What Would Duane Do?

Saturday morning in Massachusetts held the promise of humidity and heat as I searched for the trail head of the Cape Cod Rail Trail, a paved 25 mile railroad conversion.  Poor planning had brought me to the Cape on the Fourth of July weekend, and traffic was a nightmare.  It appeared as if everyone from the city was now headed to the beach.  Being safety conscious, I changed my plans from a road ride to riding on the trail. Little did I know that the traffic on the trail would rival any found on the road.

Eager and anxious to ride before the day's heat became intolerable, I found myself growing increasingly impatient with the stop and go traffic, as it was mostly stopped....in other words, road rage was beginning to develop.  I felt it in the pit of my stomach, slowly bubbling up as traffic crawled, then abruptly halted as someone tried to make a left hand turn against the long stream of oncoming traffic. My right hand moving reflexively to the horn.

{{Sigh}}  "Calm down, " I told myself, "the trail will still be there when I arrive....enjoy the moment, find the positive....I will never pass this way again, nor will I ever live this moment again.  Do I really want to live it in a haze of anger and frustration?"


....My hand eased off the horn and hid in my lap until I found the trailhead and claimed the last parking spot. The place was packed and it wasn't even 9 AM yet!

Unloading quickly, filling water bottles and slathering on 70+ sunscreen, I was ready to ride in record time. Wanting to get verification about the trail, I rode over to two women, who appeared to have just come off the trail.  Meet Audrey and Lisa from Rhode Island; they were friendly, confident and a great source of information.  Taking in their advice and information, giving them hugs, just because it felt right,  I  was soon on my way.

Pedaling at a brisk pace, I was enjoying the rush of the ride, when my phone did it's little 'de-de-de-de-de" scale run, alerting me to a new text message. Normally, I wouldn't read it until I stopped for a break, but today, for some reason, I read it immediately.

It was from a friend of mine, Mark, with whom I ride. He texted that a serious accident had occurred during the Saturday morning bike club ride that I typically ride when I am home. My stomach flew to my mouth. Fingers flying, I returned the text....... "what did serious mean.....who was it...what happened?" 


As is typical in these situations, the details trickled in...each one carrying worse information than the previous. The downed rider was Duane....a strong and skilled cyclist, who has promoted the sport, embraced and looked after the newbies and was an icon in addressing safe cycling.  It seemed unfathomable that he was involved in the accident. Another rider had gone down in front of him, and Duane was catapulted over top of him, landing on his head. It happened so quickly, he never had time to even react.  Duane would not recover from his injuries.

I stood on the edge of the trail, straddling my bike on a bridge overlooking a tranquil pond as I received the news.  Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the sweat.

The biking community is a tight one; the love for the sport binds us, creating a camaraderie unlike one I have ever known. We are a family.  Though I did not know Duane well, I had ridden with him on several occasions. A strong, proficient cyclist, he took care of those with whom he rode. He would block the wind for me when he saw my strength failing, give me pointers on being more efficient or  shout some words of encouragement as he passed me on a hill.  He was like that for everyone; he was a big brother.  He embraced life and lived it on his terms.

Part of me wanted to turn around and quit my ride, but a voice in my head said 'What would Duane do?"  Duane, of course, would have said  "Ride your ride and enjoy the moment!"  and I did...riding it for Duane.

The line between life and death is so fragile....so tenuous....  it is imperative to live each moment to its fullest; whether momentous or seemingly unimportant, savor it.  Savor each breath, the taste of your coffee, the warmth of the sun, the pinch of your new shoes. Savor your relationships, savor the love, savor the fights.....drink in where you are in that moment because the next may not come.... don't wait.  Live your life today, whether it is riding a bike across the country or standing in line at the grocery store, live your life and give gratitude for that moment.  Find the beauty and revel in it. Live passionately; live deeply.

That's what Duane would do.

Rest in peace, my friend.  Thank you for the final lesson.

The Road I Rode in Rhode Island

I have to say that despite the high population density of the area, it is nice to be able to drive from one state to the next in 45 minutes.  In Texas, that wouldn't even get me from Dallas to Ft. Worth!

