Quad County Century (Sort-of)

This happened so long ago that I barely remember it now. The backlog!

Having put in some really good miles up in the mountains recently, my brother and I wanted to reprise that ride with another long one a little closer to home. He'd looked up the Quad County Century route a while back, so we settled on that one.

Instead of gloriously fulfilling like that last one had been, this ride was just terrible.

I mean, it started out OK. The first 10 miles or so were fine but instead of waking up and feeling good, it just started hurting more and more. I kept thinking "maybe I'll wake up" and kept pushing but that just never happened.

I don't remember anything about the route at all. We started in Douglas County, so that was one of the counties. I'm pretty sure we were in Carroll County at some point, but as for the rest... Pfft. No idea.

It turned out that a triathlon was going on out there and at some point we pulled in behind some ladies who were riding in it.

We eventually pulled ahead of them though. Somewhere in there we stopped for water. The rest was a blur.

I'm pretty sure we cut it short and turned it into the Quad County 75-or-so-rather-than-Century.

The post-ride lunch at Fabiano's was the highlight of the day.

Turned out later that I was getting sick. That night I had a headache and a fever. Ha! I guess that kind-of explains it.

4-Gap

A year and a half ago it would have seemed wrong to go two weeks without riding at least one of my bikes in real mountains. I guess it still seems wrong, but opportunity cost being what it is, such has been the way of things.

The longest climb I have around these parts is Mableton Parkway from the River to Veterans Memorial. It's worth doing but it pales in comparison to real climbing, and real descending for that matter. Mountains! Mountains are required for such things.

Yesterday everything came together though, and the frere and I put in some pretty good miles in the mountains.

He said to meet him at Starbucks on Atlanta Road at 8. I think he expected me to drive over but screw that, Starbucks is only like 3 miles away or something. I put some clean clothes and barefoot shoes in my camelback and just rode over.

The morning air was surprisingly cool. It is summer isn't it? I wasn't so sure. I might need to get up earlier and ride in the morning. It was wonderful!

I did have to wait for a train though.

That was less wonderful, but I like trains, so the train was cool, just not the wait.

I met the frere at the appointed time and location, we drove up to Dahlonega and parked just south of Stone Pile Gap.

R-Ranch on the left, Trahlyta's grave on the right.

Woody Gap straight ahead!

The climb up to Woody Gap isn't too bad. Easy spinning, should you choose to do so, or you can make it harder if you like. We chose to spin as we had too many miles ahead of us to screw around and blow up early.

The weather was perfect. Sunny, no wind and it felt like it was in the 60's. The shadows were much cooler than out in the sun. Whatever it is up there that smells like cinnamon was smelling like cinnamon. Everyone was still hung over from their 4th of July festivities so traffic was really light. My legs felt strong.

We passed a few riders on their way up and a few more on their way down. I thought I recognized Mark Johnson, but I don't know who he's riding for these days and I didn't recognize the kit the guy was wearing. Probably not him.

I thought I remembered a kick at the very end, up near the gap, but I must have been thinking of somewhere else. No kick. The descent into Suches was fun - faster and twistier than I remembered. I was thinking, it must have been at least 4 years since I'd ridden up there. I've driven it a bunch since then, and hiked the AT through there, but it seems like it's been at least that long since I've been on the road bike.

We blew through Suches and continued north on Hwy 60 through several sets of twisty curves. I'd driven that road dozens of times but never ridden it. Woohoo! I'd been missing out.

We rode along the Toccoa for a minute or two but it was impossible to get a photo. When the road flattened out we started passing farms and getting good views of the mountains.

Two years ago I probably could have recalled the name of that knob from memory. Not any more. It seems like all of that information has been replaced. I wonder if it's still in there or not.

Somewhere in there a guy caught up with us and rode with us for a mile or two. He was doing sort of the inverse of what we were doing, without the Woody Gap climb, but he'd started a little north of Blairsville. We were riding a little conservatively for his taste though, and he eventually took off down the road.

