Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Nice Now
Now that our bike trip is over, the weather has taken a turn for the better. While many rivers in the area continue to overflow, the sun has come out at home and my gear has started to dry out. Last week’s rainy bike trip was not a bust due to the weather but it was significantly affected by it. We usually find ways to cope with crappy conditions.
This wasn’t the first time we’ve dealt with putting up or taking down our tents while it was raining. Most locations offer shelters that allow bikers to mingle out of the rain at the end of a day of biking. Often, frivolity ensues.
One of the original three goals set forth by Jim Klobuchar –the founder of the ride– is to bring economic development to the local businesses. We don’t just ensconce ourselves at the schools where we camp.
I am particularly fond of finding and spending money at ice cream shops. Pizza restaurants also tend to get a lot of attention from my circle of fanatics.
One of the more entertaining things to happen while we were riding occurred on the day Rich and I were sweepers, which happened to be a day of wind instead of rain. The wind was very strong and mostly steady out of the south. Luckily, we were headed north for much of the route and west occasionally. The wind was either at our backs or across our shoulders… until the very end.
Rich recorded some video of me coasting past him at more than 23 miles per hour on one of the sections with the tailwind. Meanwhile, he kept reminding me we would eventually be turning right into the gales.
On a stretch of trail several miles before turning into the wind, Rich called out that his crank arm had come loose and detached from the bottom bracket. The pedal remained clipped to his shoe.
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We called the sag support driver to collect Rich and his bike and I set off to sweep the final distance of the route on my own. Somewhere around this point of the story, our versions of what happened diverge. Rich denies it, but I contend that he purposefully yanked that crank loose so he wouldn’t have to deal with that ferocious headwind at the end.
Our subsequent tellings of the drama that played out became increasingly more outlandish with every telling and frequently had me laughing so hard it was difficult to get my words out.
All I know is, my version meets the criteria for seeming most likely.
Finishing those last miles alone made me very pleased that I had decided to install the battery on my e-bike. Without any other rider support against that wind, I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the available power assist.
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Tour Complete
I’m home again and living under a solid roof for which I have a whole new level of appreciation. All the joys of tenting in nature are a great treasure, for sure, but after day upon day of wet conditions, it tends to lose a little of its luster.
As soon as I stopped my car in our driveway, I started dragging gear out to dry.
For those of you who may have been following along and watching the weather at each of our destinations, it should come as no surprise that precipitation dominated our activities to varying degrees for 6 of the 7 days. The visible difference in flooding of the Cannon River from the first day to our last was shocking. As we crossed the river on a concrete bridge near our last rest stop of the trip, we paused to watch large trees racing downstream.
One particular beast showed up with the root ball sticking out of the water on the left and very large limbs rising out of the water on the right as it rapidly flowed broadside toward us on the bridge. I regret that I wasn’t quick enough to get a picture because it was an incredible sight. The thought crossed my mind that we probably shouldn’t have been standing there as it slammed into the legs supporting the bridge with an impact we could feel. In an instant, the current forced the root ball end downstream and spun the full-sized tree in line with the flow and the tree scratched its way under and continued in the flow.
We hung around at that rest stop extra long while the mechanics rescued me from leaking tires.
That’s my bike on the stand being expertly repaired. (Steve: I thought my bike was “tubeless-ready,” but Joseph discovered it was plain old tubeless, much to my surprise. They had two new tires available and fixed me up since the old ones had too many tiny holes [and one mosquito-bite-looking bump.])
As they were finishing, Luther noticed the highway officials were closing the road at the bridge behind us. What a year for us to be riding around rivers that were overflowing so dramatically.
Despite the wetness, this year’s trip still offered up the most precious reward of all: meeting new people and horsing around with old friends. There was an uncharacteristic number of people dropping out early, partly due to the constant threat of storms, but for other reasons too. One pulled out because of a death in the family. Some suffered the consequences of their two bike wheels not remaining in contact with the ground at all times.
I’m pleased this year to be one of those who made it all the way to the end. I’m hoping to have inspired a few new readers, including the twins, Maggie and Kathleen, Tom from Atlanta and Kim in Winnipeg. A special shout-out goes to a pair of kindred spirits who I immediately fell in love with. I met them one at a time and in different memorable ways: CJ and Amy, I hope we might discover a way for you to come experience Wintervale in person someday.