After the frustrations experienced in Connecticut, I was glad to get in my car and depart.  I can't say that I was sorry to leave.  Roads were clogged with holiday traffic as I made my way to Rhode Island. causing me to worry a bit about finding a place to stay.  Additionally, I planned to visit and stay in ritzy Newport; I had heard so much about this old and well-heeled town that I wanted to spend some time exploring it.  I did NOT have a reservation, but if it came down to it, I would camp.

Now, my idea of camping is opening the back of my SUV, pitching a tent over the tailgate and putting the bikes in a pup tent. They could spend the night on the ground, not me.  With dark rain clouds lurking on the horizon, camping was not an ideal option.  However, this was the consequence of not adhering to the PPPPPP theory, so I'd camp if I must.

Driving to the campground that Manny (from New Jersey) suggested, I passed a motel....yes, I said motel.....with a red vacancy sign flashing.  I stopped to check it out; after inspecting the room, which was old and worn, but sufficiently clean, I decided to stay. Upon exiting the motel office, I happened upon a tatted woman/child bouncing a baby on her knee; the baby had more teeth than she did....  She said she lived there all summer and it was 'real nice.'  Hmmmm......   If the cost reflected that proclamation, I would have been inclined to agree; I guess everyone has their own definition of  'real nice'. Expensive for what it was, I would be grateful for a roof over my head if the weather produced the storm the skies advertised.

A ride down into town offered an explanation for the exorbitant price for the motel room; the Tall Ships Festival was taking place.  I have to be honest....I wasn't sure what a Tall Ship was, but a ride around the wharves offered an explanation.  The ships were beautiful; the area was teaming with tourist.

The houses there....oh my!  They were all so old--1700's and preserved beautifully.  The looked like they could have been built yesterday.  It was such a treat to admire them, and so humbling to 'feel' their history.

I will add, here, that many of the big estates and summer homes were for sale.  Estate after estate had "For Sale' signs posted in their yards.  Surely as sign of the times.....

The next morning's ride was fairly uneventful, so I won't spend much time on it.  It was hot and humid, as usual. And, as usual, I got lost.

I don't know why I am so directionally challenged, especially with all the electronic aid I have.  I just can't seem to go the right way!  If the map says, left, I always turn the wrong direction........(that would be right, which isn't right).  I just don't get it, and probably never will.

I was sitting at an old Grist Mill, that had been converted into a coffee shop, trying to figure out where I was and the route back, sweat pouring off me as it was another sweltering and humid day.  A motor scooter pulled up, ferrying a mother and her daughter.  They were kind enough to give me verbal directions, also adding 'don't turn here, don't turn there.'  After a long and pleasant visit, I was off and they went into the Mill for refreshment.  I had pedaled 10 miles or so, up some steep hills, when I realized I wasn't seeing the things they said I should pass.  Stopping, I was consulting my Garmin when I heard the 'putt-putt-putt' of an under-powered motor bike.  Turning, there they were, Frappucinos in hand.   My saviors...... they were checking on me, suspecting that I would miss the turn.  Laughing, they redirected me, leaving their phone number.....just in case.  I made it back to my start point, with no further detours.

I will leave you with pictures..........other than my constant 'detours', this was an uneventful, though beautiful ride.

Buzzer at the clam house where I ate a massive mound of fried clams....cute, huh!

Wait for it......

Geese, not ducks.....To-mae-to, to-maa-to...

Fields and fields of breathtaking hydrangea

A real well!

The ocean....knew it was there, somewhere

Proof that I did find the ocean~

Waving proudly.....

Can't in Connecticut

'Can't' isn't in my vocabulary.  'Challenged'....yes, but not the word 'can't'.  In Connecticut, however, the phrase "I can't" seems to be part of the venacular.

Checking into a national chain hotel, I requested the room rate shown online, which was $30 cheaper than the rate the young lady was quoting me.  Showing her the rate on the small Iphone screen, she shrugged her shoulders, smacked her gum and said,

"I can't".

"But it is published right there."  I countered.

