morning sun beckons a roll back down the hill.

As I started up it, all the planning and strategy just went bye bye.  I had just finished thunking it to the small ring up front, and also had made sure I had one more cog to go in the back.  But instead of starting out sitting, I almost immediately stood.  And I stood.  And I kept standing.  Never sat down.  I don’t think I ever got into the last cog, and I just stood on the bike and cranked it all the way up.  Heart pounding and breathing hard.  But soon, I was there.  At the top.  Done.  Mental block gone.  It seemed almost anticlimactic.  But all mountains do, once you get up ‘em.

This is the “flag” I planted on top of Mount Everest Pixley Knob.

Last year at this same time, I was about 275 pounds, and I think I went on maybe four rides the entire year. I can’t say what really was behind the years I gained weight, not really pursuing a healthy life, not really pursuing any passions. I think I can most definitely say, that like the speech in The Verdict, I was indeed, just lost. But I have risen out from the nameless funk I was mired in. Starting around March of this year, I have been focusing on exercising, eating quality food (and keeping a food diary), and—best of all—I started riding again.

Riding has been a passion of mine since childhood. To me, riding represents being free. I am one of those people who apply a lot of thought as to why things happen, and I question myself, and explore myself, my motives, my desires and my needs. An odd bird, perhaps. Anyway, quite often during a ride, I zone out. Which is not to say I don’t pay attention to my surroundings. Situational awareness at all times, physically being aware of the constantly changing environment, is a key to survival on a bike. No, the zone out I am speaking of is actually finding a stillness and quietude in my very soul. It’s like a harmonic convergence of sorts. When the conditions are just right, it’s like a spiritual high—on the inside—while my autonomic system, my brain and body, continue to process information, focus and react accordingly.

For those several years spent not pursing bicycling and my other passions, I grew to think that I just couldn’t do them. But starting anew, and reinventing my being one more time, has given me a new approach…a belief in myself, and a belief that if I merely just act as if I can do something, that deed will come to me. I started out this year a little late in the riding season, and I was huffing and puffing quite a lot at first. But I acted as if. As if!

Yesterday I decided to do the longest single ride that I have done since, like, um, a looong, long time. Riding 85 miles in one day would have been impossible for me last year. And yes, I know that one day, it will be impossible for me again. But for now, I will take it and be happy about it. For now, I am acting as if I had faith that I can do it, and will keep on doing it, for as long as I am meant to do it.

85 miles to Crothersville and back

It was hot tonight, mid-90s, high humidity, windy, and when I started riding at 5:30, still quite sunny.  Darkness is coming earlier, and as I rolled out of Silver Creek in the heat, I was thinking about how the season is changing…I tried to guess how long it would be until this time of evening would be in darkness, instead of the sun beaming down as it was now.  But my brain wouldn’t allow too much computation and figuring in that regard.  I wanted very much to get into the ride.

I started out with the rest of the Slowspokes, a small group of us, as we took off down 31 past the Essroc cement works, toward Weber, and the beautiful Southern Indiana countryside that lay beyond.

Google Earth view of ride.

With swirling thoughts of work, Pat Summit, my mom, a good friend, and my own recent health trials, I quickly lost myself in a smooth cadence.  The night before was a killer tempo and pace, and I had designs on some kind of recovery ride.  Something that would give me a little peace, put my thoughts at ease.  Sometime around Brick Church I realized my pace was a little more than the rest of the group, but then I saw one lone rider approach me, and I welcomed the company.  I don’t know the guy’s name, but we rode along, sometimes making small talk, but mostly, just riding, dealing with the wind, the heat, the constantly changing environment, proximity to each other, gravel, broken pavement, cars or other hazards, situational awareness, etc.  You know, the typical cycling stuff.

Sometimes, the wind was punishing. At various points, the route changes, and the headwind became a taskmaster.  Other times, when out of the wind in a little pocket, it was electraglide: just your body, your bike and the hypnotizing movement, all the hay fields and the corn in their splendor, zooming by in a delicious swirl.  The visuals, the sounds, the smells, and not much else.  This is the way I like it, I told myself.  This is why I ride.