At the Cooper Creek Store, some riders pulled out behind us. One of them caught up and rode with us for several more miles. His buddy caught up after a while too. They were also doing the same loop as us, sans the Woody Gap climb. It's funny... John put the loop together by eyeballing Google maps a few days before, but it's apparently a fairly common route. I guess we all just think alike.

We hung a right at Skeenah Gap road and our tag-alongs dropped back for the rest of their group. I've driven that road many times, and hiked all over the place to the north of it, but never ridden it. The climb to Skeenah Gap doesn't feel like you're doing anything until the very end. You pass a church on the right and then it kicks straight up into the steepest part of the entire route, for like a quarter mile or less, tops out, and then even the descent off the back side is mild.

All right then.

Two gaps down and I was feeling great. This is me, feeling great.

We wound around to the northeast and eventually tee'd into Hwy 5.

I don't remember if it was along Skeenah Gap Road or Hwy 5 that we passed this dairy, but the name was great.

Heh, Butt Dairy. Who knows, if you live in Blairsville, you might be drinking Butt milk.

The fields to the right gave many clear views of Duncan Ridge.

We were basically circumnavigating the Cooper Creek WMA. I'm not sure I ever knew those peaks by name. Or, I would recognize their names, like I know one of them is Shope Knob, but I couldn't have ever recited them.

Further on we hit Hwy 5 and headed eastish. Brasstown Bald loomed ahead of us the whole time.

The highest peak is Brasstown Bald. To the right of that is Jack's Knob. The low spot between them is the overlook in the Brasstown parking lot. I've been there a dozen times but I don't remember ever looking at it from this side. I'm not sure if the ridge is Wolfpen Ridge or the ridge of the Arkaqua Trail. It's one of those though.

We hung a right on Mulkey Gap road and a left on Owltown. Owltown was a net climb, but it wasn't direct. There were lots of little ups and downs, step-ups and climbs around curves. The net elevation gain didn't seem like all that much but the total climbing seemed comparable to Woody's. Somewhere in there we passed the Highland Crossing, as marked by a roadsign and I recognized the road leading off to the right. I'd been hiking back up in there years ago. Maybe the Highland Crossing counts as another gap. It was certainly in a gap. Maybe I should call the route 5-Gap instead of 4.

It took longer than I expected to get to Hwy 129, but we got there eventually. A roadsign indicated 3 miles to Vogel State Park and the turnoff to Wolfpen Gap. We were still feeling good but a little short on water.

The Sunrise Grocery took care of that.

I say that we were feeling good. I'm not sure that's accurate. The ride was starting to feel like work as opposed to fun. It had not yet transitioned to suffering, but it was decidedly work.

The right turn toward Wolfpen was a bit of a shock. The road gets steep right away and you really have two choices - sit back and torque it out with your legs, or keep the pace up and shift that load to your heart and lungs. I prefer the latter unless forced into the former. And so it was.

We had a treat too. The entire highway from Suches to the intersection of 129 had just been repaved. New pavement is smooth and delicious, but it's also very sticky and I could really feel how good of a grip I was getting on it. I could hear it even.

We didn't chat much on that particular climb. We did pass a guy who was either torquing it out or just had bigger gears and chatted a little with him. He was in his late 60's and happy to be able to make the climb at all.

I was a little worried about how I'd feel on Wolfpen. It's been so long since I did any serious climbing. Turns out I had it. No big deal.

Woohoo!

On the back side, we blew through the curves pretty quickly and settled in to the runout to Suches. That stretch of road is just not all that great. People describe it as rollers, but that's really inaccurate. There's a decent climb up to Lake Winfield Scott, humorously referred to as Little B**** Gap. And then there are several long, spun-out descents and equally long though shallow climbs. No rollers in the sense that I think of them though. None at all.

It was funny... Some guy from Florida passed on near the top of the climb up to Lake Winfield Scott and seemed rather frustrated. He pulled ahead at first but then failed to put any distance on us over the next mile or so, even when the road flattened out. I guess it was a little too twisty. He was always there, just ahead of us. He finally did pull away, but it took him way longer than I expected.

