Ride Report: Courthouse-to-Courthouse
Fairfax-Leesburg-Fairfax. Around 105 km. or 65.25 miles.
Everything started nicely enough. I got a nice pull down University Drive from a car. No, I didn't hang on--I drafted him, and did a block or so motor-paced at 30 mph. Great fun!
But then he dropped me like a bad habit, and the real riding began. Got a salute/wave from two kids riding their bikes on Fairfax Circle--which I returned. Made it into Vienna, but took Marshall Road and a whole host of neighborhood streets to the W&OD trail, which I picked up at Talahi Road:
Once on the W&OD, I discovered why I used to ride it so much--it's pancake flat for long stretches, and consequently makes me seem like a much stronger/faster cyclist than "real" roads--with traffic and rolling hills---would otherwise reveal. I huffed through Vienna, Reston and Herndon at about 17 mph--ridiculous, when you realize that my total average is closer to 10.
I happened upon a performance in progress at the bandstand on the Vienna town green (just of Maple Street):
I also took the opportunity to stop by Freeman's Store:
That gravel in front is really deep and loose. Don't ride it.
As I was saying, I felt like I had legs, so I chugged past Reston and Herndon at a good clip. I did stop to admire the view at the Luck Stone Quarry overlook:
I should have turned around at Smith's Switch, but I didn't, and so found myself pressing on, deeper into Loudoun. Eventually, I was the outskirts of Leesburg:
Leesburg is a much bigger town than I thought it was, and I had to ride a fair piece. Along the way, I found some interesting, er, road-side attractions:
Q: What's big, blue, goes on the road, and isn't terribly efficient?
A: A Desoto. No, wait, ouij on his bicycle!
By now I was starting to feel a bit tired--and turning back would make it the longest ride thus far of the summer. I still tried to press on towards Purcellville, but discretion was the better part of valor today, and I turned back, but not before visiting Leesburg's charming downtown to take a few pictures at the courthouse:
The turnaround: Loudoun County Courthouse, Leesburg.
Monument to the Soldiers of the Confederacy, Leesburg
Now I turned back. I was feeling very weak now; it got hot in a hurry, and I had already drunk my bottles dry. I made a few stops, looking for shade, and wary of heat exhaustion. I ended up stopping somewhere on the east side of Goose Creek to rest in the shade.
While I was sitting therre, I saw a man ride by on a Dawes mountain bike. I hadn't seen a Dawes bicycle since I'd left England. I saddled up and gave chase.
Given how tired I was, a dead sprint was probably a bad move, tactically, but I just had to talk to this man--who turned out to be an older gent cranking an easy pace.
I caught up to him and said hi, and asked him where he'd gotten the bike. Turns out he'd lived in Brighton for a while, and bought it while he was living there. We talked a while about English bicycles--how I always wanted, but could never afford, a Dawes Galaxy, the difficulties in shopping for British goods--like, say a Thorn Raven, given the weakness of the dollar relative to the pound. He also did tell me something I didn't know--apparently, someone is trying to get a dealer network started for Batavus--a Dutch firm that builds rather sturdy roadsters. After an agreeable conversation at a brisk pace, I wished him luck at the parting of ways and pressed on homeward.
At Sterling, I stopped for a breath and a swallow of water. Then I noticed this:
Litter on the trail: the discarded packages of carbohydrate goo that "athletic" cyclists slurp down.
I fucking hate triathletes with a passion. I don't care that you can ride me into the fucking ground in a 50 km time trial. I DO care that you leave your protein goo packets littered all over the places where I ride. The fraction of a gram that the wrapper represents won't slow you down, and is it really that hard to find somewhere to stash it while you're riding?
Oh, sorry. That would mean you're no longer aero enough to make your personal best. Well, fuck you and your fucking personal best. Your relentless pursuit of performance doesn't excuse this kind of littering.
Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten to heated about it, because heat exhaustion was well and truly setting in as I cranked through Sterling and towards Herndon. My head hurt, I felt clammy, my legs were going, and it was all I could do to hang on until Elden Street, where I bought three liters of water. I drank one whole liter in a single gulp; the other two I poured into my bottles and carried with me.
Now I was just hanging on. Those fast miles earlier were mocking me on the way back as I struggled to maintain my pace. I was counting the miles and pedal strokes to Vienna--where I stopped again and poured cool water over my head.
Back in home waters, I decided to join the traffic on Maple Street (Rte. 123). Fell in behind a red Jeep Wrangler and thought I might repeat my motorpacing antics of this morning--but stop-and-go traffic is no place to try to motorpace. I almost rear-ended the Jeep.
