Monday,
February 26, 2018
There was a certain crispness
to the air as I mounted my bike that told me though it was reasonably warm at
the moment, I would be cold before I finished.
It was probably in the high forties and the sun was shining brightly as
I rode out of Indian Springs onto Riverview Road. I was headed for the closed section of
Everett Road and the most difficult climb I would be undertaking since riding
in southern Ohio during TourOhio. I
reached the bottom of Everett and said a prayer to the cycling gods that I
would be able to climb the 2-mile ascent without having to stop. I can think of only two times in my life that
I was forced from my bike on a hill, one being while suffering from heat stroke
during TourOhio and I did not want this to be the third. I had been feeling quite strong on previous
rides and had confidence because I knew I had the gearing to ride the hill –
conditioning was all that was missing.
I began the climb slowly,
looking closely at road conditions that might cause my tires trouble. As I climbed through this silent, heavily
wooded section of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, I experienced that sense
of calm and freedom that often accompanies time on a bike for me. It has always been there and is maybe the
reason I so enjoy riding. Even as a
child, I remember the feeling of escape and freedom it delivered. Then, it made me feel like an adult. Once out of sight of my house, no one knew
what I was doing or could supervise me.
Adventure, mischief, freedom awaited.
And it still feels that way. No
one along to tell me where to turn or jobs that I have to do. I just ride and make all the decisions. My brain is free, as well. And I think about many things, especially
when climbing, to take my mind off the pain I feel in my thighs with each
revolution of the pedals.
I looked up the road to see two
people with dogs descending toward me. As
I reached and passed them, the woman turned to me and with arms outstretched as
though to offer praise said, “I’m sooo impressed! This is a tough one.”
I thanked her and continued to
spin. I was halfway, but still in the
saddle. I was on the smaller crank, but
still had several gears to spare and meant to keep it that way, challenging my
thighs to handle a harder pushing required. I rose
from the saddle for a minute to change the emphasis on my legs and continued to
climb. There were orange construction
barrels on the side of the road where erosion was occurring and I eyed them
thinking ‘one more barrel behind me’ with each one I passed.
I returned to the saddle as I approached
the top. I knew I’d make it and I knew I
still had plenty in the tank for a long ride.
I passed the ‘road closed’ barrier thinking ‘it ain’t closed to me’ and
pedaled on.
I stayed on Everett as it took
me west towards Hinckley. It had a very
small shoulder and numerous pot holes.
Traffic was coming by at the posted speed of 50mph plus a few and the
road rolled in such a way that visibility was poor. I continued for several miles before turning
and concluding it was not a good cycling road.
My return trip put me on
Brecksville Road, which offers a fantastically wide shoulder and smooth
riding. As much as I want to find those
wonderful country roads I had to ride when living in Highland Heights, I was
starting to feel like that magic was gone and this was my new reality. It wasn’t a bad one as I felt entirely safe
with several feet between me and the cars.
My hands were freezing as I
descended back into the valley. I had to
hurry to beat Heidi to the house. She
was coming for Amish casserole and Strickland’s ice cream and some father/daughter
time. I reached home having pushed hard
up every hill, and there were several challenging ones, feeling strong and
tired. I’m amazed at how quickly I seem
to return to a semblance of cycling shape and was looking forward to the next
day when sunshine and fifties are in the forecast. If it happens, it will be the first time in forever that I've managed consecutive riding days.
Bike
duration: Two hours.
Training
Heart Rate: 135 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 1,500.
Bonus:
22,000 steps.
Sunday,
February 25, 2018
My phone chimed indicating a
text so I pulled it from my pocket to check it.
‘I’m heading for Loew’s to pick
up some supplies. Do you need anything?’
It was from Kathy and she meant
Lowe’s – the builder’s supply place. I
was working on my cabinet doors and although I had measured several times
before cutting, still managed to screw up and make two doors too small. I figured it would be easier to call than text.
