Happiness is a fast bicycle

Enough. Tired of waiting for perfect (or at least decent) weather that’s warmer than 30 degrees and doesn’t have 44 mph winds, I head out to Huntley for a long ride. My old, familiar stomping grounds. Sálome and I. It’s a bright, clear, semi-breezy morning when we get out there, and we set off.

Harmony Road

About 5 miles into my usual route is when I hit Harmony Road, the endless country road that goes to Union, Marengo, etc. – cow country, in other words. This is my first real ride on Sálome outside, and all I can say is.......holy crap. Oh sure, I know there are people who scoff at calling a particular bike “fast,” it’s all about the engine blah blah blah, but I can easily say, this bike is fast. I’m not putting in any effort and I’m zipping along at 19 mph. We’re just flying along.

Of course, I also discover that my new Garmin Edge 705 – a lovely early b-day gift to me from my mother (thanks mom!) – takes the concept of “add-ons” to the extreme. You see, they note that in order to get “detailed, street-level maps” one has to shell out an additional $120 or so for a special card. Which I did not do – after all, do I really need to know that there are cobblestone roads in downtown Delavan? I think not.

However. Garmin apparently has a more liberal definition of the concept of “street level.” According to them and my 705, there’s I-90 and then there’s Everything Else, and I am just a small blip moving about in a vast swath of uncharted territory. I guess that’s not too far from the truth. So the mapping feature is basically useless, but at least I can see my uberfast speed, and know that I’m exerting even more energy than usual as I’m biking at elevation (843 feet). That’s an extra cupcake right there, for my post-workout refueling.

Later

It occurs to me, as I zip along on my sweet carbon fiber bike in the hinterlands, in a sense I’m recreating the Laura Ingalls experience, as she so eloquently described in Little House on the Windy Prairie, as they sojourned across the Great Plains in a covered wagon – pretty much the same thing I’m doing. I feel a special kinship with her, and vow that on all future rides, I will stick to the same nutrition that those early pioneers did: beef jerky in the form of Slim Jims, and dairy in the form of ice cream shoppe stops.

Soon I come upon one of my many hated new subdivisions – “Whiskey Creek Estates.” Just a twinkle and an ugly churned up patch of mud in a developer’s eye the last time I biked through here, this time there’s a gate, a fancy new blacktopped road, and......where are the ugly houses? I can’t actually see them from the road, so I figure on my way back I’ll bike down the turnoff and see what’s happening.

In the meantime, I continue, enjoying the beautiful countryside and fresh air. It makes me want to shake all those people with all their pretty bikes languishing in garages, in basements, on walls across America. Set your bikes free! Go ride! In my irrational exuberance, I get all full of myself and my bike handling skills, and attempt the tricky “pull the water bottle out of its holder” maneuver, which I manage with aplomb. Putting it back, however, almost sends me flying to the pavement. Note to self: practice that.

After I get to my usual turnaround point, suddenly from the nearby home a little dog comes running out at me, barking madly, running alongside my bike. This might be a bit perturbing, except for the fact that it’s a.......Welsh corgi? Come now. I want to laugh at his stubby little self – and the people feebly attempting to call him back with a “hey Rufus! Ruuufus!” – but he seems so earnest and I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Unfortunately, I’ve also learned that attempting to pull out a water bottle to squirt him a little will probably lead to disaster, but as I’m contemplating my next move, he decides he’s taught me a lesson and turns around to go home. Whew! THAT was a close one.

About 20 minutes later, I stop by a burbling creek to take in the scenery and safely drink some water, and decide I have to call someone to share my cycling happiness and excitement. But who? Who’ll understand?

(phone ringing)
Colleen: Yes?
Me, rambling: Okay, I just have to tell you that Sálome is the most perfect wonderful bike in the entire world after Precious and it’s the most perfect glorious day out here and we’re having so much fun and oh my god she’s purrrrrrrrrrfect.
Colleen: I’m so glad – that’s really great. And it’s such a great day for riding, too.
Me: It is, just a little wind, nothing like last week, couldn’t ask for a better day, and my SNB is wonderful and we’re just flying along, it’s awesome.
Colleen: I’m glad she’s working out so well!

Colleen understands these things, as I knew she would. Bridget would get it too, but she now has some kind of “real world” job where I think a random call in the middle of the morning to gush about one’s bike miiiight just take a back seat to other matters. At least at that moment. I did later ask Deanna if she just loved riding on her new Cervelo, and got kind of an “it’s a bike” response, so I think it’s just me, this need I have for biking endless hours on endless country roads, basking in the sheer joy and happiness of riding.

Further on, after I pass the guys patching holes in the crappy roads, I spy what looks like a beaver making his way down a grassy bank, and naturally, I feel the need to stop to get a closer look. As I get off my bike and clomp over to get a better look at Mr. Crafty, it occurs to me why my cleats wear down so quickly.

Then, as I’m about the make the turnoff to go check out the esteemed Whiskey Creek estates, I notice that there’s no actual road beyond the gates – there’s just the newly paved main road that goes past the turnoff. Hmm. Could it be........another developer in bankruptcy? This brightens my day even more. Though, the Sun City folks have still been hard at work putting up more and more houses, all of which look exactly the same. I think they’re running out of subdivision names, however, as I pass one that’s simply called “Copperwynd.” Huh? “Wynd”? Apparently I’m not the only one who MSUs.

When I turn into my mom’s driveway, I tally up the day’s totals: 1 turkey vulture sighting, 1 truck blowing past me at 6 inches away, 1 dog chasing, 1 rabid squirrel that made a beeline for my front wheel on an otherwise empty country road. All in all, not bad for a day’s work.