And, One Week Later, Ride 51!
Last week was not a good one for me and exercise. My J went away away to the West, and I lost my swimming buddy. I also got a lower GI bug, which made me really, really, not want to be more than a room away from a bathroom for a while, and not down a trail with no relief in sight, nor in the water where I might be responsible for promoting e coli or dysentery or something equally grim.
As I was changing to go on my ride, Sparkle came into the bedroom, and saw that I was getting out of my long dress and into shorts. She left, and came back buckling a bike helmet on. She told me she was ready for our ride, and I said I could walk with her along on her little bike ride, but that mine was not back from the fix-it shop for a tandem trip. Sparkle said, "Awww!" and took off her helmet, handing it to her brother.
With a bit of trepidation, I got back on the saddle of my sons' yellow bike, and off I went. I was expecting a week of slacking off to be hard, but it was very easy, as though I had not missed a day at all! I remember reading in hsifyppah 's journal that part of her working up to a marathon was a period of rest days built in.
It was a cool, but muggy evening. The skies were many colors of gray, swirly and pretty. The fields were a bit misty-looking, and so all the greens were muted and soft. The cicada bugs were very noisy, and drowned out the clicking of my gears and the turning of my wheels. There were many dead branches fallen from the trees onto the path that I had to steer around, lest I burst another tire.
Tonight, the yard dogs were out in force, quietly patrolling their fences. They all barked at me - just once, each. It was like they were saying "YOU...!" and then realized it was just that person on the bike that goes past all the time, nothing to fuss over, whatever, and just stopped. I noted it the third time it happened, after the kitty-corner neighbor's dog, the Alsatian, and the basset had all had their word in, but by the tenth dog, I was laughing out loud. And not a peep from repeat dogs I'd seen on the way out at all on the way back.
The garden by the first road has its second batch of corn rows under attack by the midnight marauder. I noted a number of broken stalks on the path again, some broken stalks in the garden, and a number of measures in the garden itself. There was a plastic owl on a post, a number of pie tins on strings, a live trap with corn in it, and strings tied to the corn stalks leading to a bunch of jingle bells hung on the porch across the yard. In addition, the laundry line had the dog's lead attached to it so the dog had a way of running back and forth over a larger portion of the yard, while still keeping him back from the rail road tracks. (This dog was in fact one of the ones who barked just once at me.) These guys want the rascals that are doing this to STOP.
Passing a farm pond, I saw that the once-huge pond that threatened to spill over onto the path this wet spring is barely a puddle, green algae smudge around it in a dried-up ring. The stream under the bridge is just a trickle, and the feeder stream going into it across the farmer's field is a brown path with a glint of wetness along the stones marking its way.
At the second road, I drank my water, and noted that someone had taken a not-quite-ripe melon, and had pitched it from a car while going over the rail road tracks, hitting a sign. This had split the melon in half, one side on one side of the path, one side on the other, and many seeds on the path in between, but just the seeds, not the orangy pulp. The melon halves were covered in happy ants, and I watched them making long lines to and from the halves. The ant trails, on opposite sides of the trail, appeared to also be going to different places. I found myself wondering whether the ant hills connected under ground, or whether there were two ant colonies close together, and whether they knew about each other, and whether there would be ant wars later. With such melon-choly thoughts I was possessed.
A white dog trotted across his yard toward me. As I leisurely started pedaling toward home, he barked (once), and started leisurely following me along the fence, keeping pace with me. Another cyclist, approaching me from the opposite direction slowly pedaled up, and the white dog erupted in fierce barking, and jumped up and down along the fence and tore after him, evidently screaming "STAY OUT OUT OUT of my YARD!" This reinforced my notion that the dogs have come to know me.
Back past the first road toward home, I was paced by a cardinal as I rode for quite a distance. He was red, but had a lot of gray in his feathers, too. A very "Ohio State, GO BUCKS!" kind of bird. I don't know whether this means he was a young bird, or if all cardinals get this color in the summer after breeding season is over. He flew and dipped in flight next to me for twenty or twenty five dips. Then with a burst of speed he pulled ahead, then glided to a stop along the start of the fence to the left just ahead of me, then cut left across the rail road tracks as I caught up.
I was up the little hill and over it before realizing I'd never downshifted from the hardest gear. Go, me! Down and around the curve, and the three dogs who always go ape as bikes go past were lying down, and looked up, and all barked at me in unison - once.
My home driveway had two rabbits guarding it, and they froze, clearly hoping I would not see them. I actually rode right between them, and they stayed still, only running away after I was well past.
