47 Miles Proves My Dad and I Are the Shit
We so did it. I so did it. We so kicked ass. I so kicked ass.
My dad and I rode the entire 47 miles from the 'Boro to Henderson yesterday, and my brother would have, too, if his knee hadn't been bothering him. Morgan made it more than half-way, though, and then my mom picked him up. That was around 10:15 or 10:30 or so. We left the house at 6:15 A.M. We didn't take the highway, rather we opted for the much more scenic and much safer farmland route. It was a beautiful morning, and the land was covered in a fog that relieved us of the sun's early day heat. I actually saw the bottom of the fog clouds, which seemed remarkable to me since I cannot recall ever seeing (or at least noticing) such an interesting detail before.
Twenty minutes into the ride, we rode down a road with three beautiful houses on the left and woods on the right. As we descended a short hill down to level land with fields of corn on either side, the background noise of crickets chirping suddenly burst to the fore. I remember that road as straight and narrow, a mere path of tar amidst the towering tan of late-summer corn, the kingdom of the crickets at daybreak.
Later in the ride, I considered peeing in some tall grass alongside a field of maize, but found that, too, quite populated by crickets and grasshoppers and the like, and so decided against it. Wise choice, too, for we stumbled upon a true oasis (well, my dad knew it was there, but we didn't think it would be open, what with Labor Day), a country store with more VHSs than I've seen in a while, a few frozen and refrigerated items, some snack-foods, and, bless the lord, a bathroom. A much nicer bathroom than I expected, too. I relieved myself in privacy and air-conditioning and all-around ecstasy, truly.
We all three purchased some nice, cool beverages there, the boys because they wanted to, I because I had but little choice (but of course because I also desired it). When we took a short walk break after an hour of riding, we each removed our water bottles and quenched our thirst. In confusion, I found my water bottle rather light. (And rather dirty.) I inspected its contents and found them unexpectedly halfway-depleted. Mild swearing ensued. I found the bottle sporting a deep gash along its midsection. More, slightly less mild swearing ensued. So I replenished my liquid resources with a bottle of some off-brand wannabe spring water. And it was sooo good.
After this ten-minute break, we continued on our way.
And directly came into contact with the biggest hill I have ever faced on a bike.
But we began to climb it anyway.
And a third of the way up,
I'm shifting to my granny gear
and starting to laugh.
Curse my twisted sense of humor backfiring on me when I clearly cannot afford the oxygen.
And as I topped the hill,
I discovered that it merely turned and continued further.
Mother #$%*@.
I had to switchback the rest of it. Thank God no cars came from either direction and threw off the pitiful groove I attempted to establish.
The upside of the first hill being the biggest ever? None of the following compared. Which is a good thing. Because there were many, many, many of them. The downhills were worth it (except for the one with random sprayings of gravel across it because, yeah, skidding and falling down a hill and into traffic and one's very certain doom? not a fun time).
The wildlife was amazing. Check that--the wildLIFE and the wildROADKILL were amazing. We saw butterflies all morning, several varieties, several sizes. Some we met in the air, some we met on the road and sent up into the air ina startled frenzy. We saw caterpillars braving their way across the road. We saw two deer ahead of us disappear into the woods. We saw a hawk flying up into a tree from the road. We saw a number of breeds of dogs, most of which chased us, but thankfully, their owners were nearby and called them off (because being mauled on Labor Day morning by someone's Labrador of Death? sucks).
On the other side of the whole life bit, we saw roadkill or all shapes and sizes. A few birds. A grass snake. A skunk (so cute!). And the piece de resistance, a rotting deer carcass masked by a million flies until we road past and sent them into a momentary swirl of panic; however, they settled back right away to their sick task. (The funk? Nauseating.)
My dad and I finally pulled into our cousins' driveway at 12:30 P.M. or so. My dad generously allowed me to lead in, telling me I'd earned it. Upon reflection, though, he should have since it's been his dream for years to do the ride. And he's the one who's been training for months to ride such distances, and he's in excellent physical condition for his age and profession. His drive amazes me: even with his stressful, time-consuming job, he finds and makes the time to exercise. Because he wants to. Because he has a genuine interest in it. I really admire that because sometimes I forget why I go through the motions. I sometimes forget that it makes me feel healthy and active and alive. But seeing my dad's enthusiasm and sharing in it on that huge ride made me feel all those things again.
And it made me feel ugly. Because when the helmet came off, hoo boy, the hair was a scare. Well, it made my dad laugh anyway, but I ran (or rather, awkwardly hobbled, careful of my sore, sore bottom parts) to the car window to see my reflection and fix my hair. I managed a decent job of it because when we entered the house, my cousin Taylor said, "Wow, Sarah looks like she didn't even go riding."
And if I weren't so totally pumped that I made all 47 miles, five-and-a-half hours of the ride, that would be one of the proudest moments of my summer. But as it all stands, I'm proud that I went. I'm proud that I finished. And I'm proud that I wanted to do it before, during, and after.
