Saturday was the same type of weather, and the planned route included climbs up Mason Hill & Dorland to Skyline. On Helvetia I was already feeling sluggish and didn't have the energy to catch the group as they surged ahead while I stopped at West Union. John Elrod waited for me, and after riding up Jackson Quarry, we met up with a smaller group that turned left on Mason Hill, skipping the tough climb, which seemed okay with me. I need the challenge, but just wasn’t feeling it, and I’m sure there will be more opportunities to ride those hills throughout the summer. We had enough of a challenge riding into the wind on the way back.
With the way I felt on Saturday's ride, I was glad Ken was on his fixed gear yesterday, since earlier in the week he had mentioned bringing a bike with more than one gear and doing some climbing. To me, the route is challenging enough, with rollers and a few short, but steep, hills that get my heart rate up and usually have me out of the saddle. It gets easier each time though, and I’m feeling stronger.
I don’t pay attention to the street names, but just follow Ken’s wheel, though the route is becoming more familiar so I can anticipate when we’re going to turn as I recognize the familiar landmarks. I have no idea which road we were on, but it’s just after a left turn onto a short hill, then it curves around, and all of a sudden I look down and there’s a white dog chasing me and barking. I’m not afraid of the dog biting me, I just don’t want the dog to cause me to crash & take Ken out. I can’t even think about pulling out my water bottle to squirt the dog, and I don’t have my small pump with me, not that I could bring myself to hit the dog. I imagine I can feel the dog’s teeth on my shoes and before I know what I’m doing, I yell “DOG! DOG! DOG!” and sprint past Ken to lose the dog. There’s a car behind us, and no shoulder, and I’m grateful that the car doesn’t try to pass. Without turning to look back, I hope the driver sees the dog and is patient enough to wait until we continue on and the dog goes back to his yard. Then at the very next house, I see another dog, a small brown one, start to run towards the road. Ken and I simultaneously yell at the dog as loud as we can and I believe it stops him in his tracks. I continue around the road as it curves, relieved, adrenaline pumping.
Finally we get to a place where we can ride side by side, and I say to Ken, “please tell me the white dog didn’t get hit by the car.” He says no, and then remarks “I didn’t know you could sprint!”
Hah. I guess I can if I have to.
When we got back around the lake and on flatter roads again, thinking of outsprinting the dog made me smile and I decided I needed to document this milestone. So I took out my camera and took a picture of Ken. I wasn’t too far back but slowed down a bit to take the photo. I was super grateful to be on his wheel when we were in the wind.
As I thought about it, I commented to Ken that this is like one of those rites of passage that were listed in Bicycling Magazine a few issues back. Like your first saddle sore, first bonk, first century. First time chased by a dog . Rite of passage. I outsprinted the dog. Crisis averted. Whew. WIN!
