The long ride

The numbers don't lie. It's true--I averaged 0.0 miles per hour.

The big cycling goal this year is simply to just pile on the miles. Longer rides, more adventurous routes, perhaps a tour or charity ride or two seem like tangible targets. It has been two years; I am in shape, and feel perfectly capable of the distance.

The other morning, after fixing my sunglasses with a tiny little screw and my long thumbnail, I filled a water bottle, drank some water, and headed out on a ride.

Just over 31 miles later, I returned home. What a fantastic feeling it was, putting that much distance on the bike. My legs felt a little weak, and there was some soreness in my knees, but other than that I felt no different than if I had just completed an 8 or 9-mile jaunt.

Getting this nice long ride in gave me some good data. It told me that my bike must be at least a halfway decent fit for me, and is in great working order. I never had any leg numbness or extreme pain anywhere, and I wasn't even sore the next morning.

It told me that next time, I might want to pack a snack or two, even though it was still a relatively short ride in the whole scheme of things. Maybe just some granola or a banana.

It told me that mapping out a route in your head and actually riding it can be two different things, and that details matter.

Cutting through Webster Square and onto Mill Street, I made my way up Olean to the reservoirs. It's nice scenery and nice roads. It gets really hilly, though--the reservoirs have to collect that water from somewhere.

My mini-backpack is trespassing.

I did succumb in a few spots in Paxton and had to walk it a bit. I'd say I walked no farther than a bit less than a quarter mile the whole ride. That's what I was talking about with the planning. Perhaps next time a little recon in the car beforehand would go a long way.

The sun was out, although it was chilly for late April. But the big challenge was the wind. God that wind was horrible. Gears aren't only useful for hills; they are invaluable, I found out, for heading into brutal winds. I knew what I was getting into checking the weather forecast. It was a northwest wind, so I figured if I rode into it on my way out, I'd get the wind behind me on the back half of my ride.

It didn't quite work out like that. The wind was brutal the entire way to the reservoirs, but then it miraculously died out. Perhaps it was all the hills providing some sort of barrier, I don't know. But once I got to the hills, it was pretty much the hills that were tough, not the wind.

Well, the wind did contribute to me almost getting killed. Yeah, I'm not exaggerating. I almost got killed by a falling tree. I had just completed a disastrously long detour due to a wrong turn taken after a picturesque stop at Paxton center.

I have a thing for cemeteries, I guess. This is a really really old one.

What I was thinking I don't know, but I decided I knew where to take the turn for Route 56, a road I've driven down in a car dozens of times in my life.

Turns out I was very wrong, and I ended up in the wilds of Spencer until getting back to 56. As I coasted down a hill toward the intersection of Paxton Road in Leicester, I heard the unmistakable crack of a tree about to fall. A few loud cracks, increasing in frequency, just to my right. For a split second the thought crossed my mind to take a look and try to gauge where it was going to fall and get out of the way, but I instead decided just to pedal as fast as I could toward the intersection. I blew through the intersection, figuring my chances of surviving getting hit by a car were better than being crushed by a tree. As I got to the middle of the intersection I heard and felt the giant old tree fall to the ground.

Those limbs were huge, I swear!

I turned around and saw the wreckage in the road. the bulk of the trunk stayed in the woods, but some big limbs sat in pieces in the road, right where I had been. A couple pulled up, and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and said, "Boy you dodged a bullet there, eh?"


I agreed, composed myself, took a couple pictures, and headed on my way, knowing I had used up my free pass for the day.

The reward for this harrowing experience came at the top of yet another climb, seemingly toward some Star Wars--esque cloud city.

Oddly enough, this was one of the milder climbs I had to do that day

I've driven around here many times--I used to drive around here with the kids in the car when they were babies and it seemed they would only stop crying when in a moving car. But it's a whole new world on a bike. You think something is coming up, but it's far away. You didn't notice what a nice view a certain vantage point provided. You didn't notice that farm. Those sheep. That nice old house.

A landing plane would have really knocked this pic out of the park

Route 56 goes along the backside of the Worcester Regional Airport. It's just a nice place to be on a sunny day. My bike almost blew over after I leaned it against the fence. But this is really what the destination was when I mapped out the ride in my head. On this day, this is where I wanted to be. It took an extra 45 minutes or so because I was where I didn't want to be for a time. But no matter. Besides some apologizing for wildly underestimating the time I was gone from home, there was really no penalty. It made it better. And it produced that nice big number on my bike computer.

My reward? A simple roasted chicken, cooked according to legendary chef Thomas Keller's old recipe. It's not even a recipe, really. I did brine the chicken first, which he doesn't mention. But then I just threw it in the skillet and put it in a 450 degree oven for about an hour and 15 minutes. It's delicious every time.

My go-to chicken. Basically throw it in the oven. You won't be disappointed.