Hmm.  This is not good.

I had never been to the Borden Community Park before, so before the ride I Googled it, and I figured based on what I saw in the search results, I could navigate there just fine.  But as I drove through the fog, I began to get even more of a disconcerted feeling.

I managed to make it to a place in the sleepy little town where I thought the ride would begin, based on the satellite image in Google that displayed when I did the search for “Borden Community Park Indiana.”  Right next to the high school, right?  Um, right?  There was a basketball court and a bunch of parking spaces.  So I waited, I was still a little bit early.  No other cars.  No bicyclists.  No ride captain.  The 8:30 start time got closer and closer.  Dang it.  I’m in the wrong spot.

Wait.  I’m not even in the right lot.

I walked over to the high school.  A lady was getting out of a car.  Excuse me, is that lot the Borden Community Park?  No, that’s part of the high school.  So can you tell me where it is?  Oh, just keep on going through the exit, it winds its way over to the park.  So I got back in the car, and drove off through the soup again.

Well, I found myself in a mist-enshrouded neighborhood, not a park.  And time was running out for the start of the ride!  So I remembered passing by a police station. Surely they would be able to tell me where the community park was.  I pulled up to the little police station, in part of a strip shopping building.  One police car out front.  Yeah, somebody’s gonna be there to give me directions.  Go to the door.  Locked.  Knock.  Nobody came.

I looked over to a small bunch of shops across the street.  Through the fog, I see a tiny neon sign, in front of a diner, glowing red:  Open.   Ah, some kindly citizens will be there to give me directions.  Walk in.  Two waitresses sitting and smoking at a back table.  Hi, can we help you, they begin to rise.  No, don’t get up, I just have a question.  Can you tell me how to get to the community park?  Smiles.  Oh sure hun, you just go out past where the bridge is coming in to town and you’ll see it.   Hmmm. Bridge.  I don’t recall seeing a bridge.  But thanking them, off I went, back into the fog to find “the bridge” and “the park.”

No bridge.  No park.  I spotted a woman walking her dog outside of an apartment complex on a small hill.  I pulled up.  Excuse me, do you know how to get to the community park.  Uh, hi.  Smiles.  Oh, the park.  Let’s see.  Hmm. It’s around here somewhere.  Oh, wait.  No, no, not there.  Sorry, it’s my memory you see.  I don’t remember things very well.  But its behind those trees.  Ah, I’m close then?  I think you take a left here and then a right.  Or is it a right, then a left?  With that, I thanked her and continued on, ending up in the middle of an abandoned industrial park.

Well, persistence on my part finally rewarded me in finding the Borden Community Park, and a handful of my fellow cyclists, who would be with me on a nice little 40 miler through the rolling Southern Indiana countryside.  But in my earnestness, I didn’t realize:  I was the only fool willing to ride in this stuff.  Once they explained how wickedly stupid I would be to try to go on with the ride, I felt disappointment, because I was so amped up to do it, but I used my brain and agreed with them.

But after discussing the possibility of riding a little bit later when the fog lifted, the captain and a guy named Bill invited me to have a bite to eat at Cricket’s Cafe back down state road 60, and after that, Bill said he would take me on a nice little 25 miler from the Clark State Forest.  I was definitely game.

The ride Bill took me on was absolutely gorgeous.  By the time we did it, the sun was up in all its glory.  I wasn’t familiar with all the route, and that made it even more fun.  The route had an almost hypnotic, zen-like quality to it.  I had meant to take my camera along on this ride (as evinced by the two shots above), but after Plan B went into effect and we went to Cricket’s, I left the camera in my car once Bill and I took off.  Too bad.  I will try again on my next documented ride.  The gorgeous little route Bill took me on can be perused below.   It goes out to Marysville, through Otisco, and back to Henryville.   Anyway, thanks Bill, if you read this, and take care out there everybody.