"I don't care.  I can't do it."  she sniveled, cracking her gum again.

Now, it wasn't so much that I couldn't get the lower rate that irked me, but her apathetic, "I can't"  attitude. After such gracious hosts the last several days, this smacked me in the face like a wet tuna.  It stank!

"Well,"  I said, trying to enroll her to help me, "How do we go about getting this rate?  Surely others have come in using this site with this rate.  What can we do to make this work?"

"I don't know. I can't do it",  she answered, never looking up from  her computer screen.

"Is there anyone here that can?"  I queried.

"No."

"Ok.  Do you have availability for tonight?"

"Oh, yes.  There aren't too many people staying here tonight."

Hmmmm......

"If you have empty rooms, does it make sense to rent me a room at this price rather than letting it stand empty?"

"No....I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's not in the computer."

"Ok, thank you."  I replied, and left.

Out in my car, I fired up my netbook, and jumped on the internet.  Finding the booking site, I made a reservation, closed the computer, then re-entered the hotel.  After a brief wait, the same girl, smacking the same gum, emerged from the back office and took her position in front of the computer screen.

"I have a reservation,"  I said, handing her my drivers licence.

Consulting the computer screen, she checked me in....at the lower rate.

"Enjoy your stay," she said handing me the keys as if our previous conversation had never transpired.

After stowing my gear, I went next door to a restaurant. Ordering, I requested that the french fries be substituted with broccoli, which was also on the menu.

"I can't,"  answered the young waiter, "It comes with french fries."

{{Sigh}}

Not wanting to go through the whole "I can't' thing again, I took the french fries.

Early the next morning, I parked far out in an almost vacant strip shopping center parking lot.  As I was preparing to ride, someone walking by came over.  I greeted him with a friendly "Good Morning", to which he replied "You can't park there."   Not wishing to argue, I moved across the street, parking in an equally empty shopping center lot.

Once on the road, I enjoyed the sights and sounds of the area. Surprised to discover that tobacco was a big crop, I watched the migrant workers toil under the hot sun while teenagers splashed in a pool next to the fields.  I wondered if the workers felt any resentment.  I also wondered if any of them fell out of the transport vehicle, which was a school bus that had the all of its sides removed and rows of benches fastened to to the floor.  I suspect it was hidden somewhere when OSHA came to inspect.

Powering up a steep hill on a somewhat busy road, I shifted wrong and dropped my chain.  Unable to get it to catch while still riding, I stopped, moved off the road and into the edge of a yard.  I had done a good job of jamming it, and was diligently working to fix it, sweat pouring down my face, when I felt someone's presence.

Turning around, a middle-aged man, drinking a Coke, was observing me.

"You can't do that here", he said, pointing at my bike with his Coke can and walked away. There was no explanation....just that word again...."can't".   I watched him retreat, finished setting the chain and left.  I was starting to feel as if someone was pranking me.....

Hot and tired, I stopped about 35 miles into the ride at a convenience store.  A cold drink sounded very refreshing! In fact, a Slurpee sounded even better!  Filling a small cup full of Wild Cherry Slurpee, I went to the register and pulled out $2 to pay for the $1.50 charge.  Sucking on the straw, the cold, sweet fluid tasted like Ambrosia, instantly bringing down my body temperature.  MMMM--it was good!   Wincing from the brain freeze that also instantly hit me, I put money down on the counter.

"I can't take that,"  said the older lady at the register.

I looked at her expectantly, thinking she was going to show mercy on me and just give it to me. but she continued to explain:

"The computer is down and I can't ring you up."

Oh..........

"I've already had some of it."  I acknowledged.
"I can't ring you up."
"Then, what if I just gave you the money, and you keep the change?",  I offered.
"I can't"
"Then, may I just have it?  I've already started drinking it.", I pleaded hopefully.
"No, you can't.  I can't ring you up"
"Then, what should I do?",  I asked, drawing more of the wonderful coldness through the straw.
"I don't know.  I can't ring you up."
"Well, here, let me leave my money, and ring it when you're up and running again.", I again offered.
"I can't"

Now, a local man in line behind me was listening to this Abbott and Costello exchange.  Stepping forward, he intervened....

