Rivers of Gravel Fondue

June 23, 2015

Part 0
Hello.  I went on an excursion this past weekend that included gravel and lots of it.  In case you, like I, recently, have had trouble sleeping, here is a slideshow recapping of the first 180 minutes or so of it.  I will get back to you with some more specifics, time permitting.  Incidentally, I slept soundly last night after employing some earplugs based on the advice of the one and only Selene Yeager.
Pleasant pedaling to you!

June 25, 2015

Part 1

Alright, I'm back! That was quick!  

Happy summer!  The evidence is undeniable and all around us.  Here is a field of wildflowers.  

Down in Woodchuck Holler

There is a broken Bud Light bottle that somebody threw angrily towards a multi-use trail because they made a poor decision when purchasing their beverage, and probably also in many other areas of life. 

It’s warm, sunny.  People are walking, running, smiling, bicycling hither and thither. 

I enjoyed some bicycling in some thitherlands a few days ago.  It was an excoriating, exhilarating, exhausting occasion entitled the Good Life Gravel Gran Fondo down in the Mineola, Iowa area.  Bicycles are neat.  They can go lots of places.  They will probably, someday soon, be ridden on Mars and the moon.  Yes. In that order.

The short synopsis of the gravel is – steep, gravelly, kind of monotonous, hot.  Kind of like a Greg Brown song.

A more elaborate description of my first intentionally gravelly bicycling experience follows.

I didn’t really expect to enjoy the event, but it was great! – especially now that it is over and I am comfortably documenting my reminiscences and wishing I hadn’t eaten so much for dinner that I don’t feel like there’s room for a beer in there!  Oh, the good life has its dangers, my friendos, mild dangers, but dangers nonetheless. 

Now where was I?  That was what I was asking myself through a good deal of the GLGGF2.  Well, here is where I was!

I was talked into this situation by my dear friend Rich. 

On the drive down to Mineola I realized I’d kind of forgotten how hilly it was out there when you’re not on the Wabash Trace Trail!  A pleasant resident of Mineola named Calvin said we could park in front of his pleasantly shaded abode.  He claimed to be in his 90s and the oldest resident of the town!  It was hard to believe due to his youthful appearance and mischievously curious air.  We got a course introduction by one Mr. Rafal Doloto, who, I later discovered, had set the course.  He said these were his favourite roads to ride around in these parts.  

Cowbell!  We started pedaling at 9:05 and it was immediately enjoyable!  Not too crowded, not too fast or slow.  It did get steep pretty fast, but all the recent rain kept the dust down and the gravel was pretty consistent and not too loose.  I heard someone question why these were Mr. Doloto‘s favourite roads.  I think he said something about them being rough and hard to smooth out/hold momentum.  The first 20-some miles or so went by fast and I found myself at a peaceful oasis of a church 

somewhere out near 350^th and Hutchings Avenue, I think.  A SAG stop was perfectly situated in a lovely shady yard that was pretty sweet.  I checked my phone and found that Rich had suffered a mechanical problem and bailed.  Bummer.  I explained the situation to the personable guys

 at the SAG stop.  They commiserated with Rich’s situation.  Those burly guys always have more mechanicals we agreed.  I ate some an orange, a banana, I opened the unopened fig bars and consumed a couple.  The “Good Life” part of the event title was not false advertising!  The guys mentioned something about another SAG stop around 35 miles.  Nice!  This just keeps getting better!

It was shortly after leaving this oasis of pleasantness that my Sony Action Cam (A gift from my formerly betrothed) stopped recording, thus the end of my minutely auto-photos documenting my progress and constituting the relaxing slide show located overhead.  I think it got too hot.  The owner’s manual states that it’ll shut itself off if it gets too hot. 

We hit the concrete of Highway 34 for a few miles before we got to the outskirts of Malvern.  I rode past my turn onto Keys Avenue, much to the consternation of a mature gentleman on a Gator.  

“Hey!” he yelled and honked.  “That way!” he pointed emphatically 

“Thanks!” I replied. 

“There were a bunch of ‘em went that way!” he elucidated. 

“Are you headed for Malvern?” he wondered.

We discussed the situation.  “Is this a designated course?” he queried bemusedly.

“Yep.  Seems a little odd, doesn’t it?” I responded.  I endeavored to explain my understanding of why I and my fellow participants were here.  “I guess people just want to try riding somewhere different, something kind of new.”

This seemed to satisfy him somewhat.  “Are you riding the Wabash?”

“Just for a few miles.  It kind of winds all around.”

We examined my course cue sheet.   

“Yep.  Sure does.”  he agreed. 

He said it was about 8 blocks through town before I hit 2^nd Street and discussed a few other roads I’d meet up with.  “You best keep out those directions,” he advised.

“It’s kind of like a scavenger hunt – looking for your turns – mixed with a bike ride.” I decided. 

