Bike Trip, Interrupted

My friend Tom has had more adventure in his life than I will in mine, no matter how long I live. But he has never been bicycle camping. And this spring we hatched an idea to take a 3-day trip together. My job was to plan the route, and whenever we talked about the trip, I also shared little tips and ideas I've picked up along the way. I travel light (but not technically "ultra light"), love to eat (hey, I ride to eat), and really just take my time when I tour.

My Saturday morning guys probably think I just take my time whenever I'm out! But that's another issue altogether.

Tom was pretty excited about the trip, and as Wednesday approached this week, he had his bike out - with his Bob trailer fully loaded, then repacked, and out again. When we talked on the phone Tuesday night, he had re-packed twice already. After we hung up, he re-packed again. And we agreed he would be at my place at 5:30am Wednesday.

5:30 was important for a couple of reasons - get out of the west subs before traffic got bad, and also to get a drop on the forecast heat for the day. With an early start on a 65-mile trip, we could be in Lake Geneva before the heat of the day, set up camp, and either swim or sit in the shade. A great start to our 3-day adventure!

Naturally, I was "not quite ready" when Tom rolled up at the exact time he said he would. To be fair, I was pretty close and we left much closer to the announced start time than I ever do when taking a solo trip. Hey, I've missed my own private start time by as much as 3 hours! So, rolling out by 5:45 was good for me. And Tom, being Tom, was characteristically cheerful about it. After all, we had all day ahead of us!

Our first day's route was on path and trail until the last 12 or so miles. Illinois Prairie Path, Elgin Spur, to Fox River Trail north to McHenry County Trail, to Richmond - at the border of Wisconsin. A couple of roads would take us into Wisconsin and up a few miles to Big Foot Beach State Park. A simple start to a "local" trip that would continue on Thursday, entirely on road, through Walworth (a great breakfast spot I recall from a trip with my son 9 years ago), through Beloit, around Rockford, and down to Lowden State Park in Oregon, IL. Day 3 would bring us due east through Sycamore (with the obligatory stop at Elleson's Bakery), the Great Western Trail, and home by whatever route then took our fancy.

Food. A bike trip, in my view, is almost entirely about the food. I love to plan the route, and I do really enjoy camping. But it's the food - what do I carry? Where will I eat? How will I prepare an evening meal in a camp-site? We agreed that the simple way to start the day is to have a breakfast bar or something simple in camp, then stop for a real breakfast - diner or breakfast restaurant is ideal. Then, during the day, you're always eating anyway, and will probably finish the ride early- or mid-afternoon. Supper then becomes the big question of the day: to fix in camp, or to camp where you can ride into town for a meal, or can you carry-out supper on the way to the campground?

Our first stop, and first food, was a Panera in Crystal Lake. It is right off the trail, across the highway, and if it wasn't there we could have got a good cup and breakfast option at the Caribou across the street. We were pointed to Panera by a couple of moms who were out for their morning 20 miles - trying to get home before their pre-teens woke up on this warm summer morning. Tom is a racer, and it turns out that I am more competitive than I want to admit. These gals had stopped to ask about our tour, expressed their wish that they hope to be able to do the same some time, then moved on. It wasn't long before Tom asked me "well, are we ready to pick our pace back up?" I knew exactly what he meant. We had no intention of letting these women stay ahead of us! And they might have, too. Because at every traffic-congested trail crossing we had to wait for, they rolled up behind us. We would move on, and they would catch up. Well, we're glad they did as we got into Crystal Lake (where they were, mercifully, ending their ride) because they pointed us to breakfast at Panera!

Let me just say here that even though these women did catch up to us all along those 10 miles, (a) they weren't hauling an additional 25-30 pounds of gear; (b) they weren't rationing their resources for a full 65 miles in the hottest day of the year to date; and (c) if we'd wanted to we could have gone faster. I'm fairly certain we could have beat them in a fair race. Well ... Tom could have, for sure.

Coffee and what normally would have been a decadent morning pastry, at a patio table in the shade of the building - a chance to sit and enjoy the morning and anticipate the next leg of our trip. Soon we were back on the trail and within minutes making our way through the hilliest, prettiest, surprisingest couple of miles - Sterne's Woods Park. And that is the only hill worth noting on this leg of the trip.

We enjoyed the nice smooth McHenry County Trail all the way through McHenry. As we approached Ringwood [cue ominous chord] I told Tom [foreshadowing] "this next section is the least kept-up part of the entire path to Wisconsin." It didn't take long for Tom to see what I meant, and it didn't take long for me to see that this segment was in worse shape than usual.

The night before, on our final planning phone call, we were going through some last minute things each of us had thought of. As for the simple contents of a wallet on a tour, I said "and of course your insurance card." "Oh, really?" "Well, you know just in case." Said Tom, "I would not have thought of that." To which my all too knowing honest reply was "that's because you've never ended a day trip in the emergency room."

Now I have to say that, for a change, what happened next is not my fault. I have caused my own accidents, and I have caused the serious injury of a friend. But this time "it's not my fault!" Still ...

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
That dear repose for limbs with travel tired.
But then begins the jury in my head,
To work my guilt, when body's work's expired.
(apologies to Wm. Shakespeare!)

It was my route plan (never mind it is the most direct and hassle free - well, now I'd have to say specifically traffic-free).
I could have pushed a move on to the highway (but the shade seemed more important to us than a smooth surface).
I think I had an expectation of invincibility about this trip. Tom is a crack bike mechanic, so I'd never felt so confident about potential bike problems. And he is a retired firefighter/medic, so that made Karen feel more comfortable about me going out.

Well, the path from Ringwood north to Richmond is generally lousy. But now it has big patches of sand - not dirt, not crushed limestone - soft and velocity halting like beach sand. Not like the part of the beach that gets the tides, the other part that you can't run in. We hit the first few patches and had to walk our bikes through some. So we were carefully picking our way through this dry quagmire. Suddenly - but not, I really must point out, swiftly or speedily - Tom hit a patch that was also in shade. That is, difficult to see until he was in it. He went down, and went down hard. In my opinion, this agile rider was "thrown" as much by the weight of the trailer as the surprise instability and sudden unplanned stop. He hit hard, on his left side, and his bike slid to the right, wheels facing right across the path. We had been more or less side-by-side; I guess I must have been a bit behind because I saw him go down and I ended up hitting/going over his front tire, and going down with my bike in the grassy berm.

I'm no medic, but it was clear Tom was in trouble. Tom is a medic, and he knew just what kind of trouble he was in. He never lost consciousness, but his eyes were closed and before he opened them he said, "I broke the collarbone." That was trouble, but I saw blood on his legs and knee, and when the helmet was off we saw there was blood on the scalp, too.

Two years ago, Tom was battling throat cancer. Among the side effects of the cancer treatment, his blood is complicated to keep in proper balance, some where between "will he get a clot" and "will he be able to stop bleeding"? The next few minutes were given to self-assessment, bike-assessment, and situation-assessment. It took just a little while to get Tom's bike rolling again. He already knew what was going on with his injuries. The way out of the situation was arguable.

Now, the women who have heard this story seem to agree. If I ask "do you want me to call 911" and Tom says "no, not yet" - then, if I'm a woman I go ahead and call, and later if Tom is a woman she thanks me for it. But given the genders we've been dealt, I just naturally figure, hey, Tom's a medic and I'm just this dumb guy, and if he says we can walk out of this, then ... why not?

Our walk was somewhere between 1 and 1.5 miles. Ringwood is tiny, and sleepy, and so unlikely to have any services that I proposed we keep on toward Richmond. We managed the bikes -- I tried to push them both myself, and on a street, this would have worked. In the sand, no way. So we traded bikes - mine no less heavy, but his trailer made the pushing more cumbersome. We walked. There's a bench in the shade, would you like to stop? No, my legs will seize up. Is that a road sign up ahead? Sure looks like it. And so, it turns out, it was.

And who should be driving down the road as we came to the intersection? A County Conservation Officer (named Tom). And he, though burly, manly, and good natured, called 911 without permission! The next to arrive was a Conservation Police officer. Soon the county ambulance, followed by a couple of sheriff cars. These guys were impressed with Tom's presence of mind - self-diagnosis, sense of humor, the long walk to the road - and dealt with him very personally and professionally. It wasn't long before they had him into the ambulance; Officer Tom and I had his bike and trailer loaded in the county truck (to be taken to a locked warehouse for retrieval later); my story and information were taken down; and they were on their way.

There's so much to say about the rest of the day - I'll save that for another post. The important part is that Tom's clavicle was broken into 4 pieces. (As he says, "my collarbone wasn't broken, it was shattered.") He was treated at McHenry County Hospital, picked up by his wife Carol, collected the bike and trailer, and went directly to his own doctor to begin to sort out the situation with his blood. He was sent immediately to Elmhurst Hospital, admitted to the oncology ward, and then began treatment and monitoring of his blood.

Pardon this very personal observation, and take it only for what it says: Tom is a stud. To see him in a hospital bed in nothing but his running shorts, is to see a man ready to audition for a Tarzan movie! Scabs and scrapes all along the left side, from his temple to his calves, his is a fit form with nice muscle definition and ample evidence that here is a guy who has taken excellent care of himself. But the really truly special feature of Tom in a hospital bed is to see that indomitable spirit, tempered by an impish good humor, his care for those who are visiting him, and his trust in God. These things I knew about Tom ... I didn't need this accident to learn them. But it's great to see it, anyway.

And the aftermath? Well, there's some question (no, I won't call it a dispute) about how long the doctor has taken away Tom's cycling privileges. But he did say, "well, we'll just have to go again next year." And so, I have no doubt, we shall.

