Until the other day, June had been rather gloomy: mostly gray, chilly and damp. I did a little bit of riding, mostly for some other purpose or another. The other day, however, seemed like a "breakout" day.
And Arielle, my Mercian Audax, knew it:
I had ridden her a bit this year, but Friday was her first long ride: up to Connecticut, where she frolicked in the fauna and took me up and down hills. I somehow managed to make wrong turns wherever I could (Perhaps I could blame her: I think she was feeling as adventurous as I was) and entered Connecticut by way of "The Ridge" on the north side of Greenwich. That is where you find all of those houses and horse farms you see in Architectural Digest and Vanity Fair spreads.
None of the climbs are long, but a few are steeper than you expect if you're not familiar with the area. And they are endless: No matter which way you turn, you have to go up a hill. And I was riding into the wind most of the way up from my place.
One nice thing about all of that climbing is that when I got to downtown Greenwich and did a little people-watching at the Veterans Memorial (where Arielle ensconsed herself among the flowers), the pear I brought with me tasted exceptionally sweet, and the bottle of water I bought (something Italian, with essences of cherry and dragonfruit) felt like a spring coursing through my body.
However, if I thought I'd taken all the wrong turns I was going to take that day, I was wrong. Instead of turning on to Glenville Road, I turned on to Lake Drive, where I saw the back end of all of those estates I saw from the front on my way in, and the front of all of the places I saw from the rear earlier in the day. Or so it seemed. Buclolic it is. And hilly.
When I came to an intersection that kind of-sort of looked familiar, I turned in the direction I thought was home. Instead, I found myself climbing more hills an by the time I finally realized where I was, I saw that I'd pedaled about the same distance (75 km) from the Ridge to my place--but in the opposite direction. I was just north of Mount Kisco.
So I rode until I came to railroad tracks and followed them until I ran out of sunscreen. By then, I think I'd gotten more sunlight than I'd seen all month! When I find myself tiring out on such sunny day, it usually is a result of the sun.
Then I hopped a train from Hawthorne back to Grand Central, without guilt: After all I'd ridden about 110 miles (170 km), against hills and wind.
That seemed to whet Arielle's appetite--and mine. So, yesterday, we took a "recovery" ride--120 mostly flat kilometers to Point Lookout, with a bit of a ramble along the South Shore.
I got more sun. And Arielle got to work on her tan.
And Arielle, my Mercian Audax, knew it:
I had ridden her a bit this year, but Friday was her first long ride: up to Connecticut, where she frolicked in the fauna and took me up and down hills. I somehow managed to make wrong turns wherever I could (Perhaps I could blame her: I think she was feeling as adventurous as I was) and entered Connecticut by way of "The Ridge" on the north side of Greenwich. That is where you find all of those houses and horse farms you see in Architectural Digest and Vanity Fair spreads.
None of the climbs are long, but a few are steeper than you expect if you're not familiar with the area. And they are endless: No matter which way you turn, you have to go up a hill. And I was riding into the wind most of the way up from my place.
One nice thing about all of that climbing is that when I got to downtown Greenwich and did a little people-watching at the Veterans Memorial (where Arielle ensconsed herself among the flowers), the pear I brought with me tasted exceptionally sweet, and the bottle of water I bought (something Italian, with essences of cherry and dragonfruit) felt like a spring coursing through my body.
However, if I thought I'd taken all the wrong turns I was going to take that day, I was wrong. Instead of turning on to Glenville Road, I turned on to Lake Drive, where I saw the back end of all of those estates I saw from the front on my way in, and the front of all of the places I saw from the rear earlier in the day. Or so it seemed. Buclolic it is. And hilly.
When I came to an intersection that kind of-sort of looked familiar, I turned in the direction I thought was home. Instead, I found myself climbing more hills an by the time I finally realized where I was, I saw that I'd pedaled about the same distance (75 km) from the Ridge to my place--but in the opposite direction. I was just north of Mount Kisco.
So I rode until I came to railroad tracks and followed them until I ran out of sunscreen. By then, I think I'd gotten more sunlight than I'd seen all month! When I find myself tiring out on such sunny day, it usually is a result of the sun.
Then I hopped a train from Hawthorne back to Grand Central, without guilt: After all I'd ridden about 110 miles (170 km), against hills and wind.
That seemed to whet Arielle's appetite--and mine. So, yesterday, we took a "recovery" ride--120 mostly flat kilometers to Point Lookout, with a bit of a ramble along the South Shore.
I got more sun. And Arielle got to work on her tan.
Poor Arielle! Baking her in the sun without providing proper sunscreen could be grounds for child, er, bike abuse. I sure hope she escaped without getting blisters.
ReplyDeleteMT--I checked for blisters and couldn't find any. But I'll be more careful next time I let her spend so much time in the sun. She is English, after all! ;-)
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