“I need two pieces of 2’x4’
birch plywood. Three-quarter inch,” I
said.
She delivered it to the house
when she returned and about a half hour later, realized I’d screwed up more
than two doors and would need two full sheets of plywood. Damn.
I called her back.
“I need that receipt. I’m going to return what you got me and get
two full 4’x8’ sheets,” I said.
I rode my bike the short
distance to her place. She handed me the
receipt and loaned me her SUV so that I could pick up the material. I also had a Lowe’s gift card for $50, so the
return, the purchase should be a net zero.
I went to Lowe’s carrying my
wood to the Customer Service desk to conduct the return. I pulled the receipt from my pocket when my
turn came.
“This receipt is from Home
Depot,” the clerk told me.
“Umm…is there two pieces of
birch on it?” I asked…confused.
“Yup,” she said while scanning
the tag on the wood. “It’s the same
price here as there.”
We agreed that she’d let me
return the wood to them even though Kathy had actually been at Home Depot and
so I went to get the wood I needed. I
called Kathy as I walked.
“At any point did you notice that
everything in the store was orange (Home Depot color) and not blue?” I asked.
She was sure she’d been in Lowe’s
and suggested maybe I had an old receipt in my pocket that just happened to
have an identical purchase on it. “Maybe
the Lowe’s receipt fell out of your pocket and is in the car?”
This seemed almost impossible,
but she had me thinking. She called back
in several minutes to admit she had in fact been in Home Depot.
“I’m such a ditz,” she
concluded.
Ya think?
I brought my new purchase to
the Customer Service desk and went over what had happened with the new
clerk. She scanned my return and said, “$34
for the return.”
Now…it had only been five
minutes since I’d walked in the store and come to this same desk and the wood I
was returning was scanned at $54 – their price being the same as Home Depot’s. I said this, but she was adamant.
“Well, I guess I’m going to
Home Depot then,” I said – and did.
I did my return and took my new
purchase to the SUV, which I’d taken the time to measure before leaving to be
sure it would fit in the back only to find that while measuring the interior
and finding it over four feet wide, I’d failed to measure the back gate – the way
in which I’d have to put the wood into the vehicle – and regardless of how I
turned and angled the wood, it wouldn’t fit in.
I took the wood back into the
store and had an attendant rip the sheets into sizes that would fit in the SUV
before finally loading and heading home.
A trip that should have taken me 20 minutes took an hour and a
half. Ah…the beauty of home
improvements.
Because I took all that time to
correct a screw-up, I ran out of daylight to ride my bike, which killed
me. It was 60 degrees and sunny and I
was dying to ride up the closed road Dakota and I had investigated on our
8-mile hike Friday. I’ve been looking
for a way out of the valley and Everrett Road, now closed due to a lack of use
and poor condition, seemed like the perfect opportunity. It was steep and long and went right through
a very scenic, forested stretch of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, leading
to country roads that I relished for longer rides. Well…it wasn’t going to happen but I consoled
myself with the knowledge that the forecast for the next two days was sunny and
warm enough to ride. Maybe tomorrow…
Thursday,
February 22, 2018
“I said can you hire a Sherpa
in the Adirondacks,” Kimberly repeated.
I began to laugh, but noticed
she didn’t think it a funny question.
“I want to climb all those
mountains you talked about and be a member of that club…what’s it called
again?”
“The 46’ers,” I said, referring
to the 46 peaks of the Adirondacks above 4,000 feet of elevation.
I had told her how I was
planning on taking them all in eventually – I have summited 34 to date – and
she, looking for a long-term, physical challenge, was interested.
“What will you be bringing up
there that you’ll need a Sherpa to carry?” I asked.
She laughed and said, “I need
someone to show me the way.”
Well, that could be true. I told her what she already knew, that I go
up there several times a year and plan to go this fall to walk the
Northville/Placid trail, which is around 140 miles.