First Century

Last Saturday our gang went out early, and most of us rode our first century of the season.

I have to stop and say, I think for all who went out from Winfield Saturday, it was our first century. But one of us, Jon B., was conspicuously absent. Jon has ridden randonneur brevets of 200k and 400k lengths this year. And at least on of his own solo centuries. Saturday he was absent - in Michigan with the annual "24-hour challenge" ... where he rode an astonishing 427 miles, unsupported, in 24 hours. I can hardly wait to hear the account. Good on ya, Jonny!

The rest of us slackers rolled out of the Prairie Trail Center at 6am. Reliable route master, Jim H., had staked out a route that took us out through Fermi Lab in Batavia, through Sugar Grove, then west and north into DeKalb - home of Northern Illinois University. We took a modified route back through Elburn and Batavia, then back to our starting block by way of Fermi.

It was the first Saturday morning that we could meet and leave in short sleeves. A few weeks ago I had made the rash statement that "our first ride we can do in short sleeves, I am buying bagels for everyone." There is an excellent bagel shop in this shopping strip, and it was no lame offer. Cold Saturdays continued way too long this spring.

But this was an excellent morning, nearly 70 degrees already at 6am. The wind was mild (that would change) out of the WNW (that would change, too). We rolled out, fell into our Fermi stretch, and were west of Randall Rd. in under an hour. Long before we got to Sugar Grove, we were truly quite warm, the wind was directly out of the west, we were under 2 hours, and hungry. The BP station along Rte. 47 is our Sugar Grove stop, just under 30 miles from Winfield.

Then things got ... well, challenging for me at least. As long as we were headed west, into the wind, the peleton worked. Most guys took turns, and we kept a decent pace. When we headed north, though, it was hard to find a drafting position more than 1 or 2 spots behind the lead. The wind was getting fairly strong, and the crosswind made the going tough because we could not spread out over the whole lane for a group of 7 riders to get some relief. (If there is a west wind, and you're headed north, you get a little relief - a little drafting - by riding behind and a little to the right of the rider in front of you. This works well on a moderately used country road, for 2 - 4 riders; they can spread across, say, half a lane, and close ranks as needed for car traffic. But 7 riders won't fit safely. At least, not the way we play it. Maybe the pros ride more tightly.) I took the first or second pull on this northerly road, and stayed up too long. I was bushed, and could not catch the draft enough to recover. This wasn't going to be good.

There was a convenient spot where it just seemed right to propose that I could take this road east and head home, solo, and not slow down the group. (Or, as I have, just whine about being left behind.) I might be able to continue until the next good east-bound road. Sure, I'll try that. Meanwhile, Jim got word up the line ... moderate the pace so the weakest link doesn't have to drop out. Well, of course he was kinder than that, and so was the group. I was humbled and thankful to be drawn in and rescued, and before we got to DeKalb I had recovered. I learn a lot from these guys.

The stop in DeKalb was at the nicest gas station/convenience store stop I've been to. I've never ridden to DeKalb, though this group goes out at least a couple of times each year. I've just never been able to ride those days. This stop has shade, and a grassy spot. Real nice. Most of us were sick of the sweeter fuels we get on shorter rides, so we got sandwiches and chips, and replenished our drinks. And savored the ride home, with the wind still directly out of the west, and the long pulls on east-bound roads.

And so it was. Our average speed out was just over 16.5mph. Our final average speed back home was closer to 18mph. We had a few break ups of the peleton - one person or another struggling on a hill or with digestion. For a change, it wasn't always me. I've learned from these guys ... the honor of holding back a bit, letting someone catch up, then helping pull them into the group. Riding is a gentleman's sport. At least, the way I'm learning it. We had one more stop, and surprisingly not back in Batavia (another regular stop for us) but an emergency stop at a public golf course club house. That was a bit annoying at first, until I realized that (a) of course it was very well timed for the rider struggling the most (for a change, not me) and (b) since my exercise asthma inhaler was about to expire - it's good for 6 hours - this stop allowed some time for it to kick in while at rest. Thank the Lord for little lovely providences.

The rest of the ride was a familiar route, and we got home pretty much intact. With a couple of exceptions, we did have bagels together to celebrate the warmth, our first century, and my wedding anniversary weekend married to a lovely lady who encourages my cycling. Thanks, Karen! Home by 1pm, 7 hours after the ride began, about 5:45 of those being actual pedaling time.

My first century, this year. Now I'm on to a 3-day trip, covering about 215 miles. Onward!

I am not a runner

I'm behind with a couple of cycling events/stories. But this weekend I had an "adventure" of a very different sort. "I am not a runner, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that." (to paraphrase Dickens) And I would not naturally show up for a 5k event unless it was required of me, for some reason.

This Saturday, it was indeed "required" of me, to show up in support of an excellent event that raises money for camp scholarships for disabled people and their families. STARS is an extraordinary ministry of my church, and as a staff person, the 5k run and fitness walk each June is one of my command appearances. I don't have to run, but I have to show up.

Last year, for the first time, I went one step beyond "showing up." I registered and walked the 5k route. And man, did that make me feel old! This year I determined that I was going to run, or at least lope. Maybe even just show up and knock myself out. Why take time away from cycling to get ready for a run that I won't enjoy, won't do again for at least a year, and which in any case was sort of imposed on me. Such is the true measure of my ignominy.

I have run, for exercise, off an on, more off than on, and not at all recently. I simply won't run when I am above a certain weight - it's too hard on my knees. But when I dropped below that weight a couple of weeks ago (on yet another diet) it occured to me that I could at least prepare to run, since I was going to be there anyway. But no, I would not overdo it, and would not take it too seriously. I am not a runner.

Training Week = Race Week
Monday - .9 miles. This is the distance of the loop that is my suburban neighborhood. Roughly a square, with its highest point at the top of my block, a long slope south, and along flat west and north, then a short incline to the top again.
Tuesday - 1.8 miles. Two laps.
Wednesday - 2.7 miles. You do the math.
Thursday - 3 neighborhood laps plus the block I live on, which happens to be .5 miles round. A perfect 3.2 mile run, which is as close to 5k as I can make it.
Friday - rest day. With my daughter I walked the race route, to get a sense of its contour and to see what 5k looks like all spread out, not in laps.

By Friday I was sore in my thighs especially, and while walking was easy enough, a lot of other things made me feel it. That afternoon, tired of not being on the bike, I decided to do a light spin, using a familiar bike club route. Keep it in the middle chain ring, nice steady cadence, and not pushing it. That worked well until about mile 7.5, when this guy pulled out of his neighborhood on a beautiful Merlin bike, and fell in behind me. He looked serious, and my latent competitiveness kicked in. I went into my large chain ring, and my cadence picked up just a bit. "This is stupid," I told myself. I had nothing to prove to this guy, and I should stick to my purposes.

He followed me to our first turn. I pointed out road hazards, and he called out "car back." At the turn, he followed, then took the lead. We continued on the same course, with just a few words between us, alternating lead and draft quite naturally and seamlessly. It was, simply, natural and delightful. Twelve miles later, our route diverged, and I returned to my original pace and plan. "That was probably dumber than I wanted it to be." My casual ride turned out to be 27 miles, nearly half of them in the large chain ring and in fear of being bested by a stranger.

Back home, I cleaned up, then rode my touring bike to the church for the Friday night part of the weekend events. So my day off included about 35 miles on the bike ... not all of them as relaxed as I had planned. But as I went to bed Friday, I realized that all the soreness had left the legs, and I had a great sleep.

Saturday morning I woke to rain. I walked the dog in rain. I gave up the idea of riding to church as my warm-up, for the rain. I changed my running kit for the rain. And at about 7:55, I stepped into the crowd of runners, in the rain, and waited for the gun. (Was there a gun? Now I don't really know. I'll be disappointed to know there was not a starting gun. There were church bells pealing though, and that is also pretty cool.)

I managed the first quarter mile or more without tripping over children or causing better runners to stumble. I had gotten some pretty sound advice from seasoned runners, so I was more alert than would be natural for me, to the dangers of the starting mob. Also to try to remember my pace and to watch the time at the minute marker, to check myself. Thursday's run in the neighborhood was about an 8-minute mile pace, for a time of 26:04. That would be my goal on this run.

At the 1-mile mark, 7:34. Oops, try to moderate. At the two-mile mark, 15:10. OK, but that's not much better. Somewhere in there I began to wonder if I'd have to really slow down, or even walk a bit. Memories of Cycling Boot Camp kept me moving. The 3-mile mark did not have a clock, and by then the finish line was in view ... up the final little incline. When I finally saw the finish clock, it was in the final seconds of minute 23. Oh man! Could I have come in under 23 minutes? Well, at that point I had only what it took to keep that pace and finish. Not even enough to help remove tag from my bib number.

And then, I was done. My first organized run of any kind. I am still saying, "not again until next year." But there is that little part of me - it comes out about a day after each challenging cycling event - that says, well I could work a little running into my routine. If only to run with son Andrew when he's home. Such is the fitness sickness.

RESULTS
Time: 24:05
Pace: 7:46/m
Overall: 74/343
Age Category (50-54/male): 5/12

Crash!

It was to be a short ride, and with 4 guys it was going pretty well. Enough NW wind to require shared pulls on the way out, but not so stiff as last week's rough go. I had to be home mid-morning, because it is a fabulous family weekend. So the route would take us north and west into St. Charles, then head south and east - the idea being to catch a tail wind home.

At what turned out to be almost exactly half-way, I had a spectacular crash. Now, if a really good crash requires injuries, hospitalization, blood, and the anxiety of the peleton ... well, then it wasn't all that spectacular. But for me, it was. And I hope it is the most spectacular crash I ever have!