And my neighbor's two dogs, behind their glass sliding door, both barked at me - once.
A fifty-wonderful ride.
As I was changing to go on my ride, Sparkle came into the bedroom, and saw that I was getting out of my long dress and into shorts. She left, and came back buckling a bike helmet on. She told me she was ready for our ride, and I said I could walk with her along on her little bike ride, but that mine was not back from the fix-it shop for a tandem trip. Sparkle said, "Awww!" and took off her helmet, handing it to her brother.
With a bit of trepidation, I got back on the saddle of my sons' yellow bike, and off I went. I was expecting a week of slacking off to be hard, but it was very easy, as though I had not missed a day at all! I remember reading in hsifyppah 's journal that part of her working up to a marathon was a period of rest days built in.
It was a cool, but muggy evening. The skies were many colors of gray, swirly and pretty. The fields were a bit misty-looking, and so all the greens were muted and soft. The cicada bugs were very noisy, and drowned out the clicking of my gears and the turning of my wheels. There were many dead branches fallen from the trees onto the path that I had to steer around, lest I burst another tire.
Tonight, the yard dogs were out in force, quietly patrolling their fences. They all barked at me - just once, each. It was like they were saying "YOU...!" and then realized it was just that person on the bike that goes past all the time, nothing to fuss over, whatever, and just stopped. I noted it the third time it happened, after the kitty-corner neighbor's dog, the Alsatian, and the basset had all had their word in, but by the tenth dog, I was laughing out loud. And not a peep from repeat dogs I'd seen on the way out at all on the way back.
The garden by the first road has its second batch of corn rows under attack by the midnight marauder. I noted a number of broken stalks on the path again, some broken stalks in the garden, and a number of measures in the garden itself. There was a plastic owl on a post, a number of pie tins on strings, a live trap with corn in it, and strings tied to the corn stalks leading to a bunch of jingle bells hung on the porch across the yard. In addition, the laundry line had the dog's lead attached to it so the dog had a way of running back and forth over a larger portion of the yard, while still keeping him back from the rail road tracks. (This dog was in fact one of the ones who barked just once at me.) These guys want the rascals that are doing this to STOP.
Passing a farm pond, I saw that the once-huge pond that threatened to spill over onto the path this wet spring is barely a puddle, green algae smudge around it in a dried-up ring. The stream under the bridge is just a trickle, and the feeder stream going into it across the farmer's field is a brown path with a glint of wetness along the stones marking its way.
At the second road, I drank my water, and noted that someone had taken a not-quite-ripe melon, and had pitched it from a car while going over the rail road tracks, hitting a sign. This had split the melon in half, one side on one side of the path, one side on the other, and many seeds on the path in between, but just the seeds, not the orangy pulp. The melon halves were covered in happy ants, and I watched them making long lines to and from the halves. The ant trails, on opposite sides of the trail, appeared to also be going to different places. I found myself wondering whether the ant hills connected under ground, or whether there were two ant colonies close together, and whether they knew about each other, and whether there would be ant wars later. With such melon-choly thoughts I was possessed.
A white dog trotted across his yard toward me. As I leisurely started pedaling toward home, he barked (once), and started leisurely following me along the fence, keeping pace with me. Another cyclist, approaching me from the opposite direction slowly pedaled up, and the white dog erupted in fierce barking, and jumped up and down along the fence and tore after him, evidently screaming "STAY OUT OUT OUT of my YARD!" This reinforced my notion that the dogs have come to know me.
Back past the first road toward home, I was paced by a cardinal as I rode for quite a distance. He was red, but had a lot of gray in his feathers, too. A very "Ohio State, GO BUCKS!" kind of bird. I don't know whether this means he was a young bird, or if all cardinals get this color in the summer after breeding season is over. He flew and dipped in flight next to me for twenty or twenty five dips. Then with a burst of speed he pulled ahead, then glided to a stop along the start of the fence to the left just ahead of me, then cut left across the rail road tracks as I caught up.
I was up the little hill and over it before realizing I'd never downshifted from the hardest gear. Go, me! Down and around the curve, and the three dogs who always go ape as bikes go past were lying down, and looked up, and all barked at me in unison - once.
My home driveway had two rabbits guarding it, and they froze, clearly hoping I would not see them. I actually rode right between them, and they stayed still, only running away after I was well past.
And my neighbor's two dogs, behind their glass sliding door, both barked at me - once.
A fifty-wonderful ride.