Riding in an Iowa Winter Wonderland
[SAD NOTE: In early May, 1996, Chris was killed by a hit&run truck driver.]
From: Chris Lillig <Lillig@aol.com>
Date: Thu, 29 Feb 1996 14:24:31 -0500
To: internet-bob@netcom.com
Subject: Riding in an Iowa Winter Wonderland
Hello.
I feel that it’s high time that I contribute to this group rather than just enjoy the ride. Hopefully, it will provide some entertainment value, or at the very least another opportunity to test the functioning of that Delete key.
It’s a little story about bike riding in the “Heartland”.
Riding here in the winter is sometimes a pretty unique experience. A weekly group ride of 30 people in the summer dwindles to less than 10 after the Winter Solstice. But a hearty group it is!
Anyways, a small group got together recently to do a gravel road ride. These are events in my book. On the road, off the road, cow paths, snowmobile trails, anything and everything goes. And so, on a 20 degree, cloudy, Sunday morning, 12 of us took off on a great adventure.
There was about 4 inches of snow on the ground, and it had been there for some time. The roads were a mixture of hard packed snow, ice, sand, and dry pavement. The grey sky and grey snow made for some pretty flat light; which made it hard to pick out the ruts. Sketchy – a now trendy term for riding
in strange conditions – is a perfect word for the day. I think of sketchy as more of a feeling than a terrain condition, and I think you all probably know what I mean by that.
Almost everyone rode mountain bikes. A good choice. Of course, a pal and myself were the two responsible for the “almost.” We were riding cyclocross bikes – his a very stylish Pinarello (bright yellow), and mine a Bridgestone RB-1 / 7. Not a true cross bike, but modified with cantilevers, a wider and shallower handlebar, two rolls of bar tape, a Turbomatic saddle (truly a gift from higher beings – you gotta try one!), and some carefully selected tires (Michelin 28c Hi-Lite Cross in front – Specialized 28c TriCross in rear). It never lets me down and always makes me feel like Roland Liboton (extra points if you know who he is, and double if I spelled it right) when I pull off something daring.
We rode out of town in a double paceline, and in less than 3 miles we were on a dirt road in the middle of the country. That’s one of the neat things about Iowa, you are never far from the country. The road was hard packed snow with tons of traction. It was nice, an almost magical surface that neither shook you or scared you. Stand up, pedal squares, it didn’t matter.
Just nice smooth rode with lots of grip. We rode past 100 year old farm houses on a regular basis, with big red barns and tall squeaky windmills.
Exactly the stuff you see in the movies. The cows would just kind of look up and stare at you, as if they were trying to figure humans out, again. The pigs would run and squeal. They knew that people shouldn’t be biking in the snow. They were letting us know, in their own little way, that we should be careful. But we were having way too much fun on our white path of bliss. We were braving the elements, doing something we shouldn’t. We were cheating the seasons and getting away with it. And very happy about it. Riding as if it were a summer day, just colder.
We should have listened to the pigs.
Like many things in life, this road reeked with a false sense of security.
After about 12 miles at a good clip we got into some more rolling terrain. The rolling terrain here is constantly rolling – up and down with no flats at the bottom or the top. It is deceptively tiring. You can go 4 miles and climb and descend thousands of feet with no ending change in elevation! This defines a zen situation in a rural corn growing environment. Well, snow melts and refreezes a little more often on exposed slopes. SluThunk!
Cur-Plunk! Bam! Bam!! Bam!!! Swear, Swear, Swear. Ice and snow sometimes look the same, and some of our merry band were now more than off the back, they were on the floor. Ice doesn’t seem to care how big your tires are, only how smooth and skilled you ride.
We lost 25 percent of our group on one downhill !! (Actually, three guys, but 25 % is very dramatic) After regroupment, we proceeded with caution to a Level B service road. These roads don’t get maintained for years at a time, and sometimes they just stop, so they are a guaranteed adventure. Curvy, rutted, soft snow, blind corners. It feels colder. We ride faster. Passing an old abandoned cemetary, we sped up a longer climb and crested it to find a steep downhill with a creek at the bottom. No bridge anymore, just a 30 feet gap between the two banks.
Brakes would be a good idea for this descent. Turning around would be a better idea. Of course we choose the former. One of the guys who happens to be waaaaay short of common sense tries to ride down the creek bank with who knows what kind of intention. He crashes hard, over the bars. The bike flips over onto him and they both plumet the 15 feet almost vertical down into the creek. Wet and wounded, he provides a shining example of basic physics. Science in action. I laugh, not the P.C. or brotherly thing to do, but I can’t help it. The rest of us dismount and portage, and once again I am enjoying the abundant purchase of the rear cleats on my trusty old blue Rivat cross shoes (do they make those things anymore? I haven’t seen them in years.) We descend, cross, and climb out of the “canyon” and proceed on our way. It is kind of funny watching riders who are so smooth and graceful on their bikes become so clutzy when they have to carry them on “sketchy” terrain (self included). All of us make it across and feel pretty good about it.
We come to the end of the “road” and can either turn around and head home OR
head down this cow path and hope that it runs into a snowmobile trail which would then take us to a park and then maybe, just maybe we could ride across a frozen lake and get on the bike path to the little town named after a famous poet – but – I – can’t – remember – his – name (dangerous sign, right there) and then just take the county road back into town.
Doesn’t really seem like much of a choice, does it?
So 75% of the group (which is dramatic) turn around and head for the hills.
And once again, my pal and I are in the minority, depending on “if’s” and “maybe’s” and “I hope . . .”
Nothing new.