I’ve explained to Cyndie that I have invited practically the entire tour over to see our place. The next best thing will probably be for them to read about it here.
No sooner than I had finished spreading all my stuff out in the partial sunlight, more rain started to fall again. I hustled to get it all into the garage.
It really doesn’t need to be said, but… the grass needs some serious mowing. Unfortunately, I may need to wait another day before starting on that project.
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Branches Pruned
When things go smoothly, I am generally surprised. In my experience, DIY projects commonly involve a fair amount of problem-solving. Not yesterday, for me. The only thing that didn’t go as planned was the surprise of a large branch falling on our driveway sometime while we were eating breakfast. Besides being rather shocking to find that unexpected mess on the driveway that was clean just an hour earlier, it was pretty funny because we were coming outside to trim branches in that same vicinity.
It seemed like it would be a simple process of cutting down a few branches in order to give Cyndie’s garden more sunlight.
However, things went so smoothly that a few branches soon became a lot more than a few.
I needed to get the ATV and trailer to haul three loads of branches away. That ended up being a breeze. Without complication, the Grizzly started easily, the trailer connection was painless, the ATV didn’t create a muddy mess anywhere, the branches were tossed onto brush piles without incident, and everything was put away just as the farrier finished trimming the horse’s hooves.
The airspace above the garden opened up nicely.
There was plenty of time left in the day to trim more fence lines and even mow grass on the back side of the barn before dinner.
With any luck, the ground will be dry enough to mow most of the rest of the property today. I’d love to finish it all since I leave for the bike trip tomorrow.
I wonder what other projects I’m forgetting to address before I go…
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Rain Chances
“Don’t worry about the future” is wise advice. “Live in the moment” is a great idea. However, in order to pack for a weeklong trip, I need to visualize how the future days might turn out. Will I need any warm clothes or not? Should I pack a raincoat? I need to put myself in that future place.
Well…
That forecast indicates my biking and camping future next week has a pretty consistent chance of being a wet one. I think I’ll want a raincoat.
Today and tomorrow I will strive to fully appreciate the comforts of home before setting off on an adventure against the elements on Saturday.
I wonder if it’s possible to ride a bike while holding an umbrella.
We received a fresh soaking of under a half-inch of rain yesterday, forcing me to delay mowing until today and tomorrow. I salvaged a tiny amount of the day by fence trimming for an hour before dinner. It felt a bit like “too little, too late” but it was better than nothing.
Our weather forecast for the next two days shows no sign of precipitation. I’ll be cutting grass wherever the turf supports the tractor tires enough to not leave mud streaks.
We’ve decided to try sawing branches from a maple tree shading Cyndie’s garden and then need to prepare the horses for a farrier appointment before noon so it looks to be a busy day on the ranch.
At least I shouldn’t need an umbrella. Yet…
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Reclaiming Fences
In addition to regaining the upper hand on our trails, I think I mentioned that I’ve worked some fence lines, too. Yesterday, after I got home from a successful morning of shopping, I strapped on the Stihl power trimmer and headed to the far side of the hay field to make the fence visible again.
I burned through two tanks of gas but probably haven’t reached the halfway point yet. It’s taking so long because we didn’t get after this earlier and now the grass is so tall and thick it takes twice as long to knock it all down.
The days to departure for my week of biking and tenting are dwindling faster than the amount of work I’d like to complete around the property can be achieved. I’m splitting my attention between tending to things outdoors and gathering my gear in the house to pack. Half attention to each goal tends to result in half-sized results for both.
It is what it is. In the end, time always wins. I’ll get done what I can and pack up and go when it is time to go.
As of last night, my weather app showed this forecast for Saturday through Thursday: an alternating percentage chance of storms or rain each day, 50%; 40%; 50%; 40%; 50%; 40%.
Oh, joy.
Like I’ve said, that’s why we call it adventure!
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Reclaiming Trails
Counting down the days until my next Tour of Minnesota adventure, I popped out for a 2-hour loop on local roads for a 25-mile bike ride yesterday morning. Picking a route with roads I’ve not ridden before, I found myself climbing a curvy road that rose skyward to such a degree I needed to walk my bike up a good portion of it. This had me wondering if I’d made a mistake in doing my Monday morning exercise routine before asking my legs to work so hard on a ride.