“Thanks again”

“Have a good ride!”

I enjoyed the town of Malvern and its nice houses and shade.  There was a sand quarry outside of town and then a nice shady spot to pee and enjoy a delectable Jet Blackberry Gu.  It was there that I encountered the first of a few people who informed me they were experiencing leg cramps.  This guy was on a mountain bike and had started the 100-mile ride, but was now just planning on heading straight back due to his cramping.   It was nearing high noon and it was heating up!

Part 2

I bicycled along for awhile until I met up with a couple who had stopped in the road and were consulting their cue sheet.

“Are we on course?” I inquired gamely.

“I think so, but our mileage is off – we just jumped up 10 miles in about 20 minutes, so I think we missed a turn.”

After further conversing, I informed him that he had printed off the cue sheet for the 100-mile route.  Okay.  Problem solved.  I began to prepare for more pedaling.

“Can I take a picture of that?” Eric inquired.

Oh!  Of course!  A few minutes later the problem was more thoroughly solved! 

I pedaled on at about the same pace as Eric and Abbey for a while.  We came to some nice high hills with views and I enjoyed a swift and comfy descent aboard my trusty steed Shifty on Keys Avenue.  I hopped on the Wabash Trail at mile 37.5 and eventually came to the realization that if there was a SAG location anywhere in the 30 – 40 mile point in the ride, then I had missed it.  This didn’t seem like too big a deal at this point since I still had a half bottle or so of water.  Eventually I was out of water and neither the hills nor the sun were relenting one bit!  I was around mile 42.7 and I figured I could make it back, but I would be in pretty bad shape if I didn’t stop somewhere and get water.  Just as I was considering approaching the next friendly looking farmhouse and inquiring after some cold, life-giving liquid in a disarmingly harmless manner or casually refilling at an unattended garden hose I came to a crossroads.  I happened to glance to the left and beheld the welcoming outskirts of what turned out to be Silver City – a place I had visited a few times on some Wabashing ventures.  I made it to town and to the Standard Oil hitchin’ post where I was able to fill my CamelBak and my water bottle and soak my trusty Halo.  I told the enchanting ladies sitting outside the shop that I used to stop at the sandwich and ice cream shop when it was open.  They informed me that there was a bar in town that served tacos on Tuesday.  Hmmmm.  Intriguing. 

Refreshed, I resumed my sojourn. 

I passed a bearded buck of a man pumping up his tyre with what appeared to be a floor pump with a randonneuring-type of bike and associated accessories at the top of a hill.  We heard a pop!  I thought that perhaps it was his tyre, but I glanced over and both of his tyres were still nearly fully inflated. 

“What the fuck?!  Were those gunshots!?”

“Maybe a pellet gun.” I responded, pedaling on unconcernedly. 

He passed me a few more times and then stopped to pump up his tyre so that we were kind of leapfrogging our way back towards Minneola.  Since he had a couple large randonneuring satchels attached to his bicycle I didn’t think to ask if he needed a patch.  As he was pumping up just outside town I asked how long he’d been dealing with that hassle.

He kind of snickered.  “50 miles or so.  Since around 9.” 

I was flabbergasted!  I guess he was on the 100 mile route!?  Maybe he didn’t have a patch kit in his voluminous pair of satchels?!  Whatever the case, it was kind of too late to try to help this surprisingly calm fellow as we reached Minneola. 

I staggered over to the cooler and proceeded to whine about the difficulties I’d encountered one by one.  I downed beer after delicious beer from the ride organizers generously unguarded cooler. 

Then I staggered into Tobey Jack's for a free drink and food that was included with the $25 entry fee.

It was there that I met Pam from Cycle Works and her gentleman companion.  I politely offered them my meaty sandwich and in return received some salty and savory snack foods.  They were engaging conversationalists, and I heard a bit about the 100 mile version of the Dirty Kanza, an upcoming (as in tomorrow!?) gravel ride out by Gothenburg, Nebraska.  Pam leads a weekly ladies bike ride down in Lincoln.  She informed me that last year women spent more money at bike shops than men!  Wha!?  What is going on!?  Will they soon spend more money at bars, too!?  Haha?  Not funny?  Well at least you're used to that if you've made it this far.  I don't think I'm sexist, but I am cheap and I buy almost all my bike stuff online, so I guess this makes sense.

When I awoke the next day it seemed as if it had all been a dream, but the heat rash that lingered for the next 2 days was evidence that it had been all too real!

Thanks Rafal and friends for a unique and enjoyable adventure!  It was peaceful, contemplative, scenic, I got in my zone.  I may even do it again someday!

So grab some tyre patches and CO2 cylinders, plenty of patience, water, a sense of direction, a set of directions and/or a GPS and let's rumble, grumble, and whatever the hell else it takes!