Fall is only a few weeks away; the sun is rapidly heading South, exacerbating the extreme daily temperature variation we experience on the High Plains. It was in the forties this morning when I took off for a quick 25-mile ride out to the Smoky Hill Trail Marker, and by the time I returned to the cottage, I was covered in a lathery layer of sweat.
That brings the tally to 50 miles for the month, with a couple of weeks to go. I didn’t get a lot of mileage in August for several reasons. One reason was that I’ve worn out the tires on Double Cross. On the last ride in August, I had to call Vickie to come and rescue me. That’s only the second time that has happened in my gravel-crushing escapades around Emerald City in a decade, but it probably won’t be the last.
Rosy-Fingered Dawn
I knew the tires were bad before I left, but while drinking coffee and watching the rosy-fingered dawn spread pink hues across the eastern horizon, my gravel itch started driving me crazy. Then, I checked the anemometer and the breeze was in the low single digits, and before I even realized what was happening I was 9 or 10 miles deep into an amazing ride.
Then it happened, the rear tire started going soft – a flat. I pulled over and found an evil goat head still clinging to the thin, threadbare rubber casing. I stripped the tire down, patched the tube, and checked the inside for any other sharp protrusions. As I refilled the tire with air I noticed 3 different places where the inner tube was pushing its way out of slices and slits in the casing of the worn tire.
In my exuberance to enjoy a morning out on the gravel, the condition of the tires had slipped my mind. But it was pretty obvious as I sat in the dirt at the side of the road examining the tire it was unsafe to continue. So, I called Vickie to come and rescue me. Of course she immediately let me have it, firing one of my favorite lines at me – “Your failure to plan properly is not necessarily my emergency.”
I smiled as she punished my stupidity with her words and then I pleaded and begged, made excuses about how amazing the morning was, and said I could never walk ten miles in the stiff biking shoes with oversized cleats. Luckily, there was just enough time for her to rescue me before getting to another appointment she had, Phew! I went straight home and ordered new tires, but my preferred brand would take a week or more to show up – what to do in the meantime?
Bike Barn
With seven bikes in the barn, I should be able to figure something out. Most of the tires hanging in the rafters were too skinny for riding in the soft sand or too fat to fit between the stays, but the Masi Soulville had a set that’s only slightly smaller, so I moved them onto Double Cross and have been able to keep the gravel party goin’. The new tires should be here any day, along with a few other accouterments I couldn’t live without.
One of the reasons that I find bicycling on the gravel roads around Emerald City so appealing, is that it’s always an adventure. I can never be sure about what will happen next. The roads can be perfectly smooth, soft, and sandy or cobbled with fist-sized boulders. The weather can be sunny and warm, breezy and brisk or cool and damp.
In the middle of August recently, the dog days of summer with their triple-digit temperatures were hijacked by an odd weather phenomenon. Some kind of temperature inversion invaded Emerald City and we experienced San Francisco-like weather for several days. The mornings were thick with fog and humidity. The walk down to the gym was like swimming through an ocean of microscopic water droplets. Early morning temperatures were in the low 50s, with the day’s top temperatures only slightly higher. I wore long-sleeved britches for the first time in months. The cool weather was awesome, but it was just a brief interlude and we were back into the 90s the following week.
Cool Mornings
The cool mornings were incredible to get out and rack up some gravel mileage. I got out two days in a row, accumulating nearly 50 miles of cool morning gravel in the middle of August. The only thing better than that would’ve been 3 days in a row;>) The fog was still thick when I readied Double Cross for one ride. I lubed the chain, topped up the tires, filled the water bottles with some cool, clear water, and slipped a few snacks into the jersey pockets. As I clicked into the peddles and headed out of town, the sun was beginning to burn through the wet fog.
My legs felt powerful and strong as I headed south, away from Emerald City. I came upon a Harris Hawk, hanging out on a power-line pole and gave him my best hawk whistle. As he lifted off, he screeched back at me – a little raptor yell that warmed the cockles of my heart. Then as I was dancing on the peddles enjoying the morning beauty, a big iridescent blue dragonfly paced me down the road.
His multi-faceted eyes focused in on me, attempting to figure out what type of animal I was. I looked like a predator but sped down the road like prey, hmm. Then he was gone, a little blue ghost. Not too much excitement after the Dragonfly evaporated. Just another beautiful morning, grinding gravel on the High Plains…