The highlight of this ride was discovering an old man seated on his walker on the side of the road a long way from any buildings. What caught my eye at first was a couple of fine-looking cats that seemed out of place in the middle of nowhere. As the road I was on ended at this crossroad, my mind was contemplating which direction I wanted to turn when I finally noticed Mr. Meyer facing to my left, looking oblivious to my arrival.
I offered a greeting and rolled up beside him to chat. The cats were his and followed him on his walks. He told me he was 93 and this was the spot where he turns around after resting for a spell. We had a wonderful visit until both of us felt a need to get moving again before stiffening up.
Limiting myself to just two hours of riding got me home in time to join Cyndie in tackling a few chores on the property. First, I pulled out the chainsaw and we removed recently tipped trees that were leaning precariously across two different trails. From there, I switched to the power trimmer to whack a trail from the jungle of overgrowth taking over while Cyndie used our ratcheted lopper to cut back encroaching trees and branches.
It is very rewarding to reclaim space from the relentless growth that overtakes our trails this time of year. It seems to get easier each time since what needs cutting is all new growth, not well-established thick-stemmed plants that foil the string trimmer.
I made my way through two tanks of gas in the trimmer, moving on to work along the back pasture fence line and around the footbridge over the drainage ditch before going as far as I could up one of the narrow internal trails.
We’ve barely covered a fraction of the trimming that needs to be done so this project will be ongoing for multiple days. We’d like to get all the fence lines cleared because the guy who cuts and bales our hay field is planning to come as soon as he gets all his own fields tended. It makes it easier for him to cut close if the fence is clearly visible.
That was plenty of exercise for one day. I may take advantage of the predicted rain due this morning to do a little shopping before departing for the Tour on Saturday. It’s time to pull out all my camping gear and take inventory. I haven’t used any of it since last year’s Tour. Hope I remember where I put everything.
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For Granted
My perspectives of our surroundings have shifted back in time due to my frequent visits of late to archives of local newspapers published in the 1860s/70s. When I pedal my bike past farms, I find myself thinking about the first family to start clearing that land and how the surroundings must have looked in their eyes.
While having breakfast beside the raging Cannon River last Thursday, I tried to imagine what impression that threatening-looking torrent would have presented to people in a time when there were no bridges.
It occurred to me how much I take for granted the ease with which we traverse rivers now.
Think about immigrants who found life so difficult where they lived that they would cross an ocean with what little they could carry seeking new opportunities. Somehow, they make their way across half the North American Continent to a frontier with little infrastructure and come to a river that looks like this one.
They’d already accomplished heroic feats to make it so far, I marvel over how anyone could maintain sanity in the face of each new challenge.
If I get hungry, I walk to our refrigerator or look in a cupboard for instant gratification. If the weather is bad, I close windows, shut doors, and adjust the comfort level on our thermostat.
For every gripe I come up with about modern life, there are innumerable conveniences I am taking for granted.
My big plans for getting in some hours on my bike and using our trimmers to reclaim our trails from overgrowth yesterday did not come to fruition. As the wind shoved my car all over the road on our way to a brunch date in Edina, I appreciated that I wasn’t trying to push my bike pedals into the gales. We returned home with plenty of time to tackle any morsel of the much-needed trimming.
I opted for a nap in my hammock instead. I’m not convinced my body isn’t still working on clearing out the remnants of viral invaders.
One thing I don’t take for granted is the luxury I enjoy in choosing how and when to work on our never-ending “to-do” list in maintaining our property and when I’d prefer to rest instead.
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Not True
Just because it is written, doesn’t make it true. When it comes to marketing literature, there seems to be no art to false claims anymore. How about an asterisk? Tricky wording?
No. Just make a bold claim and bury the details on page 29 of the owner’s manual.
Zero oil? Zero maintenance!?
I love my Greenworks electric equipment, all of the multiple tools. There are way more pluses than minuses. However, what product doesn’t have something users find annoying?
In the case of my riding mower, I would be doing it a disservice if I offered it zero maintenance. The grease nipples staring at me from the front wheels beg for attention. Less visible is the level check and drain plug for gearbox oil.
If one is thorough enough to make it to page 29 of the manual, the “Lubrication” information is perfunctory at best. They offer a rough diagram pointing to the drain plug on the left side of the mower. The level check knob is clearly visible looking from the rear.
A less inclined individual, such as myself, might not make the assumption that there is a separate drain and level check flipped around on the right side which is much less visible. Thank goodness for the helpful YouTuber who pointed this out.