“I’ll be climbing the Seward
Range on that trip. It includes for
trailess peaks I haven’t been on yet.
Those are peaks without marked and maintained trails so it’s best to go
with someone so you don’t get lost. I
think John and maybe Paul will be joining me on that trip. You’re welcome to come along,” I said.
I gave her the information on
the book and corresponding trail map she would need, ‘High Peaks Region, 14th
edition, by Tony Goodwyn, to execute her plan, but also promised to bring in some
literature she could begin to read that described the region and helped people
looking to get into hiking, camping and climbing in the Adirondacks discover
the best approach to take. If she is
anything like me, having this kind of a goal, something that will likely be
executed over several years, will do so much to maintain focus on getting and
staying fit. That, and lead to a
discovery of the beauty of this region and the serenity it has to offer.
I picked Heidi up after work
and we drove back to my place to get Dakota and do our hike. “I’m tired and only want to do about two
miles,” she said.
I needed another 9,000 steps to
hit 20,000 for the day and would have none of that. I figured I walk out until I hit my halfway
point – two miles away – before she’d be onto me. We started out, gabbing away about everything
under the sun and were almost to my turnaround before she noticed what I’d
done.
“You cheated, dad. We’re walking a lot farther than two miles,”
she said.
“Oh…did you say two? I heard five,” I said.
Which is what we did.
We went to ‘Larry’s Tavern’ in
Akron for dinner where I told her more about my plan to walk the North Country
Trail. “You can come and meet me on
parts of it since it walks right through Ohio,” I said. She thought it was a much better plan than
being all the way out on the west coast doing the Pacific Crest Trail.
Jack called as I was heading
home and we had another interesting conversation about ‘badass’ flyboys in the
military (I reminded him how my lifelong friend, Todd Miller, had been a Blue
Angel pilot in his day), Jordan Peterson, what freedom in America looked like
today, and minimum qualifications for the Commander in Chief ought to include.
“I’m not comfortable with an
actor or sports figure being able to become President with no kind of formal
training or experience. I would hate to
think that a General could get to that level of command without being
completely qualified to give orders and lead men,” he said.
“And yet, you’re arguing
against what you just said about having freedom and how it is dwindling in the
United States as compared to the rest of the world,” I said. “You’re suggesting that the population doesn’t
have the right to elect whoever they want – like, let’s say, Donald Trump.”
“Well…I’m just not comfortable
with a lack of qualifications for that job.
Being 35 years old and born in the United States isn’t enough for me,”
he concluded.
We agreed that we’d have to
come up with those minimum qualifications and talk about it some more. That young man continues to impress me. Maybe someday he’ll be on a ticket for that
job. I’d vote for him.
Bonus: 21,000 steps
Wednesday,
February 21, 2018
Jack called last night and as
our conversations tend to do after covering LBJ and the Cavs, drifted to
deeper, intellectual stuff.
We discussed abortion, gun
control, transgender issues, and the alpha male mentality of the Army, but more
importantly the necessity to listen to what another person is saying instead of
trying to prepare what you are going to say as soon as they stop speaking.
“You have to hear their
argument and what they’re trying to communicate – or get a clarification. And do it agreeably, which is the biggest
challenge,” I said.
He agreed – and, knowing from
personal experience, puts it into practice.
He has a deep, inquisitive, and probing mind with the important ability
to reflect on what he has heard and learned and then change his position. I know from living my life how difficult that
can be.
“I’m taking this test with
Jordan Peterson, a psychologist. It’s
all about identifying your deficiencies, and writing about what you’d do
differently in a situation if you could eliminate them,” he said.
I may not have that entirely
correct, but shared with him how much of that I’d done when the most
catastrophic event of my life…losing his mom…was playing out. Though difficult to accept, I reflected on
all that I had done and didn’t do that led her to want to dissolve our marriage
of forty years. To that point, I had
thought I was pretty clever and a good and loving husband, but ignored so much
of what I was doing to push her away.