We hung a left in Suches and though I had the opportunity to take a picture of the lake, I was just not in the picture-taking mood.

My legs were getting tired. It was a tired that I remembered well, but hadn't experienced in a long time - that long burn. Not the short term, lactic acid burn, but that burn where you've been pushing and recovering all day and it's finally catching up to you. Where you've got plenty of energy but it hurts a little to use it, and you can rest for a while and it goes away, but then it comes right back after 5 minutes. I had a burn like that in my mind too. The mind needs sugar, but sweet things didn't taste sweet any more. It was all very familiar but it'd been a long time since I'd felt it. Too, too long.

Though I was reticent about it, the climb up the back side of Woody's turned out to be a piece of cake. While arguably unpleasant, none of those aforementioned sensations actually hinder one's performance as much as one's will to perform, so if you can get past that, you're good. I was good.

The picnic area at the top was loaded and people were parking anywhere they could and milling around by the road.

I'm not sure I'd ever seen that many people there before.

I was looking forward to the descent back into Dahlonega. I remembered it being thrilling and scary, but it didn't turn out that way. I was completely spun out, as usual, but I felt really comfortable in the curves, even at that speed, even through the hairpin at the end. Too much time on the road bike lately. Too, too much!

And then, sadly, it was over.

We got back to the car and headed into Dahlonega for some Zaxby's chicken. I had mine with Teriyaki sauce. I figured John would just drop me off at Starbucks again but he wanted to borrow my Esbit stove so I got front-door service. Woohoo!

I was tired though. After a quick shower I crashed on my bed and woke up at like 10:30 PM. I thought I'd screwed up my sleep schedule and dreaded the idea of being up all night, but a few hours later I crashed again and slept 'til almost noon today. Ha! I guess I was a little tired.

Yes! Mountains! I must ride more in the mountains.

I must.

Can't do it every weekend these days, but I'll bet that I can fit it in a little more often than I have been.

Silk Sheets

I was telling my brother... I've been riding a lot lately. I think I rode 30-40 miles every day last week except Friday. I've done plenty of riding, but they've all just been "rides". One of the things I loved so much about mountain biking and hiking is that I didn't go out for a "ride" as much as I went out for an "experience". It's not impossible to have that on the road bike too, but it's way less likely. You have to work at it. I've really been missing that.

Our ride this past Saturday almost qualified though. Almost.

We planned to do 60 or 70 out on the Silk Sheets. On the phone John said "meet me where you did last time" which I mistakenly took for "meet me where we met the last time we rode together" - at PBR in Douglasville, from where you can do a 70 mile route out to the Silk Sheets and back, but what he meant, which seemed so obvious to me later, was "meet me where you did the last time we rode the Silk Sheets." So I sat in the parking lot of PBR for like 15 minutes before that occurred to me.

Ha!

I did eventually meet him at the correct location though and we got going right away.

It had been raining sporadically all over the metro ATL and though no water was currently falling from the sky, the roads were so wet that we had to ride staggered to keep from showering each other until we got south of Hutchensons Ferry.

Somewhere way south past the Roscoe store, there's a long, very gradual climb that John calls "Le Col de la Flint" because its in the Chattahoochee-Flint region, as opposed to the Chattahoochee Hills region. There's a little sign at the beginning that says something like that at least. So we charged up the Le Col de la Flint and it deposited us way out in the middle of nowhere.

Somewhere out there we passed through what was left of a little community along the railroad. There was a really old building called The Tin Gin that looked well preserved, a couple of old stone buildings and an old rock wall. Kathryn would have loved The Tin Gin. I'll have to find it again. Beyond that was a barren waste of a clear cut off to the right.

I guess the hills in the distance are around Rockmart or something. I didn't expect to see them, and I'll have to take a look on a map. There might be some good climbing over that way.

And that was it. Nothing but more woods for a long time.