I also got brush-passed by a white Oldsmobile, who passed me with about six inches of space to spare, and timed his horn blast perfectly to startle me off my line. I recovered, but by now I was fading really fast.
In the end, I cracked again, falling down to about 7 miles an hour. I limped on the sidewalk to Nutley Street, where I managed to rejoin regular traffic at a more sensible pace. Got to Courthouse Road and bailed out there, seeking Nottoway and the garden allotments. Bumbled my way through Nottoway's Disconnector Trail and found myself back by the Vienna Metro station.
Joined Saintsbury/ Five Oaks Road, now riding at a good clip for traffic, and signalled my entry to the left-turn lane at the intersection with Blake. Red light--line up behind the lead car. Repeat the left turn signal, check behind.
Fat white dude in his fifties, wearing a hat asks "WHERE ARE YOU GOING." He's behind me, driving a Farrish Jeep/Dodge "courtesy van." I repeat my left turn signal again. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE ROAD??!"
Green light, left turn. Whitey, to his credit, makes the turn inside me and gives me plenty of space as I roll down Blake Lane and onto Pickett Road. Up Old Pickett, left on Old Lee, and bail to the sidepath on the way up the hill.
By now, I was just barely holding together. My pride takes a backseat to the imperative to get back home in one piece. Crank. Crank. Crank. Crank. C'mon. Crank. Crank. I'm utterly ashamed at having to grind the hill on the sidepath, but I simply can't keep up with rush hour traffic. Crank. Crank. Crank. Pass a cop car lying in wait for his next victim.
Finally make it onto Democracy Blvd. Coast past the Safeway, turn left back onto University, and summon up my last reserves to sprint up the hill, across Main Street, and down the home stretch.
Crank. Crank. Crank. Crank. Count the pedal strokes home. Get home, unclip, dismount, prop the bike up against the wall, and lie down on the front lawn.
I did it.
Real cyclists do this every day, of course. I used to do it every day, too, back when I was recently returned from England. I'm fifteen pounds heavier now, and in terrible shape. But I did it.
Totals:
Miles: 65.25 (~105 km)
Time: 6 hours, 42 minutes.
Average: 9.7 mph
Calories expended: 6815
Waves or salutes given or received: uncounted, but each one appreciated.
Everything started nicely enough. I got a nice pull down University Drive from a car. No, I didn't hang on--I drafted him, and did a block or so motor-paced at 30 mph. Great fun!
But then he dropped me like a bad habit, and the real riding began. Got a salute/wave from two kids riding their bikes on Fairfax Circle--which I returned. Made it into Vienna, but took Marshall Road and a whole host of neighborhood streets to the W&OD trail, which I picked up at Talahi Road:
Once on the W&OD, I discovered why I used to ride it so much--it's pancake flat for long stretches, and consequently makes me seem like a much stronger/faster cyclist than "real" roads--with traffic and rolling hills---would otherwise reveal. I huffed through Vienna, Reston and Herndon at about 17 mph--ridiculous, when you realize that my total average is closer to 10.
I happened upon a performance in progress at the bandstand on the Vienna town green (just of Maple Street):
I also took the opportunity to stop by Freeman's Store:
That gravel in front is really deep and loose. Don't ride it.
As I was saying, I felt like I had legs, so I chugged past Reston and Herndon at a good clip. I did stop to admire the view at the Luck Stone Quarry overlook:
I should have turned around at Smith's Switch, but I didn't, and so found myself pressing on, deeper into Loudoun. Eventually, I was the outskirts of Leesburg:
Leesburg is a much bigger town than I thought it was, and I had to ride a fair piece. Along the way, I found some interesting, er, road-side attractions:
Q: What's big, blue, goes on the road, and isn't terribly efficient?
A: A Desoto. No, wait, ouij on his bicycle!
By now I was starting to feel a bit tired--and turning back would make it the longest ride thus far of the summer. I still tried to press on towards Purcellville, but discretion was the better part of valor today, and I turned back, but not before visiting Leesburg's charming downtown to take a few pictures at the courthouse:
The turnaround: Loudoun County Courthouse, Leesburg.
Monument to the Soldiers of the Confederacy, Leesburg
Now I turned back. I was feeling very weak now; it got hot in a hurry, and I had already drunk my bottles dry. I made a few stops, looking for shade, and wary of heat exhaustion. I ended up stopping somewhere on the east side of Goose Creek to rest in the shade.
