Colors

It seemed like only last week that all the trees were green. That’s because it was only last week when all the trees were green. This week I rode over to Fort Hunt Park and the maple trees along the park’s ring road were on fire. All at once, too.

This time of year makes dressing for rides a challenge. Some days it’s a long-sleeved shirt with a vest and shorts; others, it’s the dreaded long pants and layers. Until standard time begins next week, rides to Friday Coffee Club begin in the cold and dark. One day I rode with regular bicycling gloves and my hands were frozen. This past Friday I broke out my lobster gloves. Comfy.

I’ve also begun to add in longer rides. Last Wednesday my wife dropped me off in Purcellville, Virginia for my third one-way ride home of the year. The Tank and I followed the W&OD Trail 45 miles to its eastern terminus near Shirlington. On net, the W&OD has about 500 feet of elevation loss so this is a relatively easy ride. Along the way, I stopped at Bikes at Vienna to chat with Tim and Beth, and to buy a couple of bike supplies and admire Tim’s self made touring bike. Nice. After Shirlington, I took the Four Mile Run Trail to the Mount Vernon Trail at National Airport. The MVT took nearly all the way home. Over 50 miles with virtually no cars. Not bad.

Yesterday, I rode the Great Pumpkin Ride for the umpteenth time. This 60-mile loop traverses the rolling hills of the Virginia Piedmont in Fauquier County, about 50 miles west of DC. As always, the first ten miles (for me) were a warm up. This involved seeing scores of lycra-clad roadies zoom past me. After ten miles and with the aid of a 20 – 25 mile per hour tailwind I picked up the pace, zipping along on The Mule at about 17 miles per hour. Big fun.

After a pit stop at mile 20 (half a PB&J and a handful of M&Ms), I struggled with my breathing so I stopped and took a shot of albuterol sulfate. That did the trick. I was back up to speed only to turn into that lovely tailwind and start the real work of the day.

At about 35 miles, the road goes down a curvy, steep hill to Kelly’s Ford. I am sure I broke 35 miles per hour on the descent (never look at the speedometer when descending). At the bridge at the bottom of the hill, some of the lycras were standing around. In the middle of the road, there was a fellow lycra rider lying motionless on his side. No bueno. Confident that help was on its way, I carried on. Within a minute I could hear the first sirens. A sheriff, an ambulance, a fire truck, another ambulance, another fire truck. Better too many than too few, I suppose.

As I rolled through Remington at the 40-mile mark, I decided to pass up the pit stop and continue into the wind. Fallow fields, fall foliage, large Trump signs. Over and over.

With eight miles left I passed another pit stop at a brewery. Having stayed up until midnight to watch Freddy Freeman crush the Yankees with a walk-off grand slam in Game 1 of the World Series, I decided that adding even a small amount of alcohol to my system was not a good idea.

The last eight miles were slightly uphill into the wind but I was in pretty good shape at the finish. I decided to drive home and take a well-deserved nap before Game 2. I bought some snacks and Diet Pepsi for the drive. Despite the caffeine infusion I started to nod off behind the wheel on I-66. I suspect my leaf mold allergies were kicking in. I rolled down the window and turned up the radio. Thankfully, I made it home without any problems. Next time, espresso!

At home I put The Mule away, unloaded the car, and hit the couch. Two and half hours later I woke up, in time for the first pitch of Game 2. Dang.

Today after nine hours of sleep, I rode Big Nellie on a recovery ride in the pleasant autumn air. We are near peak in my neck of the woods so it was a pretty ride. I took my time and avoided any nasty climbs. The ride and post-ride back exercises did me good.

Next Saturday will likely be my last long ride of the year, the Washington Area Bicyclists Association’s Cider Ride. The posse is a bit smaller due to scheduling conflicts and injuries but we will ride because there are donuts and pie and cider to be consumed and somebody’s got to do it!

In previous posts this summer, I mentioned a couple of encounters with strangers that I found disturbing. People I didn’t know seemed to know me, even to know my name, as I rode by. It happened again twice this month. One day I was riding home on the Mount Vernon Trail just south of Alexandria when I rider passing in the opposite direction said “Hi John.” I was in my usual riding trance so the words didn’t immediately register. Then yesterday in a neighborhood I rarely ride in, I passed a couple walking in the street. As I went by I heard the man say, “Is that John?” (How many Johns ride recumbents in you neighborhood?) I continued to the turn around at the end of the street and headed back but they were gone. Four times in one year is starting to creep me out.