Woods and ominous weather. We'd been watching a storm off to the right for most of the ride and it looked like we'd be riding into it eventually. It's one thing to get caught in the rain, but it's quite another to deliberately ride into it. Takes a little spirit.

We turned north and eventually back east toward home, and almost as soon as we did, rode into the rain. Fortunately it wasn't that bad, and it came on gradually. It never really poured.

We had to ride staggered though to keep out of the spray and the one car that passed us was a guy in an H3 who pulled alongside, screamed something incoherent about taking up a third of the lane, set off his traction control when he swerved back into our lane, and then continued to set it off as he accelerated around the curve ahead of us.

The next 10 miles were uneventful aside from getting pelted in the eyes by raindrops. "The goggles do nothing!" It was a bit like that.

We stopped in Roscoe for water and I took the opportunity to wash my gloves. Normally one tries to keep ones gloves dry, but they were already wet from the rain. I often take off my helmet, put my gloves and the stuff from of my pockets in it, and throw it on the floor of the garage. Though I wash my bib, socks and jersey, the gloves are often neglected, and as such, were absolutely disgusting and inviable for wiping rain from my face. They needed a bath, badly, as the grey water that drained from them attested.

Somewhere closer to home we saw some flares on the road, and coming around the curve, ran into a police officer directing traffic around a firetruck. He smiled at us. "Man, you guys are crazy." I guess it does seem a crazy to be riding a bike in the rain, miles from anywhere, to a normal person at least... Past the firetruck were some skid marks. A pickup had overcooked it in the curve, slid off of the road and down a near vertical embankment into some trees. The trees had crushed the cab and the wreck just looked unsurvivable. My first thought was of the guy in the H3 earlier, but it wasn't him. It was a green pickup.

Wet roads. We took it easy around the last curve on Cochrans Mill.

In the end, I think we ended up doing 65 rather than 70, but it was a good 65. More importantly, between the rain, sights, and eventualities, it was closer to "an experience" than just "a ride."

May I have more.

Douglasville

Man, I have been buried in a project, for as long as I can remember. Weeks go by and I'm like "What day is it again?"

Case in point, my brother and I rode around Douglasville two weekends ago and I'm just now realizing that I have photos on my phone from the ride.

We met up at PBR and rode out from there.

When I first started out on the road, I was on the Bicycle Outfitters MTB team and I'd religiously drive down from Alpharetta in 5 o-clock traffic to hit the 6PM group ride in Douglasville. There were 2 routes that we used to do, depending on how much daylight we had - a 30 and 50. I have so many good memories of those roads but It's been years and years since I've been on them.

We rode most of the 50 that day and it was like meeting up with an old friend.

Some things were different - there's a new neighborhood off of Mirror Lake road with a screaming descend down to the lake, John had found a better route from Liberty Road back toward town, and Coursey Lake has been developed. But some things were just the same. Mirror Lake road is still super rough and the hills on Liberty Road and Coursey Lake aren't any less steep. I may be a little stronger these days though. Just a bit.

Two very interesting things happened too.

We passed a baby deer nursing from its mother. I've seen precious few baby deer in my life, rarely any deer during the middle of the day, and to my knowledge, the only animals I'd ever seen nursing before were cows and humans. Awesome!

Also, we needed to merge into a left turn lane and though John signaled, with what appeared to be plenty of time, the guy behind us maybe thought John was telling him to move over or something. As John began to merge, the guy sped up, ended up right next to me, and came really close to John's back wheel before letting up. It sounds sketchy buy John was looking back the whole time and ready to dodge if he had to. Then he was all "Jesus man, hand signal not enough for you?!" or something to that effect. When I merged, the guy pulled up alongside me and rolled his window down. I expected threats and incoherent screaming but instead he was really calm and nice, explained that "the signal seemed a little quick" and caught him off guard, and was effusively apologetic for how close he came to us. Then he pulled up to John and reiterated the same. Wow! How often does that happen?

We eventually made it back to PBR, grabbed some lunch at Taco Mac and watched a little of the Copa do Mundo.