There were many improvements I should have made and maybe would have if
I’d had the chance with her, but she was done and so those improvements, if I’m
making them, will serve me in future relationships.
“It’s hard to look in the
mirror and admit you’re wrong or that you have a character flaw that you can
improve. You’re following a structured
program to do something about it early on.
I tend to do that as I walk alone in the woods or on isolated camping
trips,” I said.
And I do. What I have to be careful about is my
tendency to beat myself up mentally, concluding that I’m a louse overall. It can spiral down instead of creating an
awareness that leads to self-improvement and particularly when going through a
gut-wrenching, life changing event like a divorce from someone you truly love.
Oh yeah. Exercise.
The rains continue to fall. It
was swampy when I arrived home to a light drizzle. Cool, too, with the temperature dipping back
down to a more seasonal low thirties. I
grabbed my umbrella and called to Dakota.
She was anxious to hike and didn’t really care about the rain.
We went five miles and with the
steps and activities I’d put in at the farm, felt reasonably accomplished for
the day. The rains are supposed to
continue for the next several days and with my biking mojo in full swing, I may
need to hop on the trainer to satisfy that itch.
Tuesday,
February 20, 2018
I’d received a text at home
Monday evening saying that the urinals in the men’s room appeared to be backing
up. ‘Jinene thinks it could be the
septic tanks are full’, it suggested.
Typically, with to 1,000 gallon
tanks, I can go an entire year between emptying’s. I was pretty sure it was May or June when it
had last been done and so when I arrived and looked up the invoice to confirm,
found it had been May. Still…I needed to
check.
There is a large, round cement
slab covering each of the tanks. They
probably weigh around fifty pounds and aren’t too difficult to move. Sealing the actual tank though is another,
heavier one. It runs a hundred pounds,
is cone-tapered to fit snuggly into the opening to the tank, and is down two
feet from ground level. Kneeling on the
ground in soggy grass, I reached in and tried to pull it up. It was wedged and not budging. I retrieved my flat bar, loosened it, and
tried again. It gave slowly and began to
rise, but I could only pull with one hand from a squatting position and was
sorely tested to get it above the hole to swing out of the way. Once that was done, I could see into the pit
with my head lamp as it was still dark.
“Holy shit,” I muttered to the
shit three feet below me. An 8” drain
pipe brought all refuse from the toilets and sinks of the farm to this
point. Well…it tried to, at least. The pipe was plugged with toilet paper and,
well, other stuff, and wasn’t emptying into the tank, which was full to the
bottom of the pipe. In my cleverness, I
returned to the shop, grabbed a hoe, and returned to free the drain pipe of its
clog. With lamp fixed on the problem, I
probed and poked at the clog and it began to loosen. Then, quite unexpectedly and with over 200
feet of water pressure built up behind it, the plug broke loose and rushed into
the tank. As it hit the dividing wall in
the tank, it sent a spray of debris upward and in the direction of my
face. In those fleeting seconds, I envisioned
my own death, drowned in a septic tank of unknown depth for I was sure I would
fall in after being doused, I moved with the speed and agility of LBJ attacking
the hoop for a dunk. It missed me,
thankfully, and I am here now to tell you of this near life-altering
event.
When Ed from Geauga Septic
arrived later that morning to pump out the tanks, he told me how he’s seen
those spouts reach six feet high. “You
were lucky it missed you,” he said with some admiration.
“Someone else would have been
calling you if it hadn’t. I’d be in
therapy right now if it had,” I responded.
As I drove home praying the
rains would hold off, I saw that the temperature registering on my car
dashboard was 68 degrees. In
February. I got home just as the sun was
peeking through overcast skies and my hopes were buoyed. I changed quickly, patted Dakota and told her
I came first, and headed out on my bike.