"Look, Betty, just let her have it and I'll pay for it the next time I am in."
"I can't"

He tried to convince her for several more minutes, but to no avail.  Finally, he said
"You've got to be able to do something.  She's already started drinking it....let one of us leave some money."
"I can't ring it up.", the woman again said, then turned an got a smaller cup, "but she can put it in this and drink it. I won't charge her."

Bewildered at this 5 minute ordeal, I accepted the small cup, poured the remaining Slurpee into it and thanked both of them.  The gentleman then put his purchases down and pulled money out to pay.

"I can't." , the woman began again, getting quite agitated.

He and I just looked at each other, chuckling at the insanity of it.

I still shake my head at that whole exchange.....it's one of those things that make me go "hmmmm".

I heard the word 'can't used so much during my brief stay in Connecticut, that I wonder if the nearby University of Connecticut, also known as UConn, shouldn't be called UCan't instead.

Sorry..no pictures.  My camera broke.....I think it had a case of the "I can'ts".

The Big Bang Theory.......New Jersey

I entered New Jersey with a host of assumptions about its residents, based primarily on hearsay of that wonderfully educational show, "Jersey Shore".  I expected a rude, self-centered population; when my Warmshower hosts called, cancelling my stay with them so they could attend a party, I was not surprised. It aligned with this perception. 

As the sun set, I found myself looking, unexpectedly, for a place to sleep. On this hot holiday weekend, I had little hope of finding a hotel that:

• had availability 
• was not outrageously expensive
• was clean.  

I was an hour from New York City, 40 miles from Brooklyn and 30 minutes from Staten Island......that close to the city, I was concerned.  Pulling out my trusty Iphone app, I repeated the process I had gone through two days earlier....letting the Hotels.com app guide me to the perfect place at the perfect price.  Call after call confirmed my fears; hotels were full and they were expensive.

Continuing to drive towards the start point of the morning's ride, I passed a posh-looking, independent hotel in a small, but obviously wealthy community.  With nothing to lose, I stopped.  Travelling comfortably, I was not exactly presentable; donned  in a tshirt, (that might have had Cheeto crumbs clinging to it), gym shorts and that ever-present blue baseball hat, I would have fit in better at the Texas State fair, where fried Twinkies are considered a delicacy.  By all appearances,  this was a hoity-toity establishment, filled with wonderful antiques, and feeling very much like an  'old money' institution. Expecting the worst, I approached the well-groomed older gentleman behind the mahogany reception desk.  I truly anticipated a snooty, condescending attitude, with a price tag on the room to match.  I got neither!

**BANG**  Assumption number one shattered!

The place was inexpensive and the man was very cordial. When he told me he did not have laundry facilities onsite, he offered to wash my dirty, smelly bike clothes in the hotel's commercial machines, suggesting I grab something to eat while he did so.  At one time, this would have mortified me, but I accepted his offer with great appreciation, warning him of the unpleasantness of the laundry bag's contents.  Unruffled, he took the bag, and sent me to a nearby restaurant. Upon my return, the laundry was done and neatly folded.  Wow!

Ensconced in my very fine room,  I attempted for the second time that day to contact the ride leader of tomorrow's ride.  I had arranged to ride with a local bike club's, the Central Jersey Bicycle Club, Fourth  of July century (100 miles) ride. Other than an email from Manny weeks earlier, acknowledging my request to ride with them, I had heard nothing from him.  Receiving no answer, I left another message,  assuming I was being stood up and on my own tomorrow.

**BANG**  Assumption number two shattered!

With in minutes, he returned my call, welcoming me to New Jersey, confirming that he was expecting me and gave details of the morning's ride...... 7 am, rain or shine, at the Brookdale Community College, Lot 7.  He even had a support vehicle and SAG spots set up.

Morning arrived with black clouds hanging ominously in the pinkish-red morning sky.

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight; 
red sky in the morning, sailor take warning."

