Whenever I toss out an invitation, I wonder if anyone will show up. Sunday morning, short ride, competing with other choices. Maybe two or three people will join me. If not, I'll just ride alone.
Eleven?! Eleven people turned up, sharing a similar frame of mind: Sleep in, do a quick local ride, spend the rest of the day in other ways.
A fine group on a fine morning, happily chatting away, looking out for one another, content to wait for the last rider every time we regrouped. At the top of the first hill we were entertained by a horse and a billygoat. Apparently not intimidated by the horse looming over him, the goat bounded over to check us out only after a commanding neigh.
On our way to the second hill, I heard that a rider had flatted. She was capable, and assisted by two other riders, but I circled back so she knew that we were aware. They caught up to us just as we were about to head for our third, and final, climb.
The end of the pavement on Reynolds was our turn-around point. It's a somewhat tricky descent, with sharp turns and enough grade to pick up more speed than you need. Near the bottom of the hill, approaching the final bend, a set of curving skid marks terminated ominously at a patch of melted pavement.
The group splintered after Reynolds; some to add another climb, others to head directly home. Three were game to visit the farmers' market with me. We took a back route through town on a tip that the high school's marching band might be practicing, but we were out of luck.
Not too late for a treat, though. For me, a crêpe slathered with Nutella, filled with fresh strawberries, and dusted lightly with powdered sugar. [Mmm.] A fair trade for the morning's effort, climbing 1,880 feet over 19 miles.
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