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August 16, 2023

A few false starts

IF THE SMOOTHNESS with which one commences a tour, or even a single day of touring, is any indication of how things are likely to go, I'm doomed. Even disregarding all the drama around yesterday's ummm... drama (*), today did not start in an exemplary fashion. For your consideration, an illustration of how things don't always go as smoothly as you'd like:

In reviewing my claim that eliminating one single, and quite short, day of riding would reduce the total length of my tour by 135 miles, it was pointed out to me that such a claim must be carefully checked. So I did, and discovered that the composite route I had created by sequentially joining all the individual days into a single unit contained a serious error. The aggregated route somehow had me traversing the same 40 miles of road three times, rather than just the once, so the summary route length was 80 miles too long.

Not one to let such errors stand if they can be corrected, I spent far too much time trying to re-create the route. I could get all the pieces in place and properly joined, but Ride With GPS steadfastly failed to save the result. (I've got that corrected now; the actual reduction is about 56 miles, and something around 3,000 feet less climbing.)

All of the time that went into that fruitless and unnecessary exercise meant I was late leaving home, or at least later than I intended. Not optimal, but far from fatal.
Having finally left home and driven up to my ride start, it took no fewer than three attempts before I actually left the parking lot for good.
1. On the first try, I got 1/5 of a mile and realized I had not locked the car. That 1/5 of a mile, and the next 3/5ths as well, are of course up a hill. Not a brutal one, but neither flat nor downhill either.
2. Attempt number 2 saw me get 2/5 of a mile up the hill before I realized I had left my Camelbak in the car. Back I went and retrieved the all-important hydration bladder.
3. Finally, on the third try, I was well and truly on my way. It has turned out, however, that I failed once again to lock the car upon departure, but by the time I realized it I was in no mood to turn back a third time so the thing's gonna stay unlocked for a few days.

Enough with the bad stuff. The rest of the day did not in fact deteriorate into a litany of disasters. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was a thoroughly pleasant day for a ride, and a mostly very pleasant ride was had.

Back on the open road, in lovely Maryland countryside. Life is good.

My karma got a small boost when, as I was unloading the car, two young Hispanic guys appeared and asked through Google Translate if I could help them "reload" their car (they really needed a jump start but I doubt that particular idiom translates well especially through a machine), which had failed to start. They were staying at the very modest motel about a quarter mile from the bike shop, so I drove them back and gave them a jump start. Score one for my good karma.

Traffic was light, drivers courteous and friendly. Central Maryland scenery always helps put me in a good mood. The roads were mostly good, the weather was mild, and there was plenty of shade when I wanted it.

It's not spectacular but I still maintain there's a modest beauty to appreciate in the central Maryland countryside.

Although slow on climbs, which is down to the rider and not the machine, Serenity proves once again to be an eager and capable partner on flats and descents. Even at speeds approaching 40 miles an hour the bike is dead stable and rock solid, and I'm once again pleased with the choices I made when ordering it.

Taking a moment to pause for a rest, I notice the "country quiet": little or no man-made noise save for the occasional car passing by. What a great way to unwind and get re-centered.

I've said it before: there's nothing like newly-laid, smooth asphalt to bring a smile to a rider's face. It is, however, possible to find stuff that is a tad too new.

Entering Walkersville, a place I've previously skirted but don't recall having ever actually visited, I find more visual appeal.

Not quite the profusion one can find in Provence, but sunflowers always gladden this Kansas native's heart.

Another dozen miles see me to Utica District Park and another rest break. It's time to refill my Camelbak, and a nearly-empty picnic pavilion provides the water as well as a pleasant shady spot to pause and recharge. I share the shade and a moment's conversation with a young woman who's taken time to do some reading, and her dog.

A quiet moment of rest in the shade of a picnic pavilion.

Without my having had anything to do with it, Ride With GPS has chosen to route me through the Utica covered bridge, one of several that still survive in Frederick County and one through which I've passed dozens of times.

You've seen this farm before, if you've read the short journal I wrote in February of this year.

I begin to be aware that a mild breeze has arisen but, even though it's more-or-less directly against me, I don't mind. The day is warm but not hot, so the breeze still provides some cooling benefit rather than seeming to be a furnace blast as it can be in August.

Passing through Lewisville (seemingly little more than a wide spot in the road, though it does have a school and volunteer fire department) I encounter the first country church of the day. You've seen this one before too, back in February, but here it is again.

One of the few other buildings around. It's got new doors, and someone's started hanging Tyvek. However, the wrapping is beginning to show signs of tattering, suggesting that whatever renovation work might have commenced has at least temporarily ceased. It'll be a shame if the work goes to waste and the building crumbles into decay.

Nearing Thurmont, I stop at the Catoctin Furnace, also a repeat from February. I recall having heard a news item recently about the contribution that enslaved African Americans made to the operation of the furnace, so it's nice to see that the signage has been updated and expanded to explicitly point the fact out. Credit where credit is long past due.

The original signage makes no mention of who actually did the heavy lifting.

Having had relatively easy going for the first thirty miles of the day, I finally arrive at the base of what I know will be the biggest challenge of the day: a climb of three miles or more at an average of six to eight percent (with forays up past ten for brief stretches).

What I don't expect are the Road Closed and Detour signs. An additional sign explains that the road ahead is closed for "bank stabilization". I recall from my February visit that there's a stream that parallels and intertwines with the road, so it's easy to envision what work is being done.

Do I want to risk it? How "closed" is "closed"? There's also a mixed message here: the Detour arrow points in the direction of the closed road. Huh????

It feels like I might be able to sneak through.

Torn for a moment as to whether to proceed or go back and use an alternate route (much less appealing because it's a much busier road), I finally decide to follow in the footsteps (tire tracks?) of so many other CycleBlazers and see whether Road Closed means "Closed to everything", or whether I might wheedle and weasel my way into a passage.

It's also late enough in the day that I have hopes the crews might've knocked off by the time I reach the work zone, and so it turns out. They've parked their heavy equipment to ensure that no car can pass, but they didn't factor in a touring cyclist's determination.

Oh look: they've left me an inviting gap between the barricades.

Bicycle tire tracks in the dust tell me I'm not the first one today to have made this choice.

Once past the 70 yard long closed section, it's "just" a matter of completing the climb, skating blithely down a mile and a quarter on the back side of the hill, and turning into the park. Easy peasy.

Except that the campsite is a mile-plus into the park and up what turns out to be the final hill of the day so I elect to get off and push. There's no sense in hurting myself, and there's a lot of riding left to be done.

Now I'm here, I've had a shower, the tent is up, dinner's been eaten, and it's definitely turned to dusk. There are a few- very few, in fact- other guests but none within eyeshot. Were it not that I can hear them faintly, I might almost have the place to myself.

There's not a puff of air stirring but the temperature's very comfortable and pleasant, night critters are beginning to serenade me, and the world is settling down for the evening. And so shall I, once I've completed a few minor chores.

G'night.

Heart

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38 miles.

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Sandy EarleI would’ve walked that last hill too!
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1 year ago