We were south-bound, at a pretty good pace, along IL rte 25 in Geneva/Batavia, just south of the Geneva Spur crossing. I was at the back, and calling out "car back" as appropriate along this stretch. Traffic was fairly light, so when I called out "car back" I wasn't in a big rush to move over. I slowed a bit and moved, but moved too soon, and connected with Jim's rear wheel.

This has been a pretty good year in that regard. A couple of years ago I was always bumping someone's wheel, then gyrating back into control. The physics of the thing are that it is the cyclist in back, doing the bumping, who will go down. Sure, it is disconcerting for the guy being bumped ... and I have taken some fair ribbing for this. I tend to ride too close.

Jim said, later, that not only did he feel the bump, but felt the pressure of our tires in contact. Yeah, I got that, too. I swerved, dipped, and this time could not pull back and stay on course. Knowing the car was behind and approaching, I shouted - now, what good did that do?? - and went down. The bike slid left from under me, and I landed on my right side. Slid. Saw the curb approach, and somehow rolled up and over the curb without breaking anything.

I say "somehow" - let me be more specific: God was good to me, and aside from some road rash and a little plastic, my bike and I are no worse for wear. I'll be sore a while, and cautious a while longer yet. But that road, that car, that curb ... I thank God that I am sitting here practically pain free on the same day!

Damage report: pretty impressive knee scrape; great rash which only my wife and I will see (which, since my shorts didn't tear, stayed nice and clean through the ride), a small piece of plastic missing from my STI shifter hood, a little scrape on the bike. I did not hit my head, and none of my clothes tore.

So, I hope I can say "OK, now I've crashed." But I won't count on that. My experience tells me otherwise. For today, at least, it turned out OK and hopefully I will always be able to look back on it as "the worst."

Somewhere between Oz and Pooh Corners

It was a very blustery day - that's the Pooh.
And we may have seen Dorothy and Toto ... on today's very windy ride.
6am start from Prairie Trail Center, with winds WNW/NW in the mid-20s mph, with gusts. And I mean gusts.

5 of us rode south and west to Sugar Grove, where at about 27 miles of riding our avg. speed was 15.3mph. That's down about 1.5 from a normal ride to Sugar Grove. After our pit stop at the BP station, we took our loop west and north, noting as we did that those winds did seem to be shifting. Was our WNW "ace in the hole" going to let us down on the return? Well, suffice to say when we returned .com said winds were NNW. We knew it! At least they had not - yet - turned east! Also the winds were down in the teens, with gusts up to 25. Hey, that's practically nothing!

We all took our turn pulling into the wind. Mine, I must say, was short, and probably the least necessary, being part of our roll through Batavia. Jon and Randy - clearly our strongest riders - did the lions' shares. My best pull was on the return leg, coming out of Kaneville, and I guess it was ... well, someone has to be in front. I set a pace of about 21-22 mph with the wind at our back and side. Pretty exhilarating especially after the last longish slog heading due north.

So, for me, 2 rides this week, totaling 110 miles. I still need to be on the bike for short rides throughout the week if I am going to really enjoy the Saturday rides. Today was nice, though ... afterwards, sure, but most of the time during as well.

Rough Grooved Surface

As Dave Barry used to say, "that would be a great name for a rock band" ...

But as a sign on a familiar bike ride, it is not so welcome.

Fabyan Parkway, west of Batavia is torn up for re-surfacing. With any luck, in a couple of weeks this will be the nicest new road in Kane County!.

44 miles today with friend Fred. Good stuff!

Vacation rides

I am vacationing at home this week. Two and a half days completely disconnected from the office - no work email or phone calls. It is a mental health week. Long overdue, even if undeserved. My goals for the days were simple: get some yard work done, and ride my bike. Or, bikes, as things turned out.

Planting new bushes, transplanting a great old bush, and planting a tree - this was my home task. Mowing, of course, and starting a compost pile. And if time and weather cooperated, to reinstall a stone pad where we step off the deck. I got in 3 new bushes, moved an old one, tore out another old one, bought 2 more bushes, set the tree but haven't got it in the ground yet, had mulch and topsoil delivered, and finally tackled the out of control lawns. Second mowing of the season, but you'd hardly know it; the grass is outrageous in this cool spring with alternating sun and rain.

I did not get it all done, but enough to feel that the time was worth it, and enough to please my Karen. Success!

Tuesday I did all the gardening I needed to, then with a bright sun and few clouds, hit the road. I decided I would go through Fermi Lab and Batavia to Johnson's Mound, then decide if I wanted to head farther west. I wanted to cover 50 miles at least; the Mound out-and-back gives me about 43. The wind was ENE, and reportedly about 17mph. Was I willing to get farther west, and a little south, to add miles?

Even knowing the wind is at my back, I am so easily lulled into thinking "well, this won't be so bad." Well, actually, it kind of was. Johnson's Mound is mile 22 from my place. At mile 30 I was at the intersection of Dauberman Rd. and Harter Rd., somewhere between Elburn and Kaneville. Exactly 30 miles, and I turned east. The haul down Dauberman provided ample warning. That wind was definitely more E than N, more E even than NE. Clearly ENE and then some. Well, I was committed, so I hunkered down and began the long slog home. Oh, and by then the sun was under cover ... and it never did peek out again. So my adequate attire was less so; and my body heat barely compensating for the right kit.

Kaneville - to stop, or not to stop at the general store? No, it was too soon after the J's.M. pit stop. Press on down Main St. Just before the Marklund Home I pulled over at a park driveway to finish a power bar and take a rest from the headwind. Another stop option is the BP station at McKee and Randall. But there again, it seemed wiser to press on. The wind was getting any better, and unlikely to.

I did pull into the Batavia Prairie Path store. It was warm, out of the wind, and had Power Gel. So a brief chat with Joe and Mike, and a little rest for the legs and back, and I was in it for the last hour home. Back through Fermi, where I saw the largest, healthiest coyote ever, and onward always onward home.

In the second half of the ride I lost about 1mph of average speed, compared to the first 30 miles. So I guess that's not so bad. And I still had something left to mow the front lawn.

But it was hard to stay awake in class after supper!

Wednesday was altogether different. It had rained during the night, so my plan to do a long Prairie Path ride had to change. I was not about to go out to the Fox River on another wet, bumpy, sticky path ... not this day. So I decided to drive to the Fox River Trail and ride (almost entirely) off road but on pavement.

Mind you, sometimes pavement is no better than the crushed rock trails. When it cracks and buckles, it doesn't get fixed each year. The limestone at least can be graded and repacked. Still, in rainy season, the FRT is a good path option, and I'm getting to the place where I find it more and more difficult to ride the roads alone. Safety (and visibilty) in numbers.

Fox River Trail from Clark Island in Batavia, south into Aurora (Illinois St.), then north through Batavia, Geneva, St. Charles, South Elgin. A path closing kept me from rolling into Elgin. (Yes, yes, I could have got on the streets and gone around it. "It" being a path washout at the S. Elgin underpass where the Elgin spur meets the FRT.) Instead, I went back south and got off the trail at the park that begins the Silver Glen/Randall trail. I had done that loop about a week ago, and knew this would give me the mileage I was after.

I wanted to go at least 43 miles (would make my vacation total = 100) up to 52 miles (would bring my season road miles to a nice round number). It's a nice little path, nearly all paved, that takes one away from the river, up to Silver Glen Rd. at IL Rte. 31. Down Silver Glen - which also has a nice new paved shoulder, but also this path ... which of course is neither new nor now particularly nice) to Randall Rd. The path along Randall is both nice and newish, and it deposits one (heading south) in Leroy Oakes Park at the west side of St. Charles. Sure, it's hard to deny that by taking this circuit I avoided the big hill coming off the river, on the FRT. But it's not without its benefits, either. From Leroy Oakes into St. Charles to ... Starbucks! And then a few more miles south to Clark Island.

Total miles = 44. One goal met, and again I had enough left to (a) go back to the nursery for 2 new bushes, (b) clear the mess from the project, (c) mow the back yard and start the compost pile, (d) tidy up some of the yard mess that is waiting for free pick-up day next week.

This morning's rain keeps me indoors at the end of this brief vacation. Which actually suits me fine. I go back into the office relaxed, with some significant work done around home, 2 adequate rides, and ready to meet the boat load of emails that I know are waiting for me. Bring 'em on!

Out of my league

For years I have enjoyed riding with a bunch of guys on Saturday mornings. In June 2004 - my last ride before spending the summer in England - I wasn't sure I'd ever really be able to really keep up. They were kind to include me, and Jim in particular made sure that I was not dropped; and at the same time he "coached" me along with some riding tips. I didn't see the group again until spring 2005.

At the end of that season, I was starting to feel that maybe it was the machine that was holding me back. Everyone else was on a true road bike, while I was pushing my sweet steel Trek 520 touring bike. A great bike, perfect for what it is, but hardly competitive with the carbon wonders the other guys ride. That fall my Karen signed me up for the first ever offering of ABD's Boot Camp - it was my 50th birthday present.

So in the spring of 2006 I was in much better condition, and really enjoying riding. Friend Tom loaned me a set of racing wheels with narrow tires (700x23 compared to the 28's I run on the Trek); that helped quite a bit. I did my first Randonneuring 200k ride. I did the distance on Saturdays and even started to take my turn at the head of the line. But the matter of the machine still plagued me. When that fall's Prairie Path sale came around, my Karen bought me the road bike I now currently ride most, the Lemond Alpe d'Huez. Sweet.

