Garfoot and Friends

Garfoot beginning the long ascent.



Old Sauk Pass

Sunday morning, 7:15, blue sky, crisp still air. 46 degrees, and I have my longer shorts on, with a long-sleeved shirt under my jersey. Off to Garfoot via Old Sauk. As happens so often, the beginning is slow and stiff, like riding in molasses. I wonder why I'm doing it -- sort of -- and visions of coffee and Sunday morning paper rise unbidden. But I push on, and feel the day beginning to warm.

I'm thinking about Paul's comments about the Slow Bike Movement, and resolve to keep it in mind. I pull off Old Sauk into Pope Farm Park, ride up to the parking lot, and walk to the top, looking down into watersheds, feeling the rising breeze. One car parked in the lot, no other bikes, a turkey vulture circles, not for me this day. Yet anyway. As I pull out onto Old Sauk I pass a young man with his son, the boy about 5, both on bikes. I wonder where they came from and where they are going -- no car close by, they must live here.

No other riders until I reach Old Sauk Pass, one appears from the other direction,then another. We exchange nods. I marvel again about the Pass, this winding through tall trees and open land; the Ice Age Trail and a wildlife refuge. I reach Stagecoach Road and follow it into Cross Plains. I notice a shop here, combination coffee house and bike store, "The Uphill Grind." The red neon sign in the window says "Open," but the place is dark and locked. Opens at 9, and it's 8:40. Too long to wait, so I push on, up highway KP, toward Garfoot. I pass a few cows, and moo at them -- they stare at me, and I wonder who appears more stupid, them staring or me making noises at them.

As I move up Garfoot, a white horse watches me from a field, and a flock of turkeys lurches past. I stop to take a few photos -- Slow Movement -- and am amazed at the cacaphony around me, woodpeckers and jays and other bird calls, the soft whispers of wind and rustling leaves. A rider comes down the road, we exchange greetings. I move upward. As I reach the final climb -- my current nemesis -- a rider passes me. We agree the morning is beautiful, and he surges ahead. I try to match his spin for a while, but fall back. As we reach the difficult point in the climb, two riders descend. "You're doing it the hard way," one yells at the rider in front of me, who is standing and pushing and still climbing.

I stop, again, thwarted, but a bit higher this time, since I divided the climb into segments and tried to tick them off one by one. The two descending riders say nothing to me. I take a couple photos and look up the road. It doesn't look at all bad to me, so I mount up and start from stop, and climb it smooth and steady, all the way to the top. Not quite a solid climb, but I never walked it.

I follow Garfoot, then get off on some paved back roads, and make my way into Mt. Horeb -- that part of the ride was harder, I think, because I kept thinking I was finished and was mentally at the Mt. Horeb bakery, but hills kept appearing. Finally I did make it, and happily peeled off my gloves and headsweat. I went in and ordered green tea and blueberry coffee cake. The waitresses, two attractive high schoolers, smiled at me; when I stopped in the restroom I saw why -- my hair stood up in rows, having been plastered by the sweat and suddenly liberated. But I didn't care much, took the tea and cake outside on a nice little tray, and spent a good 20 minutes moving slowly.

The ride down the trail was uneventful but nice, especially passing by the fields of yellow flowers. The trail had grown crowded, but never overcrowded; the air had gotten much warmer but I kept putting off removing my inner shirt, and finally arrived home, quite sweaty but mostly content, feeling satisfied. Garfoot is nearly mine.

49 more miles on the odometer, totally 844 for the year. Next week, with any luck, the Omaha century and nearing the millenium mark.