Why You Should Ride in Early Spring

1. Smile like you're having a good time, even if it's through gritted teeth. Don't let on that anything hurts, not the butt, quads, or that special spot between your shoulder blades. Holding a permanent smile (but don't forget to breathe) alerts automobile drivers, even other cyclists that you are confident, fit (fake it), and having the time of your life. Smiles are infectious. People will wonder what they're missing by driving a car.

2. Get your butt out the door and ride when it's cold. Grab a hat, warm gloves, dress in layers. If you don't own adequate clothing, raid your kids' crayon colored hand knit mittens, that raccoon or bunny eared hat. Long wool socks can double to look like leg warmers. Riding in cold weather isn't as bad as you think. I know from personal experience that I can ride for 20 minutes and have warm feet. Most commutes are no longer than that.

3. Drivers are more tolerant in early Spring. It's true. Practice those lane maneuvers, pace line riding, or short trips to the mall when drivers are more patient and give you a wide berth. Later, as bike handling skills improve you'll assert yourself and hold your head high—and in a better frame of mind to handle irate drivers.

4. Coast all downhills. What are you trying to prove in April?

5. Don't let uphills get you down. Shift early, spin a few revolutions then stand in the pedals before you crest the hill. A little oomph outweighs that steady thigh-burning early season angst. Plus, you can see over the hill a second earlier than if you remain seated. It's better for your psyche.

6. Shape up those legs before short's season begins. Do yourself a favor. Toned muscles are less embarrassing on pasty-white legs because—let's face it—someday we have to wear shorts. Better muscle definition will be easier to tolerate when that awful (but welcome) transition occurs.

Put your head down, carry on. The more you do it, the easier it gets.

A Red Armstrong Bicycle

I walk by this bike rack on the university campus several times a week. This Armstrong bike captured my fancy. I like red. This bicycle exudes RED, for one thing. There's more to it than color, of course. I like the sprung saddle, the simple chain guard, and matching red rack. The simple chain ring and rubber pedals are definitely old and classy and I imagine are original components. Chrome fenders and newer red grips compliment it's compelling style.

But for all its charm this is an abused bike, residing like many others throughout winter on campus. It sat hub-high in a snow bank. I find it laying on its side occasionally until someone strong-arms it (sorry, I had to use that term) back upright. And for all it's glory, I wonder how much it gets ridden. The chain is rusted. It never changes position in the rack. Possibly, it's abandoned for the remainder of the school year.

Fun speedometer, simple 3-speed shifting.

Art Deco decal.

Nice seat, interesting integrated rack with spring, nice lugged steel frame. Alloy wheels
are worthy updates. New gumwall tires blend in with the old school bike.

Noticing the yellow Old Spokes Home label on the down-tube is a reminder that this bike was at one time reconditioned and worthy—this shop does not fix up anything that's junk—and possibly could be a sparkling ride again. 3-speed ride anyone?

A Gold Star for Me?

Love the card that came with the gift, also.

I'm tickled to receive this nice embroidered gold star for completing the Errandonnee Challenge put on by chasing mailboxes d.c. Actually, I'm honored that the host included me at all. I finished the mileage and prescribed categories, but failed at pedaling after dark.

The star is approximately two inches in diameter. I'd like to place it on a pannier or bag. I just need to figure out where it will look nice.

My ride entries:
Errandonnee or Cycling as Usual?
Errandonnee, Cold Feet
Errandonnee, Third Time = Success!

With the Hub on His Commute

A dreamy ride along the Winooski River.

I mentioned to my husband how I'd like to ride with him someday on his commute. And just like that, the following day promised fine weather, our youngest boy felt okay with staying home alone for an hour (though that was a last minute decision on his part), until older boy arrived, and I scampered out the door to catch a shuttle bus to Waterbury.

I almost missed The Hub. He was pedaling away from me across his workplace parking lot, but I frantically waved and yelled. Thank goodness, he eventually noticed me. That's the last time I talk someone's ear off on a bus ride and forget to call ahead.