I never thought I'd own two good bikes. What an extravagance!

Spring 2007 - after another Boot Camp winter, I hit the road and find ... asthma! Weird. Adult-onset asthma, which took a few weeks to diagnose, and about a month to get in control. That took me out of the 2007 randonneuring event. But by May I was back at Saturday rides and recovering from a slow start to the road season.

By the end of the 2008 season, I was beginning to lag. My last Saturday rides were poor showings, and I realized (a) I wasn't paying enough attention to nutrition, and (b) some weeks I only rode on Saturdays, so my base miles weren't sufficient. In other words, I couldn't keep up on Saturdays because I wasn't riding enough the rest of the week.

I've come off another Boot Camp season, and even did an indoor time trial at the end of the season. The training tire came off, spring refused to come truly and conclusively, Easter loomed (church music, and the church year, is my job), and by the time we started riding Saturday mornings, I had lost whatever stamina the Boot Camp had built up. In short, I felt like I was riding in 2004 again. Bummer.

I've already whined about being dropped a month ago. Two weeks ago I went out again, and this time the guys really did try to keep me going. But it was pretty pathetic. I would lag behind on the smallest hills, fail to keep up when the pace got going (even there were no real sprints), and my legs felt like sandbags. This wasn't good, and wasn't going to get better. So I finally just told the guys to go ahead and I "limped" home. Disappointing.

And on the way it occurred to me ... These guys are out of my league. That is a bummer conclusion, because I have enjoyed the riding, the camaraderie, and the challenge. Saturday mornings are when I've learned to ride in a group, and this group began to build some of my general road skills. I've got to the point where I hardly enjoy cycling alone ... and until 2005, practially all of my annual miles were solo.

So now my strategy is to ride alone and re-build my base miles. I have to get in at least 100 miles a week to just stay viable anyway, and probably need that many miles not counting Saturday in order to qualify for this group. I don't know if I'll get out this week, but I do know that if I can't keep up on my next Saturday morning group ride, I am going to have to reconsider how to keep up this sport.

Dropped

2nd Saturday of spring, my 2nd Saturday ride. The 3rd ride for some of the usual suspects, but a few of us in this group were otherwise engaged in the indoor time trial 2 weeks ago. Ah, but last week ... last week was the first full day of spring. We set a 9am start time (late for us) in order to get a few degrees up. And we had a fantastic 40+ miles.

It did not look good for a ride this weekend. All the good weather had come early in the week, and reports for today were not promising. But late in the day Friday it looked like we might just get in a couple of hours before the nasty stuff. Yes, it would be cold (32-33 degrees), but some sun and the roads would be dry.

Bundled up, we met in the Prairie Trail parking lot, as usual, and were on the way a couple of minutes past 8. Now, I needed to be back by 11, and that set the limit - perhaps a bit lower than the group would have chosen. I also had a phone call just before we took off: trouble at work. Then about 8 miles into the ride, another call: reporting in trouble at work. For this call, the group chose to wait for me, for which I was thankful. Jonny even hung back and helped me catch up, and we found the group ready to enter Army Trail road headed west.

It was cold this morning, with a pretty stiff NNE wind. Which is to say ... a day you want to stay together especially when heading north and east. And a group of 6 should provide lots of support for a long pull back east through Fermi Lab on today's loop. Straight into the cold wind, this pretty strong group was just managing about 15mph on the road that cuts across Fermi. Short pulls, and when I got to the fore I knew why.

When I slipped to the back, I quickly lost my place off the back, and had to really scramble to catch back up. I even called out for help ... which I have never done before, and maybe it isn't done, but in any case it was calling into the wind and wasn't heard. Just as I caught Fred's wheel, "car back!" brought the paceline into single file ... and me then back out of the draft and into the wind. Car past, the line spread again across the lane and everyone was covered - except me. Then the guy who followed me up front slipped back - into the space I should have occupied, and very distinctly noticing where I was. And that was pretty much that.

There I was, about 8 miles from home, with my "friends" slipping away in front of my eyes. Heck, I could even see the next change or two on the draft line. But before long, they were long gone. There was no way I was going to catch them. When I got to Mack Rd. and Rte. 59, I saw whoever was now in back cross the highway as the light turned red. It's a long light, and I was pretty far behind it anyway. I never saw them again.

Except JB, who, returning to his home in Batavia, called out as he passed by "character building." It was at this point that I wished I had the colorful expletives that somehow seemed so apt.

I had the whole long ride home, alone, into the wind. On the one hand, actually I managed quite well, thank you. On the other hand, though, while I have fallen behind with this group in the past, and have even told them "go ahead, I can get home on my own," this time it just seemed rude. What? They couldn't slow down just a bit to let me catch up and catch my wind? All 5 guys were heedless enough to just let me slog out this ride? Honestly, cutting 1mph for about 5 mintues would have done it, early on. It isn't like the group was unaware of the challenges - it was all we talked about before we set out.

So, here I am at the end of the day, and finding myself still really peaved. First, feeling like a weak rider. Second, feeling like I may not be regarded in this group. Then, thinking that maybe this isn't the friendly ride I've convinced myself it has been. And finally, just mad that any of this matters to me.

Next Saturday I can't ride due to a family commitment. Maybe in 2 weeks' time I will have calmed down to enjoy the group again. They have been, after all, my cycling lifeline. But honestly, dropped? Ouch.

Trial

I don't race.

During the winter I ride indoors with my club, in twice-weekly Boot Camp sessions. These are coached workouts to develop strength and endurance, to keep more or less in shape and to be ready to hit the road already fit early in the season. I live by them.

But if I had to ride like that every time I got on a bike? Honestly, I'd probably find another way to exercise and spend my money!

But, racing is something ABD does a lot, and well. And for all my whining, my first Boot Camp showed we to be way more competitive than I ever thought. OK, so I don't want to train to race, but I also don't want to be a slacker, and if I can come in at or near the top ... even in the fairly artificial realm of the CompuTrainer. Well, so maybe that is the way I roll?

My - very genuine - excuse to not race is that nearly every race happens on Sunday. That can be a legit "day of rest" activity, but with my work, it just isn't going to happen. But ABD's annual Indoor Time Trial Series includes one Saturday race each year. This was my third time to test my mettle.

There are 2 course profiles for the TT series: flat and rolling. Both courses are 10k in length. Naturally, the Saturday event is always the hilly one. That's the one I ride. Both previous outings on this course (remember, I do this once a year) have resulted in times over 18 minutes. Because I don't race, I don't keep records. It's amazing to me how guys keep mental track of their times, not just from race to race, but from season to season. Like any sport, cycling at some point is statistics! My goal this year was to break the 18-minute mark.

The Boot Camp series this winter has been particularly satisfying. Not "oh my gosh, you should go pro" satisfying, but "hey, maybe I should try this" satisfying. Several BC riders have encouraged me along that way. OK, so I show up on Saturday and try to give it a good shot - maybe even my best shot? I have nothing to lose, and riding in a duffer category (Citizens Men, 50+) I don't need to compare myself to the serious guys.

Short report: 10k, rolling course, 17:51.58.
Final result: 6th of 14 in my category, highest ABD rider in my category but not of course in my age group.
It is a respectable time, but not so good as to make me think "if I work at this I could be a contender." So, that seems about right.

And now at least I know why it is called a Time "trial."

A story that will stick

This is my 4th year of Boot Camp workouts, put on and coached by ABD at the Prairie Path shops in Winfield ("my" shop) and Batavia. My Karen bought me my first season, a fitting gift for my 50th birthday. This season (fall/winter 2008-09) is my 2nd 2-session Boot Camp - now at my own expense and worth every dollar; even the parts I hate are worth it.

Man, if I had to ride like that every time I got on a bike, I really don't think I'd keep cycling. That is definitely why I do not race. But it makes me a better rider, and it keeps my weight down during the winter. And it is good to hang with other - almost all better - riders.

This season began with a whole series of missed sessions. We ride 2 sessions per week, and in the 1st 3 weeks I missed 5 sessions, including all 3 Monday nights. I managed a couple of make-ups, but it was nearly half-way into the season before I had my first Monday night ride.

We get to the shop early, set up the bike on CompuTrainers, warm up a bit and then our bikes are calibrated for the workout. An official timed progressive warm-up precedes the coached workout, which lasts 50 minutes to an hour or so. Then we cool down before dismounting, toweling off, changing, and heading home. The 7:00pm session thus begins any time after 6:30 and ends around 8:15/30 or so.

So, on my first Monday night I finally slumped off the bike and waited my turn to use the washroom. As I did all last year, I would towel down and change into street clothes before packing up the bike and driving home. [cue ominous chord]

We all have little things we do, habits or whatever - admit it, you do, too! When I leave the washroom in the bike shop (it opens up on to the workout area), I put my hand on the doorknob, then hit the light as I open the door. Imagine my surprise when the door opened up to a dark and vacated shop!
"Hello? Hello!?!"
Then I noticed that there was a single small light blinking, and a count-down beep. Yep, the alarm had been set. I was in the dark across the shop from my coat (and car keys), shoes, and bike. The bike I could leave overnight, I could probably get home without my coat or car keys, but not without my shoes. Between me and my stuff ... empty trainers, cords, cables, and who knows what all. It was dark, I tell you!

So, I carefully made my way across the floor, hoping that I could get out the back door before the alarm system kicked in. No such luck. Light and beep cut off just as I got to my stuff, and well - there I was: locked inside the best bike shop in the land.

Now what to do? I don't have numbers for anyone at the shop, on my cell phone. Do I call home and have Karen help me sort it out? Well, I reasoned (naively, or rather, actually knowing this wasn't going to work) maybe I can still slip out the front door. If nothing else, someone would show up!