Heeding this warning, I packed my rain gear and headed out.  Gentle droplets bounced benignly off the windshield as I made my way to the start point. Upon arriving, others were already dressed and ready to ride in the rain. In the half hour that followed, the sun played hide and seek and we, in turn, put our rain jackets on, then took them off; it was just to hot and humid to leave them on if it wasn't raining.  Introductions made, I was welcomed into the group as if I had always been a member.  Then we were off.

Riding abilities varied widely and I soon found myself riding with the front runners.   Knowing I was only riding half of the century, I could afford to pick up my pace. Being New Jersey, I expected heavy traffic and a densely populated urban area.

**BANG**  Assumption number three shattered!

Most of the ride took us through small towns, past cornfields and by enormously large horse farms and homes.  The pavement, though wet, was smooth and traffic this early was still sparse.  At one point, the skies opened and dumped rain on us as though a pipe had broken.  Very warm at that point, no one bothered to don rain jackets, reveling instead in the wonderfully cooling bath.  

"Raindrops keep fallin' on my head...."

I rode with Marianne and Chris.  Marianne is a scientist for a big pharmaceutical company and is training for an Ironman.  Chris is from Kenya and relatively new to cycling.  Both are very strong riders.  My suspicions that they were lowering their pace for me were confirmed at the 25 mile SAG stop.  Knowing that I was returning, they planned the remainder of their ride....

Chris:  "I'm ready to pump this up a bit"  (in his accent twinged English)

Marianne: "I am, too.  What did you have in mind?"

Chris: "Why don't we average 20 mph and take turns pulling."

Marianne:  "Sounds good to me."

**BANG**  Assumption number four shattered!

HA!  I actually thought I was 'hanging' with these two super athletes....that'll teach me to give myself high fives!

Chris, from Kenya

Marianne, the Ironman

Despite numerous request to continue the ride and stay for lunch, I had to say good-bye to all my new friends from the bike club. I needed to complete my mileage, then head on to the next state, Connecticut.  

As they refueled their bodies, I thanked them for the wonderful ride and fellowship, then departed. Waving good-bye, I knew they were the true representatives of aptly named New Jersey....the Garden State.  

**BANG BANG BANG BANG**

Because, after all,  it is the Fourth of July....

Central New Jersey Bicycle Club, and one happy Texan

SAG stop at mile 25

This ambitious soul is riding all 100 miles on her elliptical cycle!

Horse farms galore.  Big money!! (Bad pic, sorry)

This house needs a haircut.....

Pretty lakes

More horse farms.

 These stores made me laugh.....do you think they are 7-11 knock offs!

"Some Beach"..........Delaware

A sharp rapping on the window awakened me from what felt like a drug induced slumber. More rapping, then

"Hey Lady, lady.....are you all right?"  came a disembodied voice.

Tugging my ever present blue ball cap back into place, I bolted upright in the drivers seat, and was greeted with a concerned face peering in at me.  Sheepishly, I rolled down the window.  Standing there was a buxom, red-faced woman, with four young children, who stared wide-eyed at me with undisguised interest.

"Yes," I replied, "Just catching forty winks.  Thanks for asking!"


"Well, ok, "  she returned, "You had me worried!  A woman shouldn't be out here all alone, sleeping in the car. Somethin' bad might happen!"

Thanking her and acknowledging her concern, she nodded at me gravely, gathered her offspring and continued on her way.

Yes, indeed, something bad could have happened, but fatigue had overwhelmed me, and I had to stop.  I had to stop to take a power nap, for as I drove from Cumberland, I could not fight the drooping eyes and nodding head that were stronger than my will to remain awake. Knowing that lack of food contributed to this state, I stopped for nourishment at Subway, but it hadn't helped. I needed to sleep. So sleep I did, in the parking lot of a Bob Evans restaurant--just a short, 20 minute power nap. But it was enough....enough to rejuvenate me and also raise the concern of an unknown stranger.