But this story has gotten pretty long. I apologize for rambling and will end it here. It’s a good place to stop. And start again some other time, with the rest of the story.
Thanks for your time.
Chris
From: Lillig@aol.com
Date: Sat, 2 Mar 1996 15:00:44 -0500
To: internet-bob@netcom.com
Subject: iowa.winter.riding.part2
Hi.
Here’s some more of the story I recently posted. Someone actually wanted to know what happens next. So . . . .
Well, before the three of us take off into the great unknown (a snow covered corn field), our “friend” – Mr “Shredmeister / No Common Sense, thus No Fear / Dude,” decides that he could “use some extra miles” and will tag along.
And this makes me doubt my sense about going farther. Regardless, we continue on our way, through a hilly field which looks a lot like a Grant Wood painting. Since this is probably an actual field Mr. Wood painted, it’s no wonder. The going is slow but steady; good traction, few ruts, and lots of hills. We are all getting a little tired of the repetitive climbs and someone remarks that we don’t really have any landmarks out here. I never like it when people verbally express their feelings of being lost. That usually makes being lost a fact, not a feeling. Riding into a headwind constantly, I reassure him we aren’t going in circles. We eventually run into another well packed cow path, and our spirits and speed both pick up tremendously. The path is nice. Cows really know what they are doing when they make a path. Aside from the occasional reminder that it certainly is a cow path, it’s a straight shot to a giant red barn.
And out in front of the barn is a groomed snowmobile trail. Life is good.
Hard packed and highway wide, we cruise. Everything is working out. It starts to snow. Not a problem, really. In fact, it’s nice. We are truly riding in a Winter Wonderland. I keep thinking we will run across a campfire with John Denver and about 20 extras filming his 1997 Christmas Special.
It’s that nice. But no such luck.
We come to a trailhead which leads into a hilly forest. The trees will be a welcome shelter from the wind and snow, and the change in scenery will be nice. Wide open plains can only do so much for you. There are some snowmobilers (often refered to as “beelers”) regrouping there and getting ready to go in the woods, too. It’s a pretty common practice for beelers to ride in groups, much like cyclists, and ride from bar to bar and have a pretty good time, much like some cyclists. Anyways, my pal asks one of the guys if we can hitch rides from them. We will grab on to the snowmobiler’s shoulder with one hand, and steer with the other. I’ve done this before.
And I only got 30 meters before I did a header into a snowdrift and vowed never to do it again. I relate the story to my friends.
It doesn’t have the impact I hoped it would. Oh, the power of peer pressure.
Before I know it, my left hand has a death grip on my new buddy Cliff’s 100% acrylic and slicker than snot Artic Cat (TM) jacket. My heart is racing and I am scared. We take off. I’m number 2 in line, and after a shakey start I am trying to have a good time. Behind me I can hear many exclaimations of “Rad, Gnarly, Boss, and So Yes(?)” from the “No Fear”-ing member of our group. Cliff is a good driver, and he is digging this a lot. We start up a hill going way faster than we could ever ride it and I am thinking that this isn’t such a bad idea. When we get to the top the snowmobile and my pal in front of us actually catch some air on a bump they shot off. I am so shocked and amazed that they both made it intact that I didn’t realize I would shortly be in the same situation. Yikes!!!!!!
Well, I crash heavily. Very heavily. Tumbling down the other side lots of things go through my head. Fortunately nothing solid did. Yes, there is a reason that grabbing a tow on a snowmobile is not taught in Effective Cycling classes. And yes it’s very dangerous and probably illegal. And yes again, it is not the smart thing to do.
But it was a blast. Scary, yet fun.
I gathered my marbles and waited for the other two guys to catch up. They both crashed earlier, I guess. We slid our way through the woods on the glazed trail which was quickly picking up almost an inch of new powder. When we got to the end of the trail, there was my pal. He hung on the whole way, earning tons of respect in the world of snowmobiling. My book, too.
Well, we are all pretty wet from landing in the snow once or twice, and the snow starts to pick up. All we have to do is cross the lake, which is frozen and snow covered, and ride a bike path about 6 miles to a small town to get food and warm up. After that it’s only about 15 miles home. Yes, I am worried.
The lake crossing is effortless. Way too easy to even mention. Our ride on the bike path was even okay. Mr “No Fear” did make it into the double digits on crashes, however. Everytime he got up, he said, “If you’re not crashin’ – yer not learnin’.” It finally got to me. I said, in a not so nice or calm or quiet manner, “LEARNING???? Learning what???” The moment it came out of my mouth I was sorry I said it. I was ready to appologize when he said, “Duuuuuude!” Case closed.
So we get to a modern day general store in the town of Plato. A discussion ensued on the qualities of Plato, and an arguement on if he was a poet or not. I didn’t care, concentrating more on the 2 Hostess Fruit Pies and 6 little powdered sugar doughnuts I just bought.
Thawed out, a little dryer, and fueled up, we decide to head on home. There is about 3 inches of snow on the ground now, and almost no traffic. It’s not a blizzard, by any means, but it is a snowin’. The riding is fun, and we lock up our rear wheels a lot, trying to be cool and drift our bikes through turns, etc. I think I consumed enough sugar to go for about 4 more hours, so the hour and a half ride goes good. Everyone is happy, still talking about the snowmobile incident. The miles fly by. We are wet and cold and we don’t care.
When I started the ride, I thought we were cheating nature, doing something we shouldn’t have been doing.
When we finished we were enjoying nature, and doing something we should have.
Either way, it shreded, dude.
And that’s the rest of the story.
Thanks
Chris