But not before the ear-splitting security alarm. OK, so now at least a policeman will arrive, right? But first, the phone rang:
ME: "Prairie Path Cycles" (play it cool and give it your best professional phone voice)
HER: This is ADT security. We show your alarm has been activated.
ME: Yeah, um, I got locked inside the shop.
HER: Do you have the code, can you re-set it?
"No, I'm not an employee, I'm a customer!"
"Oh my God. OK, well I'll make some calls.

Which she did. Meanwhile, I saw the police car enter the strip mall parking lot, circle, and then park outside the shop. The officer stayed in the car, doing whatever officers do when they arrive at a crime scene, alone. I made my way to the door, so he could see me when he got out of the car. No need for him to wonder if someone is hiding out in there. Then, the phone again.

"Prairie Path Cycles" (always the professional)
"This is ADT again. I've called MaryLee. Someone should be there within 10 minutes. And, I'm sorry, but I did have to call the police as well."
"Yes, he is here already."
"OK, well, sit tight and someone will be along."

By now the policeman had come to the door, saw me, and it was clear that he had a good idea what was going on. He was already laughing! Within moments, Rob - who had coached the workout and closed up the shop - also arrived. He was both apologetic (unnecessarily) and laughing (appropriately). This episode is apparently the proof that the washroom light is not controlled by the shop master switch. Either that or Rob hit the shop lights at just the moment I turned out the bathroom light. It could happen. The police guy was cool about it all, I was soon out the door, Rob locked back up and within moments we were both home. (Turns out Rob lives just a few doors down on the other side of my street!)

I walked into my living room and Karen asked, "did you fall off your bike tonight?" (It's one of our running jokes.) No, but let me tell you ...
The shop is closed on Tuesday. [note to burglars the alarm works, so don't try it], so it was Wednesday before I could get back to the shop and check on some lingering concerns I had. I wasn't in the door yet when MaryLee saw me and she was laughing out loud before I opened the door. It is a great story, and really has taken on legs. My main concern at that point was whether the shop would be charged for a false alarm with the police. Apparently not, and apparently Winfield is in the minority in this regard. Thank you, Winfield!

By the time I got to my Thursday morning workout, the story had made the rounds of the bike club, and I have taken some friendly ribbing since then. For a quiet club member with a low ride/race visibility, it has sort of ratcheted up profile. As in the jokes and questions and "oh, you're the guy ..."

Jump right in

So, I really enjoy belonging to ABD, a great bike club. I wish I were more involved - I do the occasional club ride, try to stay in shape with the winter boot camp workouts, help out with the Winfield Criterium, and enjoy hanging out at an awesome bike shop. But I don't race, and as many of the club activities are race-related - um, as in bicycle racing - (and that almost always means, on Sunday) I don't get to socials much.

Given all that, it was a gas to host the club's annual New Years Day Ride and Party. The social begins with a club ride at Noon on January 1. The ideal is to ride 1 mile for every degree above zero (F.). In practice, it seems that is debated and rarely achieved! With an overcast morning in the mid-20sF, and wind-chill much closer to zero, we spent some time debating our options. How about 1 minute for every degree? (Too short to bother suiting up, really.) Other ideas surfaced, but we finally decided to do the Monday night "revovery ride" route, which leaves from the Winfield bike shop and covers about 22 miles. The roads were pretty clear, with perhaps more pot-holes than in the summer, there was no precipitation, but a pretty stiff south wind.

Isn't a south wind supposed to warm things up in the Midwest? It sure didn't help, though to be fair at least it wasn't a north wind. And also to be fair, with a few clear days after an amazing rain washed the streets earlier in the week, road crews had filled in quite a few pot-holes. Except for the cold, this would be a pretty "normal" casual club ride.

Back at the house, hot cider was ready and welcome, chili was on the stove, food had accumulated - brought by the riders who had come before Noon, and by later-arriving club members and family who decided (sure, you could say "wisely") not to ride. Amazing chili with all the toppings, taco dips, corn-bread, bread sticks, hummus - not to mention beverages and libations - preceded an excellent array of sweets, chocolate nicely predominating. Cyclists love to eat. And to eat with people you've just ridden with ... that is the best reward of the sport.

The obligatory race videos ran on the TV, groups of cycling enthusiasts (somehow "cycling nerds" doesn't seem quite right) discussed the ride, riding, gear, racing, and riders. Characteristically, even the trash talk was more encouraging than dispiriting. Then there were the more generally social groupings as well, the cycling spouses who - who knows how? - have other things to talk about.

It was a splendid afternoon: a start on the year's road miles, a casual but energizing club ride, great food and camaraderie. Yeah, I think this is the year to get more involved with ABD.

But racing? I don't know ...

Hollow Man

With apologies to a serious poem:
"this is the way the [season] ends - not with a bang, but a whimper" (T. S. Eliot)

That's how I'm feeling about a premature steep decline in riding days, miles, and energy. A good ride on Labor Day was followed by a decent first Saturday in September. At this time of year, it seems like it's Saturday or no day, and the next Saturday was Chicago's monsoon season. The following 2 Saturdays found me at work for the better part of the morning. (OK, make that the longer part of the morning ...) - on beautiful days, one of which included a near-century ride with the boys.

The Saturday morning ride crowd are a welcoming, encouraging bunch, and a heck of a lot of fun to ride with. If I miss this ride, I haven't had a proper week of cycling. And if I get that ride in, I usually feel that the week has gone well ... even if it is the only ride of the week. So, to miss 2 in a row is rough.

On the last day of September I got home early enough one afternoon to put in about 45 minutes of laps in the neighborhood. It had been 3 weeks and 3 days completely off the bike. Bummer. That next Saturday, October 4, I coined my fall cycling slogan: "Every ride an exercise in humility."

In reality, though, thinking back to August, my last 2 rides found me drifting off the back of the pack. I have never hung on in sprints, and now I was losing it even on elevations that hardly qualify as hills. I could catch up in time, so at the time I didn't really think much of it. But coming back after a disappointing time off the bike, well it is downright discouraging. Every ride an exercise in humility.

The other day, when it coulda shoulda been a perfect fall 80-miler, I had to let the group go on and I turned back at mile 30. Looping back and taking a leisurely pace (which a couple of years ago would have been totally satisfying) I still got in 64 miles. For which, I do want to be - and, really, I am - thankful. But where is that energy?

And lest the group be misunderstood - my Saturday morning guys do not drop riders. If I had tried to keep going, they would have modified the pace for me. Maybe I would have recovered. It was exhilirating while it lasted. But it sure felt like I missed the Wheaties they all had that morning. I dropped out so no one would have to sacrifice a glorious outing.

Don't mean to whine. I just guess I'm ready for another round of ABD's Boot Camp, which starts up in a couple of weeks. Just in time? I guess so.

Bits and Pieces, Random Facts and Photos

A few pictures from my 3-day trip. And some boring trivia to boot.
I find myself slipping into my adult children's post-modernism, with a weakening ability to tell a coherent sequential narrative. And a bike trip is nothing if not sequential, and dangerous if not coherent. But maybe the enjoyment of it is dependent upon neither adjective.


Day One
Here I am, ready to roll. I have gone several summers without a trip.
This is the right thing to do with my life ...

Route: Illinois Prairie Path from my intersection, Elgin Branch to the Fox River. Fox River Trail north through Elgin.






I have wondered about this structure for all the years I've ridden the Fox River Trail. It is on the north side of Elgin, along the river. Someone has spruced it up. If only the rest of the property supported the fantasy of this tower!

Route: continuing up the FRT into McHenry County, the trail progresses without interruption through Dundee and Carpentersville into Algonquin.






Crossing the river in Algonquin, IL. This has been the turn-around point on my annual Easter Monday solo half-century. For years, the day after Easter was my first long ride of the season. This is 25 miles from my house.

The trail goes through Crystal Lake, McHenry, and on to Richmond. IL Rte 173 west into Hebron. Bigelow Ave. in Hebron is Hebron Rd, west to Gasch and then State Line Rd. I turned south on Capron Rd. into the town of Capron where I picked up the Long Prairie Trail, nicely paved into Caledonia. Main Street Caledonia to Caledonia Rd., Kelley, Main, Argyle=Harlem to the entrance of Rock Cut State Park.



My campsite at Rock Cut State Park. What? There was nothing worth photographing, no photo ops, for 75 miles?



The view from my tent. When I arrived, all the spaces across the road were occupied. When a light rain began, they all packed up and left. Curious.






Day Two

The route: Leaving the Park on Willow Creek Trail takes one to Harlem High School at Gladys St. Continue west to Crystal, Frontage Rd (rte 251), Roosevelt/Machesney, Victory and pick up the Bauer Parkway Trail and bridge over the Rock River.

The path through Rockford provides several crossings of the Rock River. This is a classic Jeremy Taylor shot: the Trek 520, on a bridge, above a river. You can tell it's not Jeremy's bike, due to the lack of front panniers.
I didn't know there is a toll bridge in Rockford; happily the bike route is free!



Continuing on the Trail to the Sportcore, the Rock River Recreational Path winds through a large park, along the Rock and up to street level at Riverside Bridge.

I should have stopped to take a picture of this bridge while I was on it (a la Jeremy), if only to better show how beautiful it was. Nice wide planked crossing with beautiful large flower baskets. This shot is looking back at it. Too late to do it justice, though maybe in full sun it would have been splendid.

I finally managed to navigate downtown (confession: the cue sheets are clearer about this section than I gave them credit for. Having now ridden it, I see what they mean. But at the time, I just wasn't getting it.)