Thanks, Dad, for the best Labor Day I can so far remember and will likely ever remember. WE DID IT!!!
My dad and I rode the entire 47 miles from the 'Boro to Henderson yesterday, and my brother would have, too, if his knee hadn't been bothering him. Morgan made it more than half-way, though, and then my mom picked him up. That was around 10:15 or 10:30 or so. We left the house at 6:15 A.M. We didn't take the highway, rather we opted for the much more scenic and much safer farmland route. It was a beautiful morning, and the land was covered in a fog that relieved us of the sun's early day heat. I actually saw the bottom of the fog clouds, which seemed remarkable to me since I cannot recall ever seeing (or at least noticing) such an interesting detail before.
Twenty minutes into the ride, we rode down a road with three beautiful houses on the left and woods on the right. As we descended a short hill down to level land with fields of corn on either side, the background noise of crickets chirping suddenly burst to the fore. I remember that road as straight and narrow, a mere path of tar amidst the towering tan of late-summer corn, the kingdom of the crickets at daybreak.
Later in the ride, I considered peeing in some tall grass alongside a field of maize, but found that, too, quite populated by crickets and grasshoppers and the like, and so decided against it. Wise choice, too, for we stumbled upon a true oasis (well, my dad knew it was there, but we didn't think it would be open, what with Labor Day), a country store with more VHSs than I've seen in a while, a few frozen and refrigerated items, some snack-foods, and, bless the lord, a bathroom. A much nicer bathroom than I expected, too. I relieved myself in privacy and air-conditioning and all-around ecstasy, truly.
We all three purchased some nice, cool beverages there, the boys because they wanted to, I because I had but little choice (but of course because I also desired it). When we took a short walk break after an hour of riding, we each removed our water bottles and quenched our thirst. In confusion, I found my water bottle rather light. (And rather dirty.) I inspected its contents and found them unexpectedly halfway-depleted. Mild swearing ensued. I found the bottle sporting a deep gash along its midsection. More, slightly less mild swearing ensued. So I replenished my liquid resources with a bottle of some off-brand wannabe spring water. And it was sooo good.
After this ten-minute break, we continued on our way.
And directly came into contact with the biggest hill I have ever faced on a bike.
But we began to climb it anyway.
And a third of the way up,
I'm shifting to my granny gear
and starting to laugh.
Curse my twisted sense of humor backfiring on me when I clearly cannot afford the oxygen.
And as I topped the hill,
I discovered that it merely turned and continued further.
Mother #$%*@.
I had to switchback the rest of it. Thank God no cars came from either direction and threw off the pitiful groove I attempted to establish.
The upside of the first hill being the biggest ever? None of the following compared. Which is a good thing. Because there were many, many, many of them. The downhills were worth it (except for the one with random sprayings of gravel across it because, yeah, skidding and falling down a hill and into traffic and one's very certain doom? not a fun time).
The wildlife was amazing. Check that--the wildLIFE and the wildROADKILL were amazing. We saw butterflies all morning, several varieties, several sizes. Some we met in the air, some we met on the road and sent up into the air ina startled frenzy. We saw caterpillars braving their way across the road. We saw two deer ahead of us disappear into the woods. We saw a hawk flying up into a tree from the road. We saw a number of breeds of dogs, most of which chased us, but thankfully, their owners were nearby and called them off (because being mauled on Labor Day morning by someone's Labrador of Death? sucks).
On the other side of the whole life bit, we saw roadkill or all shapes and sizes. A few birds. A grass snake. A skunk (so cute!). And the piece de resistance, a rotting deer carcass masked by a million flies until we road past and sent them into a momentary swirl of panic; however, they settled back right away to their sick task. (The funk? Nauseating.)
My dad and I finally pulled into our cousins' driveway at 12:30 P.M. or so. My dad generously allowed me to lead in, telling me I'd earned it. Upon reflection, though, he should have since it's been his dream for years to do the ride. And he's the one who's been training for months to ride such distances, and he's in excellent physical condition for his age and profession. His drive amazes me: even with his stressful, time-consuming job, he finds and makes the time to exercise. Because he wants to. Because he has a genuine interest in it. I really admire that because sometimes I forget why I go through the motions. I sometimes forget that it makes me feel healthy and active and alive. But seeing my dad's enthusiasm and sharing in it on that huge ride made me feel all those things again.
And it made me feel ugly. Because when the helmet came off, hoo boy, the hair was a scare. Well, it made my dad laugh anyway, but I ran (or rather, awkwardly hobbled, careful of my sore, sore bottom parts) to the car window to see my reflection and fix my hair. I managed a decent job of it because when we entered the house, my cousin Taylor said, "Wow, Sarah looks like she didn't even go riding."
And if I weren't so totally pumped that I made all 47 miles, five-and-a-half hours of the ride, that would be one of the proudest moments of my summer. But as it all stands, I'm proud that I went. I'm proud that I finished. And I'm proud that I wanted to do it before, during, and after.
Thanks, Dad, for the best Labor Day I can so far remember and will likely ever remember. WE DID IT!!!