While I was sitting therre, I saw a man ride by on a Dawes mountain bike. I hadn't seen a Dawes bicycle since I'd left England. I saddled up and gave chase.
Given how tired I was, a dead sprint was probably a bad move, tactically, but I just had to talk to this man--who turned out to be an older gent cranking an easy pace.
I caught up to him and said hi, and asked him where he'd gotten the bike. Turns out he'd lived in Brighton for a while, and bought it while he was living there. We talked a while about English bicycles--how I always wanted, but could never afford, a Dawes Galaxy, the difficulties in shopping for British goods--like, say a Thorn Raven, given the weakness of the dollar relative to the pound. He also did tell me something I didn't know--apparently, someone is trying to get a dealer network started for Batavus--a Dutch firm that builds rather sturdy roadsters. After an agreeable conversation at a brisk pace, I wished him luck at the parting of ways and pressed on homeward.
At Sterling, I stopped for a breath and a swallow of water. Then I noticed this:
Litter on the trail: the discarded packages of carbohydrate goo that "athletic" cyclists slurp down.
I fucking hate triathletes with a passion. I don't care that you can ride me into the fucking ground in a 50 km time trial. I DO care that you leave your protein goo packets littered all over the places where I ride. The fraction of a gram that the wrapper represents won't slow you down, and is it really that hard to find somewhere to stash it while you're riding?
Oh, sorry. That would mean you're no longer aero enough to make your personal best. Well, fuck you and your fucking personal best. Your relentless pursuit of performance doesn't excuse this kind of littering.
Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten to heated about it, because heat exhaustion was well and truly setting in as I cranked through Sterling and towards Herndon. My head hurt, I felt clammy, my legs were going, and it was all I could do to hang on until Elden Street, where I bought three liters of water. I drank one whole liter in a single gulp; the other two I poured into my bottles and carried with me.
Now I was just hanging on. Those fast miles earlier were mocking me on the way back as I struggled to maintain my pace. I was counting the miles and pedal strokes to Vienna--where I stopped again and poured cool water over my head.
Back in home waters, I decided to join the traffic on Maple Street (Rte. 123). Fell in behind a red Jeep Wrangler and thought I might repeat my motorpacing antics of this morning--but stop-and-go traffic is no place to try to motorpace. I almost rear-ended the Jeep.
I also got brush-passed by a white Oldsmobile, who passed me with about six inches of space to spare, and timed his horn blast perfectly to startle me off my line. I recovered, but by now I was fading really fast.
In the end, I cracked again, falling down to about 7 miles an hour. I limped on the sidewalk to Nutley Street, where I managed to rejoin regular traffic at a more sensible pace. Got to Courthouse Road and bailed out there, seeking Nottoway and the garden allotments. Bumbled my way through Nottoway's Disconnector Trail and found myself back by the Vienna Metro station.
Joined Saintsbury/ Five Oaks Road, now riding at a good clip for traffic, and signalled my entry to the left-turn lane at the intersection with Blake. Red light--line up behind the lead car. Repeat the left turn signal, check behind.
Fat white dude in his fifties, wearing a hat asks "WHERE ARE YOU GOING." He's behind me, driving a Farrish Jeep/Dodge "courtesy van." I repeat my left turn signal again. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE ROAD??!"
Green light, left turn. Whitey, to his credit, makes the turn inside me and gives me plenty of space as I roll down Blake Lane and onto Pickett Road. Up Old Pickett, left on Old Lee, and bail to the sidepath on the way up the hill.
By now, I was just barely holding together. My pride takes a backseat to the imperative to get back home in one piece. Crank. Crank. Crank. Crank. C'mon. Crank. Crank. I'm utterly ashamed at having to grind the hill on the sidepath, but I simply can't keep up with rush hour traffic. Crank. Crank. Crank. Pass a cop car lying in wait for his next victim.
Finally make it onto Democracy Blvd. Coast past the Safeway, turn left back onto University, and summon up my last reserves to sprint up the hill, across Main Street, and down the home stretch.
Crank. Crank. Crank. Crank. Count the pedal strokes home. Get home, unclip, dismount, prop the bike up against the wall, and lie down on the front lawn.
I did it.
Real cyclists do this every day, of course. I used to do it every day, too, back when I was recently returned from England. I'm fifteen pounds heavier now, and in terrible shape. But I did it.
Totals:
Miles: 65.25 (~105 km)
Time: 6 hours, 42 minutes.
Average: 9.7 mph
Calories expended: 6815
Waves or salutes given or received: uncounted, but each one appreciated.