The pace and energy required for this trip has taken me by surprise.  Riding three or four hours in brutal heat and humidity, then packing the car, driving 200 to 400 miles, followed by unpacking, doing laundry, caring for my 'riding wounds' (a painful task), working on my bike, reviewing my route and preparing for the next day's ride was taking its toll.  I was tired and my body was letting me know it.  This was, yet again, another reminder for me to slow down....to shift my focus from my goals to enjoying the journey...and to take care of myself.

By early evening, I arrived at the home of my Warmshowers hosts, Ina and Ronnie, in Delaware.  With great warmth, Ina welcomed me, offering food, company and a big glass of ice water.  Sheepishly, I had to tell her I had already eaten when she offered me a locally renowned treat, a big Italian sub from their store, Yoder's Country Store.  A short while later, her husband, Ronnie came home and we settled comfortably in the living room to chat.  The evening turned to night as the three of us visited, sharing stories like long lost friends, finally retiring in the wee hours of the night......11 pm for this old timer.

The next morning, dressed and ready to ride, Ina and I picked up where we had stopped the night before. Eating the large and delicious breakfast Ina had prepared,  we engaged in lively conversation and exploration of their life and beliefs as Mennonites.  From this exchange, I learned much about their religion and was surprised to learn that the Amish are an off shoot of the Mennonites. To our mutual delight, we discovered we both hail from the same part of Ohio and knew many of the same places.

Appetite satiated, I soon left to ride, albeit much later than planned.  However, after yesterday's lesson, I savored the time spent in such pleasurable and interesting company rather than fretting about staying on a time schedule.

Turning left out of the driveway, I headed towards the Atlantic Ocean.  Except for the flatness and sandiness of the land, nothing indicated its close proximity.  Fueled with good food, I shot down the road, travelling at a 20 mph average, enjoying the sun on my face and the wind at my back.  I flew past some interesting yard art, then backtracked to take a closer look....life sized sculptures made entirely from horseshoes.

Ralph

The artist was puttering in his yard, weeding the flower beds.  Asking his permission to photograph his work, he bashfully agreed.  Shy he may have been, but he was soon talking openly in a soft voice, telling me about the sculptures and why he was tending to the flowers.  The flowers were his wife's passion; she had passed away during the winter.  He lovingly cared for them as she would have.  How he missed her, reminiscing about the time they had spent together creating their country paradise.  As the sun climbed higher into the sky, and temperatures rose, I listened with open heart as he poured his sadness and loneliness out to me, a passing stranger.  (Ina--if you read this, please go visit him).

Once on the road again, I thought of Ralph, hoping that time would heal his heart....recognizing what a gift he had been given to have found the love of his life, and what a gift she had received to have been so cherished.

With the sun straight up, a shadow passed over me. Above was a sea gull, flying in the same direction as I was riding.  Stepping from my contemplative state, I became aware of my surroundings.  The air had that unique tang found only near salt water and smelling sweet, like clams.  Farmland full of corn still claimed the left side of the road, but the right side was a swampy wonderland, filled with plethora of plants and wildlife. Turtles and snakes basked on stony protrusions, as herons and storks stabbed their long, sharp beaks into the water at some unseen prey.  Kingfishers darted out of the sky, bombarding the water in unsynchronized  hunting.  Black flies swarmed, flying in a cloud of chaos, interrupted only by the hunting acrobatics of a handful of swallows.  Cattails swayed, and large leafed water lilies floated tranquilly on the murky black surface, giving the frogs a gentle ride. In the far distance, I could see a huge nest in the top of a dead tree.  I would like to think it was that of a bald eagle, but given the number of heron and storks, it was most likely one of theirs.  The swamp, a wildlife nature preserve, extended for as far as I could see.  I wondered vaguely, how one side of the 'highway' could be the host for corn, while the other was this wild and wonderful world of marine life.  (Prime Hook National Wildlife Preserve)

(courtesy of delawaretoday.com)

(courtesy of coastalnewstoday.com)

(courtesy of Wikipedia.com)

Approaching a T in the road, I was presented with a long row of houses, travelling down the far side of the intersecting street; there seemed to be no end to them.  I also heard the unmistakable sound of waves as they came into contact with land.  I had reached the ocean! Now...how do I get there?  It appeared that all the beach access points were on private property.  In fact, I couldn't even see the ocean, though I knew it lay directly behind those homes!  Not to be deterred, I pedaled up and down the road until I found a public access....but, my oh my, what a name: Slaughter Beach!