The fifteen mile ride from Waterbury to Richmond along The River Road is the quietest, dreamiest ride you could ask for. It makes my ride to work resemble a freeway. There are houses along the way: converted barns, one schoolhouse charmingly now a home, double-wide trailers, and also a few rundown places sprouting derelict automobiles, but thankfully, no subdivisions. Mostly, the road hugs the Winooski River, includng a nice 4-mile dirt section.

The Round Church in Richmond. Many weddings occur here every year.

I made The Hub stop for an obligatory blog photo, which turned out to be fortuitous. Just below where we propped our bikes against the guardrail, two beavers swam in the river. One promptly darted away; the other smacked his tail in warning and dove under water. Considering my husband's moose siting last year, I shouldn't be so surprised.

That's The Hub in yellow slicker behind the crosswalk sign.

Once in Richmond, we pedal across the red bridge and end our ride, then place the bikes on our car's rack for the 15 minute drive home.

Italy - Tuscany at Last

Follow New Posts in the Around The World series on Mondays.
Click here for the Introduction.

50 - miles, Monday, October 10

We left Ferrara early. Andy and I felt as drab as the overcast sky. The weather affects us more than we might otherwise have guessed.

By noon we enter Bologna. I love the name, picturing lots of meat products, but we tend to avoid those items, not only because of Andy's diet. I wouldn't know how to preserve any leftovers, nor would I cook it in our shared pots. It seems best to avoid meat altogether. We both crave fresh vegetables, love cheese and bread, though the airy Italian bread is pretty lightweight and doesn't fill our bellies as much as we hoped. Andy says, “The crumbs alone might solve the world hunger problem.”

After Bologna we start climbing towards the hills. The change of pace feels good. It's been a long time since we spent hours spinning in granny gears. If our map is any indication, tomorrow's ride to Florence (Firenze) should be full of exciting, twisting roads.

I made a tasty zucchini and garlic red sauce, adding fresh basil for pizazz. We bought a Gaz stove in Venice. These are popular in Europe because you can buy fuel canisters most anywhere. It's incredibly easy too. A single match ignites the burner with instant blue flame. It's a quiet stove also. I now enjoy cooking, once again.

With days hovering around 60 F., we straddle seasons. More rain would be disheartening. We'll check into hopping a train from Florence to Rome.

52 - miles, Tuesday, October 11

Tuscany at last!

We left early after a disappointing evening at a 4-star campground. No hot water meant no showers. It was also expensive. Best to look ahead and pedal towards Florence.

We climb from one valley to another, riding along an open hillside. It's good to test our legs again. My fanny is less sore, pedaling hilly terrain. I tend to shift around on the seat, or maybe my mind is preoccupied, wondering what's around the next corner. It's a welcome reprieve.

Villages cluster on the horizon in every available open space. Red roofs. Tan or white walls. Newly plowed fields darken the landscape in a patchwork pattern. Tractor engines rattle. Wine bottles pile in a corner of a yard, like fisherman's floats. All the while, vineyards appear like umbrellas above and below us on the steep slope, or guard houses. The vines are barren; leaves edged in brown hang lifeless. Netting has been lifted, signaling it's past harvest.

The air grows considerably cooler as we ascend 1800 feet and stop at an obvious summit. A hazy skyline displays a church silhouette. I wondered how anyone could get to it, then was reminded of the network of roads, with steepness nary a concern. We tentatively let up on the brakes, testing our inertia. Going uphill on impossibly narrow roads wasn't a problem, but descending is another thing altogether. And then there are the drivers zooming uphill, engines strained, vehicles leaning, two outside wheels mainly gripping the asphalt. It's exactly like those sports car commercials where drivers screech around tight corners. Fortunately my heart no longer leaps to my throat. Driving fast in Italy is a way of life. We take it slow. Hold our line. Listen for honking drivers signaling sharp turns. We laugh on our lunch break as the honks echo up the valley. 

By day's end, after an incredible twenty mile descent, we leave the mountains behind. It is warm tonight, if not quiet. Our intended campground turned out to be within 100 feet of the Milan to Rome Autostrada, Italy's equivalent to an interstate. However, we can sleep most anywhere.