The longest day

April 25, 2024

Measured in either distance or time on the road

LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW of my booth at McDonalds, I can see a flag at the hotel across the way. It's fluttering actively in the breeze, standing straight out from the pole and straining the halyard. The tale it tells is an ominous portent: I'm likely to be riding more or less directly into a breeze for much of the day, unless it dies away or changes direction.

There's hope, though: perhaps there will be enough tree cover along my path from Clarksville to Burkeville that the force of the wind might be mitigated. Here at the start of my ride, though, I'm right at the shore of the local reservoir so there's nothing but open water to slow it.

Before I go on, let's take a moment to do better justice to last night's accommodation. It's a lovely old home in the craftsman style, gradually redone by the owner/artist-in-residence. Most of the artworks on display are her work.

Back to today. Crossing the lake, I'm routed west for a few miles on a highway that's adequate but busier than I prefer. That changes soon enough, when the route leaves the highway in favor of quiet tree lined back roads. The trees are obviously planted timber- tall closely-spaced pines of some sort- and they make an excellent wind break. Between that and the fact that traffic is nearly non-existent, it's a lovely setting for a ride.

Great road, with trees to block the wind.

Art: these tracks may once have carried trains to Clarksville but they're out of service now.

Much of the day is spent on similar roads, connected by stretches of more open two-lane state highways. The two-lanes carry a bit more traffic but it's still very light and what there is of it is very courteous.

Another view, in case it's helpful for identification.

It appears that I'm either back in, or perhaps still in, the eastern reaches of the piedmont. Hills often exceed five percent, some get to nearly double that for brief stretches. I'm also gaining elevation overall.

The result is a day spent mostly in the lower reaches of Serenity's range of gears, with correspondingly low speeds. As a mental exercise and distraction, I keep a loose track of my rate of progress, trying to predict the time I will arrive at key points along the way.

This is piedmont style, not coastal plain.

Right at noon I find myself at the 30 mile point and opt to take a longer break for "lunch". Sitting in a sunny, open spot by the side of an empty country road is deeply relaxing and restful. The light wind blows a stand of tall grass in waves, almost as if it were water; the effect is mesmerizing. Were it not for the far-off barking of hounds, there'd be no sound except for the breeze and the chirping of small birds. It's easy to imagine sinking, Rip van Winkle-like, into a deep reverie and waking far later than planned.

Rousing myself, I return to the task at hand. Things continue in the first half of the afternoon much as before: plodding along, alternating between slow climbs and swifter descents, in and out of the cover of trees. My near-term objective is to reach the town of Victoria so I can take a photo of the city limits sign by request of a friend.

By request, the Victoria Corporate Limits marker.

Quite an establishment. I bet the occupants of that barn are better off than many of their human neighbors.

By this time it's getting on toward 3. I'm low on fluids and getting hungry. Gas station snacks aren't appealing so I choose the Italian restaurant for a more substantial meal and a longer break.

Rather than a heavy pasta, calzone, or pizza I opt for a large bowl of Italian Wedding Soup, which makes a satisfying meal. As I eat it occurs to me that I've not actually booked my night's accommodation, so that gets taken care of as well.

It's 16 miles from table to bed, meaning an hour and a half to two hours more riding remain. Some of that time is spent on the busiest road of the day, and perhaps of the trip so far. Traffic's not heavy, by any stretch of the imagination, but it's fast-moving and sometimes uncomfortably close.

I keep a vigilant, wary eye on my rear view mirror. Some drivers whoosh past without even putting a wheel across the centerline, but many slow and wait for a clear spot before pulling out and easing by. Where I'm able, I pull off and dismount to make that easier, but it's not always possible.

It's finally time to leave the highway, just a couple miles from my destination. Those roll by easily enough, apart from one very short steep grunt at the edge of town.

Subterfuge at work. I could pretend to have stopped 0.7 miles from my hotel specifically to take this photo.

The truth is that I needed one last breather after a short but steep grunt of a hill. So, what is this stuff, since I've taken and posted the photos?

Check in, shower, transfer of photos from camera to phone... all the usual end-of-ride routine. I also call home, the first time I've done so since I left. On the other days I've simply texted to confirm safe arrival and assure her all is well.

It's Thursday, and at five to seven I get a text from my cousin asking if we'll be playing bridge online as per usual. It's good that she contacted me, or I'd have forgotten all about it.

My room is nicely warm and the bed is very comfortable and I'm tired, so that several times they need to gently wake me when a bid or play of a card is required. Not long after the game ends I'm deeply asleep.

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Today's ride: 68 miles (109 km)
Total: 321 miles (517 km)

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Scott AndersonYou’re a bridge player! That’s how Rachael and I met - at the lunchtime bridge game at work. We were duplicate players for bout fifteen or twenty years, and got our life masters.
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3 weeks ago

Keith AdamsTo Scott AndersonYep, going on 40 years now. Never played duplicate except with friends. I'd get run out of the hall if I tried for Master's points.
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3 weeks ago