I climbed out of the valley on
SR 303 once again and rode straight to the bike/hike trail at the top of the
hill. Once there, thirty minutes after
leaving the house, I rode north for thirty more minutes. There were many hikers, runners and other
cyclists on the path, which dismayed me, but I made the best of it. At my turn-around, I spoke to another cyclist
about country roads I could ride in the area.
He steered me towards Hinckley, a rural community west about ten miles,
but was perplexed that I didn’t want to ride these paths or the towpath.
“Too many people walking dogs,
jogging and paying more attention to their cell phones than approaching
cyclists. I don’t want one of them to
step in front of me as I’m riding and send us both to the pavement,” I said.
I headed home lathered in
sweat. It was a very good sensation for
a February day and I had to note that my legs and lungs were getting stronger
already from the rides I’d been doing. I’m
climbing more easily and with power from the saddle. Muscle memory from fifty years of riding, I
suppose.
Bike
duration: Two hours.
Training
Heart Rate: 135 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 1,500.
Bonus:
24,000 steps.
Monday,
February 19, 2018
Yesterday I wrote about the
‘shut up and dribble’ debate between Fox News reporter Laura Ingraham and
superstar basketball players LeBron James and Kevin Durant. I made a couple of mistakes in what I wrote
by believing what someone told me instead of researching the story myself. I had limited access to the internet at the
time of writing, but that’s no excuse.
The discussion reported by Ingraham did not happen in a taxi to an
unsuspecting LeBron and Kevin, but was unrehearsed. I don’t know if they thought it was going out
on social media or not, but I suspect they did.
She did slam LeBron for not having an education appropriate enough to
offer an opinion, as if there was a qualifier, but did not say that all should
go to college – though it was implied.
Much back and forth since with
NBA stars – current and former, the NBA commissioner, hosts of sports analysts
and reporters and public figures in general supporting what LeBron and Kevin
were trying to articulate – essentially that Donald Trump was a disappointment
as a president and was demeaning their understanding of what office should
represent. A majority of Americans agree
with this sentiment and voice their opinions verbally and through social media
on a regular basis…as is there protected right – and duty.
I have told all of my children
and have always exercised this myself, that if someone is voicing an opinion on
something that challenges their fundamental belief system, they have two
choices – leave the room or speak out.
Otherwise, through their presence and silence, they are endorsing the
speaker and his or her views. I
understand the need to ‘get along’ in polite society, but if someone is
espousing racist views or attacking anyone or any group on anything they find
repugnant, choices are limited for me if I am to be able to live with
myself. I’ve left the room more than
once and spoken up more often to challenge what I disagree with. Uncomfortable? Sure.
Do those same strong-minded individuals resent me after? Yup.
Do I give a shit? Not
really. I can live with myself and that
is the one I’m stuck with forever. So…don’t
‘shut up and dribble’ LeBron – not that I thought you ever would. I admire a man that stays true to his
convictions. I try to do the same and
hope I’ve taught my children the same.
The rain never stopped. It wasn’t really that warm, either. There was no way I was riding and instead of
hiking in the mess, I worked building the cabinets into my ‘man cave’. Tomorrow should be warmer – sixties – and I’m
hoping, drier as well.
Sunday,
February 18, 2018
I listened to a disturbing news
report recently. Laura Ingraham, a
reporter on Fox News, outraged that basketball stars LeBron James and Keven
Durant, caught on tape in a taxi discussing Donald Trump and what they view as
his racist politics and leanings, said ‘shut up and dribble’ to her
audience. She made statements about
their poor grammar, inarticulate delivery (not a press conference or were anything
they were saying supposed to be aired for anyone else to hear), lack of a
college education and earning over $100 million somehow disqualified them from
offering political opinions about the president. Everything else aside, two things bother me
about what she said and seemed to feel.