The one thing that stood out to me more than anything else though. The heat. It's getting to be nice and warm these days. It was 97 on that particular day and I could feel that fluttery stomach action for a lot of the ride. Most of my rides these days are in the evening when it's cool but it sure is warm in the middle of the day. Woohoo!

I need to get in some more of that.

Buckhead

My brother called me yesterday and invited me down to the ATL to ride with him and Baldwin. Sounded good to me. I've been spinning my legs out on the Silver Comet all week, but I haven't put in any real effort in a long time.

Mark had to take his daughter to swim lessons at 11 though, so we needed to meet him at his place, ready to ride, at 8AM. When my alarm went of at 6AM I got a little flashback from the MTB racing days - alert and awake, ready to execute. It was a good memory. Someday I'll make more. I hope.

Breakfast was a chocolate iced honey bun and a 20 oz Gatorade. More good memories there.

I got to the ATL earlier than I expected and took some surface streets to Mark's place rather than the highway. I sort-of know my way around downtown, but whenever I try to get from 10th street to Mark's place, I inevitably end up confounded by one-way streets, dead-ends, or streets that start off looking good but then curve off to the left or something. Today I figured it out though. Woohoo!

John and Mark value punctuality and we rolled out punctually.

I had no idea where we were going.

No idea at all.

Mark called the route "Buckhead" and it was marked with all these little B's with arrows hanging off of them. It was apparently the famed "Buckhead Bellyache" route. I'd heard of it long ago. It was alleged to tear riders' legs off. There was a murderous group ride out there that I never managed to make. I feared it.

Some of the hills were good work. I was feeling good though. Mark struggled here and there, but apparently the last time he'd been on a bike was that Dirty Sheets ride we'd done a few weeks back. Ha! Yeah, that would do it.

The ride took us through Buckhead and Vinings.

A truck put a really close pass on us over the Depot Humps. Whoo! Close indeed. We caught another rider at the top and then got split up by another truck heading down to the railroad tracks. Me and Mark had to pass the truck and regroup with John and the guy we caught before the truck would finally pass us all. It sounds contrived but it felt intuitive at the time.

We rode back across the the Hooch...

...back through Buckhead and eventually into Atlanta. Somewhere in there a minivan pulled out in front of us and John had to dodge it. I kind-of suspected that it might pull out and had time to get into the drops but John was still on his hoods and it was sketchy.

Easy miles! About 30 of them as it turned out. It didn't feel like 30 though. We took it just the right kind of easy. I'm not sure it counts as "any kind of real effort" but now I kind of feel like doing more rides like that.

I'm riding with Billy tomorrow. Ought to be another good ride, unless he puts the screws to me too hard. Lets hope that he doesn't.

Ascension Parish

This past Tuesday I drove down to South Louisiana to visit the family.

It had just been way too long. Skype is great and all, but it's a far cry from being face-to-face.

The drive down is long, 8 or 9 hours, but I spent that time with the windows down, radio cranked, singing at the top of my lungs, so I rather enjoyed it. It's fun watching the world change as you head south too. The hills flatten out. After a while you don't see any more rocks. The woods get denser. The rivers get wider. The lakes get bigger and bigger.

I rolled into New Orleans just before sunset.

...right before Randazzo's closed...

..just in time to score some chicken parm. They even let me stay a little past closing to finish eating. The guy that ran the place was great and chatty and the whole experience just made me happy.

I rolled into Gonzales just after dark and spent the next few days having all imaginable fun with the family.

Among the highlights:

Kicking the ball around the backyard for hours and hours.

Throwing the softball around the backyard for hours and hours.

Connect Four!

Taking the tiny, angry dog for a walk, hoping she will realize that I actually like her and attack me less. (It sort-of worked)

And, riding bikes in the neighborhood.

Sophie looks totally pro in those glasses. Iz has unfortunately, completely outgrown her bike and couldn't ride with us. Kathryn has gotten strong and fast enough that it's just fun to ride with her now. Woohoo!

