Over the River and Through the Wood: the Season of Lone Travelers

Yesterday I cycled to a wooded area 15 miles away to take pictures for a backdrop for a painting I am working on. I needed some detailed shots of birch trees, and November is the perfect time to get them - With most of the foliage gone, the birches stand out tall and lean, every detail of their beautiful bark crisply outlined against the bare landscape.

All in all, this is such a quiet time. A deep hush has fallen over the forest as it braces for the fury of winter storms. There is even a particular sound that goes along with this state of things - like a very quiet ringing.

Now that we are getting into late November, the number of cyclists out there - especially outside of the city, on the hilly roads and on the trails - has dwindled down remarkably. And those who remain apparently feel a sense of comradery with their fellow lone travelers, as I have never gotten so many comments from passing roadies before.

First I was asked by a cyclist where I got my Moser and how I like the bike. We discussed that for a bit, with him concluding that he must find a vintage Moser frame for himself (he-he, I am such an enabler!). Later, another cyclist (of the "pedantic retrogrouch" variety) was indignant that I was not only riding an Italian racing bike as a fixed gear, but that I fitted it with "rando-bars" (a French style of drop handlebars with a curvature better suited for long distance touring). I did not really know what to reply to that accusation except "yes".

And later still, I was complimented on my "trackstand" at a traffic light, which made me question whether I understand what trackstands are. I was pretty sure that a trackstand is when you are actually able to stand still, as a sort of balancing trick. I cannot do that at all. But I play games at intersections, where I cycle so slowly that I am basically moving forward mere millimeters at a time until the light turns green. It may look like a trackstand to an unscrutinous eye, but I am definitely cheating. But anyhow, my point really is that I haven't had verbal exchanges like these with other cyclists until now - whereas yesterday alone I had nearly half a dozen. The few cyclists who are out there this time of year must be feeling especially lonely.

On the way back from my photo trip, I stopped by the Ride Studio Cafe that I wrote about earlier, when I saw through the window that their coffee bar was open. I just want to say one thing: If I could count on their in-house coffee shop consistently being open, I would go out of my way just to go there. They serve good coffee and hot chocolate - and they have back issues of Bicycle Quarterly! Once settled in, I had to almost forcibly pry myself away. Funny, because I remember reading Bicycle Quarterly last year and finding the articles difficult to understand, whereas now everything makes sense and seems terribly interesting. I should probably start subsrcibing to it.  And for those who have been reading BQ all along: Could you tell me in what issue I can find Jan Heine's review of a Rivendell? I am pretty sure he wrote one, but haven't been able to locate it.

As I needed to run some additional errands in different parts of town, I ended up spending the entire day on my bike  - which made me realise just how quickly both the temperature and the light conditions can change this time of the year. I am paranoid about getting stranded in the dark, so even for my sporty bicycles I carry at least some battery-operated lights that I can quickly attach to the handlebars and to my saddlebag. As winter approaches, I somehow find myself riding this particular bike more and more - so maybe it is time to find a more permanent and attractive lighting solution for him (bottle dynamo on a fixed gear, anyone?).

And it is surprising how much stuff my tiny saddlebag can fit, as long as I don't need to carry my laptop around. Perfect for a short trip by a lone traveler on a late November day.