Tuesday, March 4

Crybaby Wah-Wah

For the second year in a row Jeff and I made an “early season” ride over to Owingsville to see A. D. Ruff's grave and back.  Last year in late February we did the ride, but I was getting over being sick and dragged.  This year I was not getting over being fat and dragged. 

Just want to clarify; we don’t make the pilgrimage because we deeply revere Ruff necessarily.  The roads between my house and Owingsville are some of my favorite, and it’s cool to have a distinct destination to shoot for.  Bonus if there’s a big pillar of granite with a bicycle wheel on top of it at the endpoint.  If I were of a more pagan persuasion I’d probably want to sacrifice a small dog (or better: cat) at the edifice, or at least do some kind of pagan moonlit fertility rite (with my wife of course, Jeff isn’t really my type) when no one’s looking.  But I digress…

It went much better on Saturday.  We didn't do the exact same route as last year, but rode some mighty fine roads. The weather was similar, but slightly better, and we were better prepared.

KY 213—aka, the Road of Death—was our route north beyond Jeffersonville.  We survived.  And once we crossed 460 at Jeffersonville the character of the ride changed drastically.  We continued out 213, stopping briefly at a chainsaw artist's place for Jeff to get the phone number, and rolled on to the base of Harper's Ridge.  It was a nice moderate climb up to Morgan Station, a stone house/historic site, and then we rode on out the ridge that seemed to go on and on and on.

I don't know how you're going to get that thing home!

Morgan Station, Harper's Ridge
I think we were trespassing.

If you’re looking for a quality road ride in Montgomery County that smells slightly of dog I would recommend Harper’s Ridge.  None of the local hounds seemed vicious.  They just dogged us energetically.  And from Harper’s (or to Harper’s if you prefer) you should also roll through Howard’s Mill and Preston.  The easily rolling terrain around both areas is scenic, fairly quiet, and enjoyable.

Jeff is wa-ay tastier than I am.

A word of warning, however: if you ride with Jeff, do everything you can to distract him from pawn shops, yard sales, flea markets and all suchlike. You’ll thank me for that bit of advice.

It was my own fault really.  I should have known better than to suggest a route that went within sight distance of any kind of secondhand peddler.  I’ve been down that route before.

Hey Chainring, do you think this planer will fit in my jersey pocket?

It’s sad to see a grown man shed tears because he’s going to have to pass on a good deal because he doesn’t have big enough pockets to carry all the loot home on his bike.  And I have a “no jersey cargo without due compensation” policy that is designed to negate any perceived savings on Jeff’s part.

I loitered out front of the pawn shop in Jeffersonville while Jeff browsed the router selection.  One of the employees followed him out with a bike.  I thought he was going to try and tow the GMC Denali (I’m serious) bike home with his sporty-sport bike, but I guess the guy just thought we’d be interested.  I doubt they’ll get a hundred bucks for it though.

As we turned out onto 460 headed for the dark side of Cane Creek Mountain I muttered to myself:

“Good lord, I’m dreading yard sale season!”

Jeff heard.

The blubbering that ensued was intolerable.  Later in the “season” I would have just dropped his crybaby bibs and then tear down Cane Creek Mountain for the fun of it, but I rolled over dejectedly and let him think he was dropping me up the stout climb back into the ancestral Powell County.

As if we didn't have enough obstacles...

Last weekend I “bonked” at 70 miles and called SAG.  Saturday I rode a solid 75 and felt pretty darn good when I got home.  And this time Jeff didn’t even have to keep a trail of food going out ahead of me to keep me ambulatory.

From a cycling perspective—that old Pavement’s Edge—things are looking up.  I don’t have to start dreading the next Yard Sale Tour just yet.  My bike legs might be coming back to me. 

No Jeff.  The planer will not fit in your jersey pocket.  You’ve already got a set of lawn darts and three tiki torches crammed in there.

Climbing out of Howard's Mill

Approaching Preston: "On your left!"

Looking back on Blevins Grocery, Preston, KY


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