I did go for a couple of solo road rides too.

The roads in Ascension Parish are either dead quiet or jam-packed. There is no in-between. Some of the busiest roads have only an inch or two of pavement to the right of the white line too. I imagine a breakdown would back traffic up for hours.

So on my first ride, I basically balance-beamed for miles on that aforementioned inch or two of blacktop, before eventually making it out to Geismar (Gize-mur) where everything was a lot quieter. The route just happened to take me right by the plant my Dad worked at when I was a kid and I recognized the entrance. Ha! I couldn't have planned it better if I'd known.

From there, I hung a left on the River Road and headed south.

Long stretches of the River Road are dotted with industry.

And long stretches are rural and desolate.

I didn't get to see the Mississippi at all, but I was within a few hundred yards of it for a long time. There's a gravel road on top of the levee that I might have seen the river from, but it was cordoned off with fences and no-trespassing signs.

No luck.

After heading south for an interminably long time, I started to wonder if I'd missed my turn. It was getting late and I didn't want to miss dinner so I turned back and nav'ed my way back by dubious recollection of the relative orientation of a few main roads and the sun. It was late in a summer day, so the sun was west-southwest of me, and I was generally southwest of home. No problem right?

My route home took me right by Ashland Plantation.

...and a good many more chemical plants.

It always seems weird to me to pass over or under an interstate on the bike.

Soon enough, I was home. No problem at all, as it turned out.

Looking at the map again later, I'd apparently failed to pay good attention to the scale. The route I'd planned out would have been like 120 miles if I'd ridden the whole thing. The roads out there are sparse and there are enormous tracts of private land between them. In Georgia, you could fit entire cities into tracts that size.

The next day I went out for another, less ambitious ride, basically just wandering around town.

Just down the street, there's a calf-roping farm. They buy cattle, keep them there while they're a good size for roping, then sell them to larger farms. They've got plenty of horses on the property too, and a small rodeo arena.

The cows are often lying down near the road, watching the cars go by. Sometimes they stick their head through the fence to eat the weeds on the other side too. I knew that the grass was greener on the other side of the fence. I guess it tastes better too.

I saw plenty of dem crawdad, or at least the mounds them dem crawdad make.

I mean, they were everywhere. I'd forgotten how prolific they can be. Later that day, Me and Kathryn and Iz ate some at Sammy's too.

Kathryn had pointed out this awesome fence earlier in the week and I rode by it too. It's made out of the fronts of old washers and dryers and dishwashers.

Ha!

There were also a bunch of awesome farms along some bayou that I failed to take photos of. For each one, you had to cross an old wooden bridge to get on to the property, and there were no fences along the front, except at the bridge. The animals were just hemmed in by the water itself. Giant live oaks shaded the road there too. I really should have taken some photos, but I guess I just found myself enjoying the moment too much.

That was it for the outdoor adventure.

Worth mentioning, but not really the point of the trip.

The drive back was less exciting than the drive down. I drove through New Orleans again...

..and had lunch at Semolinas which I thought had long gone out of business until I saw the sign from the highway.

Somewhere in Mississippi I stopped at this gas station.

It seems that if you travel certain routes often enough, you'll end up at the same gas stations over and over. I've been to this one before, long ago. I remembered the giant, not-especially-threatening-looking cheetah. It definitely looks excited, but that's not exactly a predator stare. Ha! Anyway that stood out on the trip back.

When I got home, I had a voicemail from Billy, asking about doing some easy miles on the Silver Comet. Yeah, I could go for that. I'll have to give him a call.

Dirty Sheets

My poor, neglected mountain bike...

I'm relegated to the roads these days, and though I've put an ungodly number miles on my road bike, my mountain bike has been lying in a dismembered heap in the corner of the garage. It cries when I walk by. Or maybe it's me crying.

Either way, something had to be done.

