commuter bike hits the open road

This morning dawned sunny and warm, so I decided to set out for a bike ride first thing. Since it had been awhile since I rode my road bike, I took a short spin down the block to make sure I hadn't lost the knack of clipping out of the pedals. The right one was still tight. I had tried to loosen it a couple of weeks ago, but I'm not sure I did it properly. I tried again today -- and did exactly what the instructions warn people NOT to do -- made it too loose so that the little red piece fell out. It was too early to go to the bike shop, which doesn't open till 10 a.m., so I ended up taking Miranda, my commuter bike, for a long spin: 55 km on the hills north of the city.

I rode straight north of town and was dismayed to find that they are doing some very messy construction on the first hill. The shoulder, and in fact, the entire road surface, is littered with loose gravel and bits of tar, mounds of dirt, and other hazards. It was OK going up, although I did have to stop for the truck to turn, but going down on the way home was another story -- brakes all the way. I hope they clean this up once the work is finished, but I have my doubts.

All was good after this spot. I took a left at Deer Road and then another left towards the N-S secondary highway. As I was heading west, I glanced to my right and saw a narrow paved road with some interesting looking hills. I passed the road, but then the temptation was too much: I love hills. So, I turned around and headed north and up, up, up. Everything is so green and lush after all the rain we've had.

looking north

As I climbed, I suddenly realized that I didn't know what road I was on. What if something happened and I had to call for help? How would I tell Hubby or Emergency Services where I was? They might have to use triangulation to find me. Fortunately nothing happened before I came to a sign informing me of the range road number I was on. Continuing in the fortunate vein, nothing happened after that either. But as Teenage Son, who learned about "prepping" in Outdoor Ed class, would tell you: it never hurts to be prepared.

The hills were as much fun as I anticipated -- three or four of varying sizes and steepness, and the scenery was pretty, too. I've christened this road Roller Coaster Road.

looking south

looking east

When I came to this sign,

notwithstanding my success on the gravel-surfaced hill yesterday, I decided to turn around and headed back to the main road, where I saw this breathtakingly beautiful hedgerow of lilacs which must have been planted by a farmer with poetry in the soul: 

And with a nod to my once-beloved Nancy Drew books, I named this road Lilac Lane.*

From the N-S secondary highway, I turned onto the E-W secondary highway and rode as far as the airport. At this point, my butt was too sore to keep going (thanks to the wide saddle on my commuter bike) and besides, the road east from there to the village is flat and boring. So I turned around. First I stopped at the airport road for a quick drink of water and when I looked at my phone GPS (no computer on this bike) I was pleased to see that my speed, even on the mountain bike, and even with all the photo stops, was 24.7 km/hour.

The pond was at its best today, glittering in the sunlight, and busy with various ducks and other birds. 

Coot

Ruddy Duck

Red Wing Blackbird

What a gorgeous day for a ride! Apparently other people shared my sentiments, because the roads were busy with cyclists of all stripes. 
Men and women. 
Road bikes and mountain bikes. 
Fast and slow. 
Slim and fat. 
Young and old. 

It made me especially happy to see a rather overweight twenty-ish gal on a mountain bike, bringing up the rear in her little group, but cresting the highest and hardest hill with a big smile on her face. This is cycling at its best -- anyone can do it, on any sort of bicycle, at any speed. And it makes one happy.

I got passed (a first on those roads) by a fit older man on an expensive-looking road bike. As he passed, he said in a charming Dutch accent, "You're doing pretty good on that bike." I know, he probably says that to all the women he passes, but it made me feel good anyway. He was behind me for quite some time, so I think he had to work a bit to overtake me. And when I noticed him pass another cyclist who was riding ahead of us, also on a road bike, I concluded that he is obviously no slouch.

Later in the day I rode my road bike to the bike shop and received some bad news -- I'd ruined the pedal. I made the snap decision to plunk down $75 for a new pair; they are slightly different and seem to be a bit better design. Here's hoping. This was an expensive, but thoroughly-learned lesson.
At the shop there was a guy looking at bikes. Apparently he found one he liked, because half an hour later when I was walking with Maggie to Superstore, I saw him ride past, sporting the happy cyclist's trademark big smile.

* the purist in me compels me to note that the Nancy Drew books refer to Lilac Inn and Larkspur Lane, so this road's name is an amalgamation of the two stories.