The Guardians of Rockford. An awesome public sculpture, and maybe the coolest thing I saw - man made or natural - on the entire trip. Sure, some would have stopped to take pictures from various angles, etc. ...

Through western Rockford via Winnebago St. bridge and Cunningham St = Cunningham Rd.
For future reference, don't even bother trying to find the trailhead to ...

the now-infamous Pecatonica Path - my first view of it. Or rather, the first time I saw it and knew what it was. I may have seen its trailhead, a small field of mown grass leading to what looks like a deer path. According to the GIT cue sheets, that really must have been the trailhead. This is the first road crossing to the west. It's pretty cool, but definitely not for a touring bike, with or without gear. Single track, I'll grant that. The most amazing part of the short ride? (I was still so stubborn about the cue sheets that I thought, well maybe it will get better. Duh.) The most amazing part was the vast number of finches that scared up as I went about 100 yards down here. I love goldfinches - they are my "good cycling omen" bird (don't tell my theolgian friends I said that) . And when I got back to the road I was covered in pollen. That was interesting, too.

The route was aided by the excellent Illinois DOT bike maps, which guided me to and through Winnebago and Pecatonica and on into Freeport. South out of Freeport on Baileyville Rd., east on whatever is the name of the road that intersects at the town of Baileyville.

I don't know what town these stacks are in. At this point I am south and east of Freeport, the sun is shining. The wind (unseen but not unknown) is evidenced in the plumes. My caption on the photo, "this can't be good." Here I am finally headed east, on the road that intersects Baileyville Rd. at Baileyville. But before Co Rd 9 into Leaf River, toward Oregon. The next day, between Oregon and Sycamore, I would see these behemoths again. Yeah, I agree. I'd rather see the Rock Guardians.

Day Three

My campsite in Lowden State Park, Oregon. This trip, not such scenic campsites. Now, if this were a video clip with audio, it would be much more telling.

Route home: Daisyville Rd to Brick Road. Brick has a steep climb up away from the river, and rolls eastward for quite a way.

And it really IS a Brick Road. Or at least, it used to be. In this section, they have maintained, preserved, or restored the brick in homage to the past. I don't know, maybe the county was tired of answering the question. But it is pretty cool. I noticed that here cars heading west into the intersection experience this stretch of brick as a rumble strip. A little kinder and gentler than the usual.

Brick to Co Rd 4 past Payne's Point to Lindenwood Rd. Lindenwood stretches even longer eastward. I was on it a long, long time, when I saw a cyclist in my mirror. It was inevitable that this unencumbered rider was going to overtake me. But hey, I was the one having fun today! We greeted each other as he passed, then I read his jersey "don't mess with Texas" - and again I missed riding with my friend Tom.

A quick connect on Esmond to Old State Rd on to IL Rte 64, good old North Avenue, and I was in Sycamore. Practically home! But not before a stop at Elleson's. Mmmm, donuts. Elleson's is a destination in its own right.

The eastern edge of Sycamore is the western terminus of the Great Western Trail, east 18 miles to St. Charles at Leroy Oakes Park. Through town to the Fox River Trail, south to the Geneva Spur into West Chicago. 3 options to home from there, I chose to ride past Wheaton Academy on Hawthorne, Indian Knoll to Geneva Rd., and ...

Home!

Day three: jiggedy jig

The sleeping at Lowden State Park, Oregon, IL, isn't great. The campground I landed in is literally road-side, and that road is surprisingly busy, all night long. What keeps people moving through Oregon in the wee hours, anyway? Is there some sort of Byron-Oregon axis, or is it just the proximity of IL rte 64? Add to the traffic noise the strange midnight "search-and-rescue" ballyhooing somehwere in the woods, and the general (though, to me, pleasant) discomfort of sleeping on the ground, and this was not an ideal night's rest. But it followed a hot shower, and it was the eve of my return home. Both very good things.

There is some sort of statue in Lowden, the signs for which I noted upon my arrival and during my evening constitutional. My plan to swing by it and get a photo changed when, just as I pushed off, it started to sprinkle. Score - I packed up dry. But with the appearance of a long light soaking rain, I forewent the statue and headed home.

My friend Jeremy is a great trip photographer. I wish I were more relaxed, and stopped more to do this. I'll post the few pics I did take, but I regret many I didn't. Maybe I would have taken a picture of the statue - I don't even know what it is, the signs just say "statue." I do know I should have taken a picture in Rockford, on the western edge on Cunningham St., of the sign and lawn of "Mount Goshen Full Gospel Baptist Church" - it sounds like an interesting merger, doesn't it? And adaptable to its neighborhood? Culturally apt? In this apparently Hispanic section, the Mount Goshen Full Gospel Baptist Church has not one, but two statues of the Virgin Mary. Awesome. I should have stopped on my way out of Rock Cut State Park for a breath-taking view of the Creek bend right on the park's border. And on and on. Oh well.

My ride home on Saturday was entirely on roads and paths that I have been on at least once. The Saturday morning group has been out Oregon way at least once, and I think it must be twice. I remember a high-speed roll down River Road from Lowden into Oregon; and it almost has to be another time that Jim and I stopped to check our location with Jim's phone, to be sure that this was Brick Road. Anyway, the IL bike map was an excellent aid to my memory, a constant check on my assumptions, and a confidence booster as I made my way into Sycamore.

Sycamore is a twice-yearly destination for me along the Great Western Trail. I'm not so much a fan of Path riding anymore. But I like to get out that way for the singular pleasure of the local bakery. From home this is a 65-mile rount-trip. So, whatever my mileage would be today, from Sycamore I'd be 32 or so from home. Sweet.

Yesterday's wind hadn't really changed. But today that moderate SW wind did wonders for my spirit and my pace. From Oregon to Winfield the route is almost due east, so there were very few miles riding south. And long, long stretches of straight east roads: Brick Road, Lindenwood (this road goes on forever), Old State into Sycamore. I arrived at my long anticipated bakery stop in 36.8 miles, 2 hours, 26 minutes, with an average speed of 14.9mph! (Funny how exciting that is. Most guys I ride with don't get this, I think. Sure, I enjoy the push and challenge of the group road rides. And when I'm alone and load-free, a 15mph ride is not very satisfying. But I still find my greatest cycling pleasure on a loaded bike, even if I don't quite reach 15mph averages!)

Elleson's. It is a classic small-town bakery. Loaves of bread, a good selection of donuts, muffins and other sweeties. Average coffee. Juice in small bottles. I don't know, it's just a bit of my childhood, I guess. (I have a century road route, a loop from my house, on which Elleson's figures prominently.) I dragged my sorry sweaty self to the counter and got a muffin and a donut, and a cup of coffee. In deference to the seated customers, I went back outside and sat at a small table to enjoy this self-indulgence under the canopy, out of the just-emerging sunshine.

The way out of Sycamore goes through a great city park on the east side of town. The bike path winds around the golf course, through a picnic and games area, and past soccer fields. My plan - this is fool proof - was to fill up my bottles and Camelback at my tried and true Sycamore pit stop. Ha! The one time this trip I would get it right ... the toilets are still there, but the sinks have been removed. I found this truly ironic, after 2 days of failing to keep my hydration supplies current. Oh well ... it is a mere 18 miles on the Great Western Trail, into St. Charles at Leroy Oakes Park, with its water supply. I would be OK.

There is a lot to like about the GWT. It is in pretty good shape, it goes through a few small towns, it parallels Rte 64/North Avenue and there are long stretches of that road with good wide shoulders, so there's an option if you need it. Much of it is shaded, and there are plenty of trail-side tables for the casual trail user. A section of trail, running through the tiny burgh of Lily Lake, is paved. I've never ridden these 18 miles in anywhere close to an hour, which would frustrate me if it were a road ride. It is a pleasant diversionary ride. And, as I found on Day One, this ride was actually more comfortable with a loaded bike. Interesting.

At Leroy Oakes Park - water! and a pit stop. A little sit-down and a final fuelling. Mileage to here: 57.4, at 14.8mph (not a bad drop, considering I had moved from paved roads to a crushed rock trail), in 3 hours, 51 minutes. The route from here takes me through St. Charles to the Fox River Trail, to the Geneva Spur of the Illinois Prairie Path. The spur goes through West Chicago to my home intersection, but I chose instead to take streets around the north side of town, cross IL rte 59 at Hawthorne, to Indian Knoll and Geneva Rd. From Indian Knoll to the Prairie Trail Center is the final sprint of ABD's Monday night club ride. Muscle memory kicked in - well, and the proverbial horse had long been smelling the barn - and somehow I still had enough energy to bring this load above 20mph (OK, sure, the westerly wind did help, too!). A quick stop at Prairie Path Cycles - the awesomest bike shop ever - well, honestly, just to be seen.

I rolled into my drive at 2pm, the end of a 72.3 mile day, 4 hours, 56 minutes of cycling, with the daily average speed 14.6mph. My Karen was out ... well, and it was a Saturday, after all ... so no homecoming photo. A quiet solo ending to a successful solo trip.

Photos and other observations follow.

Day two: what trail?

The cue sheets of the Grand Illinois Trail have been upgraded since I first rode the southern 75% of this sweeping loop. I remember there were some funky or obscure directions then. So far on this trip, apart from a mis-named street and a road I somehow missed, the GIT was doing all right by me. Friday began with a sense that I would be able to push west to Frankfort and then decide what to do about that Galena destination. So far, so good.