Down south of Douglasville, in general vicinity of Chattahoochee Hills, there's this set of roads called the Silk Sheets. I've ridden there a lot. Now and again, I've noticed dirt roads leading off to the left or right, but being on the road bike, and especially being on roads so smooth and luxurious that they're called The Silk Sheets, I had no interest in said dirt until recently.

A few weeks back I drove out there, applied my superior mapping skills and found more than 35 miles of dirt roads. It probably cost me $60 in gas, but I had a route, and I named it the Dirty Sheets.

John and I rode part of it on the road bikes a few weeks ago, but yesterday he and I and Mark B. rode the whole route. John's mountain bike is completely disassembled, waiting for a fork rebuild and a new spoke in the rear wheel, so he just put 28's on his road bike. Me and Baldwin were rocking the full-on fat tires.

The beginning of the route is road-heavy.

There are little scraps of dirt, but it's mostly pavement.

Then, when you turn off on Garretts Ferry, it gets good and rough, and stays that way.

It reminded me a lot of the Madison Dirt Ride we did a few months back, and it was a bit like the Huracans and CFiTTs I've done in years past. It would be good training for those kinds of rides, at least.

The roads seemed rougher and looser than when John and I last rode out there. It's funny what you forget. Not having been in the mountain bike in a while, I forgot how much gravel and little holes shake you around and work your core. It didn't wear me out, but I definitely feel it today.

The hills out there are mostly short and steep or really long and really shallow. A few start off steep though, wind around a corner, get shallower, but still keep climbing. Not knowing which were which, I kept punching through the steep sections, assuming the road would level off. Ha! Nope. It reminded me of climbing Buchannan Hwy a few weeks ago. Ugh.

John wasn't in love with the 28's either. They were boat anchors and the rear tire kept rubbing his cadence meter too. Before we got riding, he was talking about how strange his road bike felt with the tires and the little bit of extra gear he was carrying. Before I started doing any bikepacking, I'd really optimized the gear that I carried during an average ride. It was really light, consistent and predictable. I'd gotten really comfortable with that. When I started doing longer rides that required varying amounts of gear, or ride-specific gear, it really threw me. Around that time, I was watching Ice Road Truckers on TV too and I learned about how completely different each load that a trucker hauls can be, and about what they do to stay consistent and manage each load. It inspired me to start working on being able to do the same kind of thing, though to a substantially lesser degree, on the bike. He'd done that same kind of thing on the mountain bike, but hadn't really translated it to the road bike yet. It's definitely strange.

Some of the roads out on the route feel remote and others feel quite residential.

Or at least residential by rural standards.

There was an equestrian event going on off of one of the side roads. Plenty of signs, but we didn't get to see it.

I think we only passed one two other guys on bikes. One was an older guy on a hybrid, and the other guy appeared to be riding a bike because maybe he couldn't afford a car. It's just as well though. We might have gotten some confused looks from real roadies.

We stopped twice for water. Once off of Sardis Road and again near Hwy 92. Mark was down to half a bottle each time. I had only consumed half a bottle each time. Hmm... I've always seemed to need less water than most, but perhaps I would perform a little better if I drank a little more.

At the second stop, a guy driving around asked us if we knew how to get to Serenbe. John gave him directions. It's funny. I know where it is, but even with all the driving around and mapping, I still don't have a super-good mental picture of the area.

A lot of the roads on the second half of the route are dirt in the sense that they were once blacktop, but nobody has bothered to repave them in 20 years. When I drove them in the car, I didn't notice, but it's apparent on the bike. You can see little bits of the yellow center-line here and there, still hanging on.

All-in-all the ride was kind of uneventful. It was fun, but nothing crazy happened. There were no knocked out bridges, deep ruts, fords, large animals... I did see a rabbit and a turkey, but that was all. I miss the crazy sometimes. I guess that's the difference between road and trail, or maybe between roads in more vs. less civilized areas.

Hey, what are you gonna do though? We still had a good time. The route was fun, especially for a semi-local route. I suspect it would be equally fun on a road, cross or mountain bike - different challenges on each. So, go ride it. You go ride it now!