Prickly pear cactus.

Walking awkwardly on the heels of my bike shoes to avoid getting sand into the clips, my legs began to sting as sweat trickled into the slashes made by the razor sharp grass that stood between me and the beach. As I balanced precariously over large colonies of prickly pear cactus, (cactus on the beach???  Who would have guessed!), I swatted away vicious and voraciously hungry black flies that thought I was a walking smorgasbord. Beginning to sport large welts and cuts on all exposed areas, I decided I had seen enough of the beach.  Time to leave.

This morning, Ina had suggested that I ride a different route than the one I had planned; the roads on which I had chosen to ride were very busy.  She offered some suggestions, then gave me a county map.  Today, I was flying by the seat of my pants.  Since I always get lost anyway, this method might actually be easier and more worryfree!

Leaving Slaughter Beach, I headed north, following the coastline.  It was a pretty and uneventful ride.  Entering Milford, I discovered a lovely old seaside town, complete with old architecture and aged cemeteries. As I explored it, I failed to pay attention to the road surface, and ran straight through a pile of broken glass.  Upon examination of my tires, which were unscathed, I noticed that something didn't look right with my rear wheel.  Not sure if it was supposed to be like this, I returned to a bike shop I had passed earlier. Lucky for me, the owner called himself "The Tire Doctor'.  He looked at it and gave me the thumbs up....all was well.  As we chatted,  he told me he was in Houston last year for the Senior Olympics; he had placed 11th for his age group in cycling!  He was in his 70's; I would have guessed early to mid-sixties had he asked. To me, that is just more proof that cycling, or any exercise, is the key to the fountain of youth!

Jack Sheaffer, 11th place, Sr Olympics 2011

Does anyone know what kind of architecture this is?  There were many buildings constructed this way.

Finally leaving the shop, it was past noon. I needed to be getting back; I had at least 25 miles of riding to do so.  The wind had picked up considerably, and the lovely tailwind from this morning was now a headwind.  With the temperatures hovering around 98 and the humidity high enough to create condensation on the shop windows, I knew I was in for a challenge.  After half an hour of hard riding, I was surrounded by fields of corn being irrigated.  Large sprays of water overshot the corn and landed on the road....  Overheated and dripping with sweat; I decided to take advantage of this watering maladjustment and cool myself.  AAAAHHHH....did that drenching ever feel good!

Wait for it....wait for it....aaahhhhhhh

Two hours later, I was lost and still riding.  It's obvious I would never be mistaken for Sacagawea; Lewis and Clark would still be out there if I were.  

Out of water, I stopped at someone's home to ask if I could get water from their hose.  No one was home; I went around to their backyard to fill my bottles anyway and discovered a beautiful coy pond full of fish!  What a tranquil spot!

Can fish be spoiled?  As soon as I walked to the edge of the pond, they began begging.

Bottles filled and refreshed after drinking some of the cold hose water, I was ready to finish this ride.  Tired and hot, I forsook the scenic route, riding instead the most direct one--straight down the shoulder of the highway.  It was loud: it was busy:it was less than optimal, but it got me back more quickly than the zigging-zagging country lanes.

Back at last, I took a quick shower, stripped the bed, putting the dirty linens in the laundry room, gave Ina a big hug and thank you, then hit the road for New Jersey. But, first, on the way out of town, I stopped at Yoder's Country Store to say good-by to Ronnie and get a big cup of latte.  MMMM-mmmmm.  No falling asleep on the road today!

Yoder's Country Store

Delaware has it all....crops, beaches, swamps and woodlands

I passed this guy with extreme caution!

Griffith's Chapel, 1850

Yummy!  I want to go!

Salt encrusted bike shorts, at testament to the heat and my level of exertion.

Ronnie and Ina

A kiss good-bye.  Thank you for your excellent hospitality.