I have now drained and replaced the 180 ml (x2) gearbox oil (OIL!) on the zero oil, zero maintenance riding mower.
Harrumph. The thing is, I still love the machine to death.
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Imagine That
Yesterday, I gave myself a day off from conditioning my body for long-distance cycling with a plan of riding this morning. Although it would be good practice for the upcoming Tour of Minnesota, during which we ride rain or shine, I did not have it in me to go out and get cold and wet while subjecting my bike to the abuse of rain riding.
I’ll wait for another (dryer) opportunity.
At least I finished mowing all but the wettest areas of grass yesterday afternoon before this latest dose of saturating precipitation.
It was rewarding to find the horses equitably sharing space under the overhang this morning as rain poured down. Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise to me but they were even positioned properly for their feed stations. That is not a common occurrence.
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A volunteer from This Old Horse asked if she could feed the horses yesterday afternoon. I was not completely astonished this morning to find where she dumped the manure in my compost area and had to double-check with Cyndie about who dumped it.
I tease Cyndie about her penchant for choosing the most inappropriate pile, which is what our volunteer did yesterday. The thing that I don’t understand about the choice, whenever there are no obvious piles for freshly dumped manure, is how they decide to pick the oldest, most composted, most ready to be removed for other uses pile from the five or six options.
The last thing I want is to have fresh manure mixed into it.
My response each time this happens: “Imagine that.”
I guess I have become more educated than I’d like to admit about what the differing stages of composting manure look like. Newer piles that are very actively “cooking” may be hard to tell apart but it seems to me the oldest pile that looks like the closest thing to dirt should be the last of the choices.
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More Miles
Not only did I get back on my bike for a second day in a row, yesterday I logged a new high for total miles in one outing. Sneaking out of the house a few minutes before 6 a.m., I drove down to Red Wing to ride the Cannon Valley Trail down to Cannon Falls and back.
The distance between the two cities is 20 miles so I knew I was biting off at least a 40-mile day, but I figured since it was all on a relatively flat paved trail, it wouldn’t be an extreme 40. Two other factors played in my favor: the return leg of the loop would be traveling with the flow of the Cannon River, so “downhill,” and the wind would be at my back.
The wildlife creatures were out in force and showed up almost everywhere I looked. There were so many bunny rabbits darting around the trail that I feared they would end up causing a crash. Who wants to run over a little bunny?
I saw a pheasant, a turkey, deer of all ages, a couple of eagles sharing carrion of some creature in tall grass with a flock of turkey vultures, snapping turtles digging holes for eggs right at the edge of the pavement, a red squirrel that crossed inches from my front wheel, and more rabbits than I have ever seen in my entire life.
When I got to Cannon Falls, I rolled up to the Veteran’s Memorial where I was able to pause and reflect on the significance of D-Day.
I found a bench in a park beside the river to eat a little breakfast I’d brought for the occasion. The Cannon River has risen well beyond its banks and was flowing with big energy.
After my short break at the halfway point, I was feeling pretty good and kicked it up a notch to celebrate the tailwind and the downslope. That lasted almost 10 miles before my body started tiring of the routine.
When your whole body gets tired of being on a bike, it becomes really hard to find a position that feels comfortable for more than a few minutes. At first, a new adjustment seems like just what I needed, but when it only lasts for a short time, the result is an endless rotation of standing up, sitting back farther on the saddle, moving hands to new hold on the bars, coasting, stretching, and looking for any distraction for my mind.
I got a kick out of the deer that was munching greenery at head height with its butt sticking out on the trail. I had a full broadside view of this big doe. I saw her turn toward me but then she just went back to eating as if I wasn’t there. I wondered if she might not have seen me or just didn’t recognize I was approaching.
She chomped a large bite of leaves and turned toward me again. This time her eyes grew wide and she froze like maybe I wouldn’t see her if she didn’t move. I had been coasting toward her at the same speed the whole time wondering how close she’d let me get, standing stiff with a garden salad of leaves sticking out of her snout.
At maybe ten yards and closing, she bolted up into the trees with her mouth still full. I hope I didn’t give her indigestion.
I made it back home by 11:00 and spent the afternoon leaving muddy tire tracks all over the place as I mowed with the riding mower. My legs were way too tired to walk behind the push-mower.
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Relative Something 