So I meant to embark on my first real training ride yesterday, but just as I stepped toward the door, the heavens opened up and there was much thunder and lightning and rain. It didn't keep up terribly long, but the radar showed this would be a repeat performance throughout the afternoon, so I waited.
Today looked threatening, but the clouds were just loping lazily across the sky rather than dropping buckets of water on anyone and I sallied forth. I arrived at the garage to find a flat on the front right tire (what gives?!). I re-inflated it and waited a few minutes. It didn't go completely flat, but it felt softer, so I pulled it out and put in a new tube. I'll have to bring it home for the old submerge in water test to find whatever slow leak is happening, as I couldn't find anything obvious at the moment.
Today was one of those lucky days when the awesome people who are lending me garage space didn't have a car parked in the driveway. I rolled right out and got to pedaling. A few blocks up I stopped to talk to a nice lady who apparently has seen me around before but I was quote: always going too fast for her to say anything. I find this doubtful given the quality of asphalt on Helen St and the frequent stop signs, but we had a nice chat today. It's always delightful when people seem so pleased by the idea of the velo. "No motor?" Not at all, I say. Rather than burning gas, I'm burning calories!
The little dip in Glenwood was nothing, and traffic was fairly light, so I was whipping along at around 20 miles an hour. I'd planned to ride up Airport Rd to Upper Stella Ireland, then across W Chenango to Dimmock Hill and back down Glenwood all the way into town. Let me just say that I need to get my hands on a good topographical map of the area and learn what's what. It's a hilly area; sure, I know this. But I've driven down Airport Rd many times (since it leads to the airport, of course) and never thought of it as particularly hilly. Well, hauling around 70ish pounds of trike makes those hills absolutely apparent. I'm still trying to get a feel for what gears work for me, and I think a trip down to one of the friendly bike shops will be in order soon, as I clearly need some adjustments made to the front cog's gear shifter and probably need a few links taken out of the chain (since I had to adjust the pedal distance from where my slightly taller father had it set).
At any rate, on flat ground, the velo probably averages around 20 miles an hour. Going uphill things get waaaaay slower. I found myself creeping along sometimes as slowly as 3 miles an hour. Heck, I thought, I could walk faster! (Until I remembered I'd be staggering along with 70 pounds on my back). My dad was always a spinner (someone who likes to keep the bike in an easy gear and pedal really fast). I was always a pusher; I like keeping it in a tougher gear, pushing hard against the pedals, and having fewer pedal RPMs. But some of these hills man, you don't have a choice. You're going to be pushing hard on the tiniest granny gear you have. And you're still going to hate yourself for planning this route.
That is, you'll hate yourself until you change the route a bit. You see, I'd been inching my way up W Chenango Rd toward Dimmock Hill Rd. I saw a truck go through the intersection ahead, and as he passed some trees, I realized Dimmock would be another climb. Meanwhile, friendly green signs proclaimed that Rt 11 was only 4 little miles ahead. It would take me further East, of course, and there'd be more traffic, but at that moment, the ache in my legs had me so demoralized that I thought 11 must be easier than what I could see to my right. And Dimmock Hill was bound to have more up and down and up and down. The downhills go by so fast that you feel they only last seconds (though you cover plenty of ground) while the uphills are grueling torture that seem to go on forever. What the heck, I thought, I'll take my chances with 11. I SO made the right choice.
Just past Dimmock Hill Rd, W Chenango becomes one long, glorious downhill. I rode three miles without pedaling a single stroke. The bike got up to 54 miles an hour (and may have gone higher had I not pulled the brakes to keep me at a more reasonable 40-something). I'm sure you can imagine my joy and relief. I cried a bit--but that was just the wind in my eyes, I swear. What fun! THIS is the sort of moment I know my Dad lived for. And while I don't think of myself as much of a speed demon, it was fantastic!
Route 11 was gravelly and crowded and required more pedaling, but the hills were gentler and I had little micro-breaks at the many traffic lights. And man, was that long downhill ever worth it.
And more great news? Not a single flat during the entire 19-mile ride.