One – that any American citizen, regardless of their standing in
society, does not have the absolute protection of free speech to voice their
displeasure with the actions of their president. The other – that somehow a college education
is necessary to success in life and that it raises the standing of the
individual to the point where they can voice their opinions. Well…horseshit to both of those ideas. Even if LeBron and KD can have an influence
over the minds and actions of young listeners and fans, it is the job of
parents to help them understand the weight that such opinions should carry and
the understanding that in America we have the absolute right to speak our
minds. College doesn’t change that. College doesn’t guarantee anything to anyone
and isn’t right for everyone and no one should be made to feel any remorse over
not having achieved ‘higher learning’. Oh
well…off the soapbox and on to other things.
Cold returned on Friday and prohibited
me from going out for a ride over the weekend.
I did manage a six-mile hike with Dakota on Saturday, though. We headed on our Hale Farm trail and as I
descended from the woods to the road below, couldn’t help but notice a group of
people trotting over the field towards that same road. As I drew closer, I noticed they were in Army
green and carrying rifles.
I hit the road and walked in
the direction they were moving. Obviously,
they were members of the Reserves or National Guard and running some kind of
practice drill, assaulting Hale Farm and Village. It was fascinating to watch and though we
were close enough to see, paid us no mind at all. Fortunately, Dakota did not think she should
run over and visit them.
We continued on and had an opossum
contact, which Dakota did take an interest in.
I called her back and she returned without too much difficulty – she does
not seem to have the canine instinct to kill critters smaller than her – and we
walked on.
This week’s forecast is for
temperatures in the fifties and sixties, but loads of rain. I have to decide about riding in the rain – I
will admit to be over anxious to ride.
We will see how dedicated I am…
Thursday,
February 15, 2018
I pulled my sweatshirt over my
head and tossed it on the tractor sitting next to my desk (it’s an unusual
office). I was warm. It was February, at least according to my
computer calendar, but it was also 58 degrees.
I had accumulated many hours of comp time over the past several weeks
trying to keep ice and snow from hampering our operations at the farm and was
now looking forward to taking advantage of a couple of them by leaving early
and going for a long bike ride on ‘Locke’.
I had hoped to do that the day before, but the rains had set in as I
left work and never relented. Today’s
forecast was similar, my weather app on the computer said ‘rain in late
afternoon…or earlier if John tries to leave early’. Bastard!
I was on the bike by 2:45 and
riding under overcast, foreboding skies.
I said a prayer to Thor, God of Thunder, and he answered with a misty
drizzle. Screw it. I rode on.
I headed north and east out of
Peninsula, riding four miles up SR 303 with the intention of working my way on
roads I’d never ridden towards Hudson.
We’d see from there. I crested
the hill out of town and was prepared to continue east on 303, which did have
an excellent riding shoulder, but cars moving past at 50mph plus, when I noticed
a parking lot on my right with a sign that read ‘Summit County Metroparks bike
and hike trail’. I turned and rode in to
check it out.
From where I sat on my bike,
under a kiosk with a map designating the ride/hike trails from the ‘you are
here’ point on the map, I realized that there were many miles of trails in all
directions. The question in my mind was
whether they were blacktopped or not. I
did not have tires on ‘Locke’ that would favor the hard crushed surface of the
towpath and I was thinking these paths were of the same construction…at some
point. From what I could see from that
kiosk though, they were paved. I headed
south to find out more.
I managed about five miles
before the paved path dumped onto a road and apparently ended. I returned to the kiosk and with closer
scrutiny, realized I should have continued a short distance on the road after
which I would have picked up the bike trail again. Oh well…another day. I was soaked at that point – over an hour
into my ride – and was thinking I might head home. Another look at the map on the kiosk bulletin
board though, and I found myself heading north along another paved section of
trail that was completely surrounded by woods and rock ledges that climbed to
the east and fell into steep ravines to the west, towards the Cuyahoga River
far below. Occasionally, I found myself
riding over hard packed pieces of ice that had not yet melted and were the
result of cross country skiers and hikers traversing these same trails and
packing down the snow. I rode another
twenty minutes before reaching a point on the trail that was too icy for riding
and turned for home, cold and soaked to the bone.