It's never fun packing up a wet tent, but breaking camp went surprisingly well, and after checking in with my Karen, I was on the road shortly after 8. The reload of the bike also was a pleasant surprise, and I rolled out of Rock Cut without rattles or tipping. Well, I rolled out of the campground ... actually identifying the path out of the park (Willow Creek Trail) was another matter. Thankfully the park's signboards ('you are here' is a reassuring message) were clear enough to make an informed guess at the way out. Through the park, along Willow Creek (apparently), and past Harlem High School, and then it was back on city streets in a Rockford suburb.

First cue sheet problem, "continue east on Gladys Dr" ... umm, but I believe I am heading west at this point, I haven't yet been on Gladys Drive, and going the opposite direction would put me in a classroom or cafeteria. Follow instinct, in that case - they have to mean west.

Instinct plays a significant part of any bike ride, navigating any new route, and especially touring. I often feel that there are times I am just giving my bike freedom to lead ... I love this especially when I am casually exploring a new cycling area. Rockford, it turns out, is fairly careful about marking its streets and the main recreational path that takes cyclists through town. But it was while in Rockford that I began to wonder why in the world the GIT route is not marked more carefully and completely. Well, expense, yes I get that. It would be interesting to know how much it would cost for a little logo plate to go up on existing signs and poles at key turns and crossings on streets and roads. Or a symbol painted on the road to indicate GIT turns. Either this is a regional resource meant to be increasingly and widely used, or it is just a good idea for the most diligent and intrepid touring cyclist. (I am neither.) Still, I must say that the cue sheets and the city's marks made it fairly easy, though not quick, to get through Rockford.

Then again, a little more signage? Would it be too much to just clarify a turn here and there? Or maybe in a new city, in an overcast day, before a true breakfast, with plenty of uncertainty ahead of me ... maybe it was just me. Working my way through downtown Rockford got a little complicated and I missed a turn. Well, it wasn't like being disoriented on a bicycle in the Loop, certainly. Downtown was pretty quiet for the 9:00 hour, and 1 hour, 40 minutes after leaving the state park I was on the west side of Rockford, 20 miles down on a day that could go as many as 100. It was here that I realized what a great decision it had been to not press on the night before. I thanked God for it.

Sound the ominous chord. Cunningham St becomes Cunningham Rd, and it is pleasant to be back in the country. It's a quick jaunt on a road with a narrow shoulder, then a turn to find ... No way, they can't mean that! Here's the short version: unless you are riding a mountain bike and want to enjoy some flatland single track, Do Not Under Any Circumstances consider taking the Pecatonica Path. Disregard the GIT cue sheets, regardless of the weather, if you are loaded for touring or riding any kind of road-worthy cycle. For all practical purposes, it does not exist.

I have marked my cue sheets accordingly. "Pecatonica" is an anglicized form of the native American word for murky meandering water" or "crooked river." Try to enjoy this some other way. I spent the rest of the morning, and the early afternoon, trying to see if there was any part of the trail that could I could actually ride. The 1/2 mile or less that I was on was beautiful with wild flowers and prairie grasses and more finches per linear meter than I have ever seen. But it was no touring bike trail. It is really negligent to keep this feature on the GIT cue sheets.

Long story short, I crossed the path at several points, thinking that maybe this time it would be traversable. It never was beyond a few meters in the little towns it goes through. Thankfully through the good service of the Illninois cycling maps, I could both enjoy this increasingly rolling country and stay on the roads to get to the towns I had my sights on this day.

Mile 30, 2 hours, 26 minutes, and my morning average speed was 12.4mph. It was time for breakfast, and Winnebago, IL, had just the place for me. Fraiche was the first cafe I saw, but I was certainly not going to be comfortable in a place with a French name, 3 hours into a ride after a night without a shower. No, it was "Village Family Restaurant," just beyond, that my bike led me to. It's sign as a Pancake House and its claim to Southern Cooking were not to be ignored. A storefront location, clearly a locals' place, it instantly reminded me of Southern Kitchen in Los Gatos, CA, a favorite of son Chris and a must-eat place when we visit him. And the breakfast I had there was worth the long, slow ride to get there. I ordered the German Breakfast special: potato pancakes (made fresh right there), 2 eggs and bacon; apple sauce for the pancakes, and perhaps the most classic cup of small town restaurant coffee I've had in a decade. And the waitress knew how to wait on a cyclist: she offered to refill my water bottles, asked about the ride, left the water pitcher on the table, was ready with the coffee but also understood that practical considerations kept me from that extra cup. And when she asked "will that be all?" she was not surprised when I asked, "ummm, do you have a sweet roll, or a cinnamon role, or something like that?" Mmmm, was it good! A quick trip to freshen up, after a long leisurely breakfast, and I was ready to roll out of Winnebago and on to ...

Where? Now it was beginning to look like the day could slip away from me. Freeport would be a cinch. But what was possible beyond that? I resolved to get there and then decide, but was already thinking that a turn back toward Oregon, IL, was the most likely option.

At this time, I still had vain hopes of actually spending time on the Pecatonica Trail. At the time, now knowning the etymology of the name, I was trying to find ways to play on the Latin Peccata, sin. Well, it may have been a sin to call this a cycle route trail, but it was stupidity to keep trying to make it work. Finally, at 4 hours, 21 minutes and 57.3 miles, I was on a street corner in Freeport. My average speed had risen to 13.1 miles. Man, I was cruisin'!

Here again, I failed to learn and apply the lesson of Thursday. I did actually look for some place to get water, on my way through Freeport. But I rode south out of town without having done so, mostly because I was too stubborn to go off route for it. By this time, my optimism about finding water was truly unfounded. But, ride south I did, on Baileyville Rd. In spite of now ample evidence, I reasoned that there would at least be a vending machine in this little town. It turns out Baileyville Rd does not even actually go through Baileyville ... you have to actually turn west and ride agout 50 yards or so to get there. And no, as you have already surmised, there is nothing really to be seen or had there. Even along "Commercial St."

Well, I had to get off Baileyville Rd. at that intersection anyway, and 50 yards west is not hard to backtrack. I headed west, on my way to Leaf River, the next likely town. By this time I was starting to feel the effects of the sun which had finally broken through about noon; the effects of the wind, which was pretty stiff out of the south (the direction of my route out of Freeport); and the effects of the long long low incline from Freeport to Baileyville. The afternoon was not going to be pleasant. I had enough liquid to keep me from panicking, but not enough to guarantee me a safe ride all the way into Oregon.

Slogging my way up Baileyville Rd into the southern wind, I thought that sign to German Valley looked promising. It's just hard to say - there might not be any "there" there, but it would have got me a respite from the wind as I rode east. Well, it couldn't have hurt ... my stop in Leaf River was all but a bust as far as refueling. I had plenty of food with me, and way more Gatorade powder than I needed, especially given my dwindling supply of water. But thank God the Leaf River Fire Department keeps a soda machine in working order. The Sierra Mist was my hydration salvation, the little shady park was my natural cooler, and as I took stock of my situation it was obvious that I needed to continue south into the wind, a little east, and had to get to Oregon before dark. The arrival at a campground with enough light to set up was no longer a shoo-in.

And, by the way, where the heck was everyone in Leaf River? Had they already left for the football game? Here I was at 82.6 miles, 6 hours and 19 minutes of riding behind me, my average speed had dropped to 13mph. And I had been fantasizing about Casey's General Store for a couple of hours already.

I was under the impression that every little town in Illinois has a Casey's. I don't know why. I had been stiffed often enough even on this trip. What keeps me dreaming like this? Maybe German Valley has one, I don't know and probably never will. Hey, tonight I can't even get a Casey's website to appear! On my way out of Leaf River I kept trying to get into places that might have water fountains - post office, closed; city offices, closed; library, closed. The Library was closed, before 5pm on a Friday?!? What is with this town? I began to pray that I would see someone out in their yard, and I could stop and ask for some water from a garden hose. It was a long, lonely, starting-to-be-parched, disappointing stretch into Oregon. It would have been very different had I simply gone off route long enough to find a convenience store in Freeport. What a dope.

To my very great pleasure, my ride into Oregon - I came in on a short stretch of Rte. 64 rather than take quieter roads and add several miles to this now-disappointing day - was almost completely free of auto competition. The road was in good shape, and coming from the west there is a beautiful long sweeping descent into downtown. Rather like riding into Lake Geneva from the west on WI-50. Only, on this day at this time, no cars! And there, on the very western edge of Oregon's downtown ... my fantasy come to life: Casey's General Store.

I know what I can get in a Casey's. I can get pizza by the slice, hot or cold sandwiches, of course any kind of candy or energy bar, chips, beverages. Every Casey's I've been in while riding has seemed surprised to have a cyclist there. Surely I'm not the only one to ever stop in? But the great thing Casey's has is a case of ice cream novelties. This day's ride ended with a Triple Chocolate Dove ice cream bar, a short can of Pringles, and the largest bottled water I could get cold. I sat in the grass by the curb and re-fueled to my heart's content, knowing that on the other side of town (what, a quarter mile further on?) I would be able to get supper. The girl at the counter asked if I wanted a bag. No, I said, I'll take it like this. "Do you eat this stuff while you ride?"

Supper was also long anticipated. There could hardly fail to be a Subway in Oregon, and in fact I'm pretty sure I knew that for sure. A 12-inch sub fits nicely under the flap of a Camelback Rogue, so I was well supplied for my last short mile or so up to Lowden State Park. It was kind of critical that there be a campsite there; I wasn't sure I could make it to the other state park on the other side of town.

Sure enough there was. And for $10 I got a site and access to running water, flushing toilets, and a hot shower. Now that is a great way to end a day full of disappointing cue sheets, a stiff head wind, and ignorant hydration decisions. After setting up camp and devouring my sub and Pringles, I took a brief walk through the campground then settled in to a quick review of Hebrew vocab and, as it got dark, another episode of "Wait, Wait." You know, after all, it really doesn't get much better than this!

Day one, on the road

So I rolled out of the driveway at 7:40am. Sun was shining, the bike was tight, the trail promised about 4 hours of fairly hassle-free riding until I hit the quiet country roads west of Richmond, IL. Oh, nuts! Still in my good glasses, not the ones I clip my mirror to.

And that was the only glitch in the day. No kidding!

The Illinois Prairie Path provides 3 options west to the Fox River Trail, which runs the length of, oh I guess it must be Kane County along the river. From my intersection we can go due west on the Geneva Spur, through West Chicago to ... well, Geneva. Or the Elgin Branch, northwest through West Chicago, Wayne and probably Bartlett to South Elgin. (Why isn't it called the South Elgin Branch of the IPP? I never thought of that before. Elgin is actually along the Fox River Trail.)

One thing I noticed real soon. And I thought of it, monitored it, throughout the day. I love my Trek 520. It's built for "loaded touring" and its motto (back when I bought it) was "go for a ride, come back in a month." As if. But I can dream! Anyway, it had been a while since I actually did load it up for a long self-contained ride. And what struck me Thursday - I really wasn't looking for this - is that the bike is actually even more comfortable loaded than not. It is a great bike for a long ride that does not require speed. I guess it's the combination of the geometry and the steel frame. But man, what a sweet roll set up for touring. I am really eager to get front panniers and the whole experience. That really surprised me, and I am convinced it is more than just the euphoria of starting a new trip.

As I set out, I said a simple prayer. I talk to God, and I trust him for lots of things big and little. I also do not believe God is obligated to make my life comfortable and in fact is not all that likely to do so, for purposes I don't need explained. But on this day, I set out with the prayer, "Lord, I would sure like to have a trouble-free ride." (It is a real pain to fix a flat on these wheels, even without having to take off all the bags and gear first!) "But, if I do have trouble, help be to keep my head about me, think things through, and not get frustrated or discouraged." Call it hedging my spiritual bets if you will; the reality is the second part of that prayer is more what I need than the first. "And if I can help others, that would be cool, too."

I met my timing goals along the way through the day. 12-mile mark at the junction of IPP and FRT, one hour - check! Do the math; yes, average speed accomplishments are very different when touring. I feel a good day is being on the road 10-12 hours, averaging 12-13 mph during the pedaling bits. First pit stop, north of Elgin at 17 miles - check! As I approached this stop I noticed again the refurbishing of a trail-side wonder. Sure, Illinois does not have mountains, but we do have a castle ... or at least a castle turret! Just beyond the castle, just before the pit stop, I called out for the first time on this trip, "Are you OK? Do you need anything?" A young mom and her 2 boys were alongside the path, and mom was trying to fix something. In an amazing rarity, I actually could help - the chain had come off on the little single gear bike with coaster brakes. I realized that we could get off the chain-guard, and then it went on pretty easily. As we worked it was fun to talk with the young boy, to promote ABD to his mom who had just ridden her first race, and to roll of thinking "All in a day's work for ... Bicycle Repair Man!"

I thought, 2 hours to Crystal Lake and that lovely roadside/trailside park aong the highway (S. Main St.?) - check! A good second pit-stop and a water fountain. Getting through Crystal Lake can be a little awkward. The route is clearly enough signed but crossing the highway, and the perpetual construction at a key intersection, make it just a bit inconvenient. Once through there is the thrill and the agony of cycling through Stearns Woods. The firecest descents and the toughest climbs along any of the trails in this system, not easy on a pleasure ride ... and an interesting challenge loaded for touring. North of Stearns Woods the path runs through McHenry County, McHenry, Ringwood, and Richmond. If you stay on this trail, it will dump you out in Genoa City, WI. So, you can ride from my house to Wisconsin all on trail (marked bike route). Friend Jeremy points out that it is 50 miles from Winfield to Genoa City by this route, making a tidy trail century ... which curiously I have never done myself.

Richmond, 4 hours - check!

Thus far, the cue sheets from the Grand Illinois Trail were unnecessary. As I approached the Broadway St. trail crossing in Richmond, 4 cyclists were straddling their bikes there, chatting. Ya gotta love running into chatty cyclists at rest. Talk is obvious: where are you headed, where and when did you start, look over the gear, alternate route options, weather and traffic. A couple of these guys had in fact cycled out to Galena (but not "toured out" to there, I think), and all had headed west of town to Hebron. They encouraged me to stick to the highway with a good shoulder instead of follow the Hebron Trail as noted in GIT. Sounded good to me, after nearly 50 miles of trail and not knowing what the HT was going to offer for a surface. The shade I would have welcomed; I guess it's a nicely canopied stretch. But IL-173 is in fact broad-shouldered, and I was on a distance mission, so that's how I rolled into Hebron.

Now, arriving in Hebron intact without a hint of fatique or dehydration, not to mention without bonking, was the first real accomplishment of the day. I had kicked the Hebron Bonk curse. I can now tour again. Yea! Not to mention that Hebron is a great place to stop for lunch or even just a dairy treat. At Dari. We drive by it every time we go to Lake Geneva, but I'm not sure we've ever stopped there. It was my lunch destination, and I enjoyed their $5 pork BBQ, fries and soda (choosing of course the classic, locally rescued soda Green River). A bit of conversation about the bike and the trip ... I would think folks in Hebron were more used to seeing touring cyclists going through on some GIT trek. I guess not. It was kind of funny, though ... everyone assumes - or maybe just hopes - that you are riding cross country. "Still," they basically say, "Wheaton to Galena, that's really something."

Lunch stop: 56.1 miles, 13.4mph average speed, 4 hours 5 minutes.

As I got ready to roll again, I asked the girl at the counter where I would find "HEB-ron" Road. She gave me this look like I was speaking another language. I thought, you know, the name of the town you live and work in?? Then, "oh, HEEB-ron" Road. Silly me, with my biblical pronunciation. I got the direction I needed, but it's a good thing I asked, because right there in town it isn't actually called Hebron Road, no matter how it is pronounced. It's actually Bigelow Ave. As with so many roads like this, the town name applies to the section that actually leads to, you know, the town. In town they often take another name.

Now, here I made a mistake. I would make it again on Friday. It is so basic, and I've done it enough to know better. Never leave town without completely filling all your water and sport drink bottles. I still had "plenty" - surely enough to get to the next town - so I took off with only one full Gatorade and a less-than-full Camelback.

Heading west on quiet country roads, the next segment divided into three 8-mile sections and a 7-mile jaunt. 8 Miles west, 1 mile north, 8 miles west on State Line Road (I guess it has one lane in Wisconsin and one in Illinois, so I think I did actually get some miles in WI). I somehow missed the sign for Burr Oak Road, though the cue sheet gave me ample information to look for it. So a mile farther on (as it turns out) when I saw Capron Rd., I took it south into Capron, where I hopped on the Long Prairie Trail and took that into Caledonia. By arriving in Capron, I think I missed a trail head, and I later thought that would have been another opportunity to re-hydrate. (I would come to see that we really can't count on anything of the sort on these trails.) Long Prairie Trail made me think, for some reason, of the Great Western Trail between St. Charles and Sycamore; if the GWT were paved.

By now the skies were glowering. Wind wasn't bad, and the temperatures were holding steady, but it was looking stormy, and I had plenty far to go, still. There were a few stray sprinkles but no organized opposition to a dry ride. At my arrival in Caledonia I had logged another 31+ miles. And here at a key juncture of this Trail, again, there was no water. Another thing I re-learned on this trip ... a lot of these small towns really don't have vending resources, either. So here I was with weather building, liquid refreshment dwindling, and a decision ahead of me.

Rock Cut State Park was not too many miles hence. I would get there with my daily miles at just under 100. Under ideal circumstances, I could continue through Rockford, cover maybe up to 30 more miles, and camp within striking distance of a day's ride into Galena. But these weren't ideal circumstances, and I had injudiciously left HEEBron without full liquid supplies.

So, I took the Rock Cut option, arriving there at about 4pm. The campground registration office seemed surprised to find a solo rider on a self-supported ride. Doesn't anyone follow the GIT?? But they had plenty of sites, and I settled into one across the road from the lakefront. No showers ... I have always been under the notion - now at last disproved - that all state parks had running water and showers. Here I was at 97+ miles and little chance of a good wash up. Oh well, I had my cook kit and soap. And the park has a little cafe open until 7. So I set up camp, cleaned up as best I could, then rode back around the park to the concessions area. But not before we had some precipitation. It was kind of strange. I don't know if these people were already preparing to leave, but I'd say 3 or 4 campsites dismantled and left when it began to rain lightly. That was really curious. Fair weather campers? Day-trippers? I don't know, but it did make for a nice quiet night in the campground!

Thursday's ride to camp: 97.1 miles, 13.8 mph, 7 hours 5 minutes.
After cycling to supper and back: 104.7 miles, 13.4, 7:44

And so, to bed after reviewing Hebrew vocab and listening to a "Wait, Wait" podcast. In the night, a loud CRACK, and there was a bit of a prolonged thunder storm. Never quite directly over the park, so it was more delightful than worrisome. Later in the night, I could hear the rain coming from behind me (whatever direction that was); you could hear the rain falling as it moved through the trees, then it would fall on the tent and move on. A lovely sound, and we so seldom actually see the rain-line. It is very comforting, somehow, to hear it. There was very little wind, barely discernable, and these showers moving through.

Later in the night, before dawn, a great horned owl sounding nearby. Oh, I love camping!