When I hit SR303 on my return,
it was raining hard, the temperature was down 10 degrees and the bike was
hydroplaning on the wet roads. I was
descending at 40 mph and thinking it wasn’t the best idea in the world, but I
was a cowboy, after all. I arrived home
after more than two hours of riding, cold but elated. It was my longest ride in a very long time
and I felt good…and strong. I had
overcome elements that should have kept me in a warm, snug house, which was
essential to getting a real exercise mojo back in place. I spent ten minutes cleaning ‘Locke’,
determined that it was not going to rust.
John stopped over for a
spaghetti dinner and baseball movie. We
watched ‘42’, the riveting story of what baseball great Jackie Robinson was forced to endure
to exercise his rights as a free American citizen, which he’d fought in WWII to
preserve (he was a Lieutenant, but was dishonorably discharged after the war
when he refused to move to the back of an Army transport bus, as the unwritten
code of the Army required of all blacks).
It reminded me again of my decision about the naming of my own son after this American icon and hero and made me glad that I had. I told John of my riding exploits, encouraging him to buy a similar
bike, and laid out a rough plan of my thinking for hiking the North Country
Trail. “Only sixteen people have
thru-hiked it to date. Maybe I’ll be
seventeen?” I said.
Just keep thinking, Butch, that’s
what you’re good at.
Bike
duration: Two hours and 15 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 135 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 1,700.
Bonus:
22,000 steps.
Tuesday,
February 13, 2018
I had managed two colder rides
on ‘Locke’ prior to yesterday and loved the new bike. It has the climbing gears I need to handle
difficult terrain on long journeys and the steel frame is forgiving and
responsive. I can feel the difference it
makes as I bump over the crappy roads in the valley.
I came home from work thinking
about a ride and how cold my feet were likely to get. I stopped at Horseshoe Pond to check on the
trail conditions and was not surprised to find them extremely icy. Dakota looked longingly at me when I opened
the front door, but seemed to understand when I explained to her that hiking in
the ice was just not an option. It was
that or guilt over eating another box of Kleenex.
I looked at the box and back at
her. She was cowering under my newly
constructed counter in my office. “Does
it really taste that good?” I asked. She
hid her face. Apparently, it did.
I pulled on my regular riding
gear and supplemented with tights, riding mittens, my new head/face covering
and a second set of socks. I decided
against the booties since it was forty degrees…a veritable heat wave.
Kathy had been warning me that
she needed to do some training on hills for an upcoming ride she was going to
do and so I climbed out of the valley in a heavier gear, pushing hard from the
saddle and getting a good thigh burn. As
I reached the top I knew I’d be dropping down and then climbing out again. I needed it.
I rode past Boston Mills and watched the ski lift carrying customers to
the top for the brief glide down the hill.
Still, it was an interesting backdrop for a bike ride.
I passed two other riders as I
cruised through the valley…both giving me enthusiastic ‘thumbs up’. We were the few, the brave, the stupid…
I climbed once more out of the
valley thinking I was doing myself some real good with the second effort. I know I’m a very long way from good
conditioning, but I could also feel the old determination that leads to
difficult efforts and excellent results.
As I finished the climb, sweat coming down my face, my already cold feet
and I knew what was coming. The descent
completed the foot freeze and I turned for home – thirty minutes away.
I pulled into the driveway,
dismounted, and walked on feet devoid of feeling. It would take several minutes for the thaw,
but I’d managed almost two hours of riding and felt fantastic. ‘Locke’ is a hell of a bike and tomorrow is
supposed to be in the forties, so I’ll hopefully hit the road for a second day
in a row, which hasn’t happened in over a year!
Bike
duration: One hour and 45 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 135 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 1,400.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
