Tuesday

Clip in, just the right foot.  Keep the left foot free for now.  Pulling out of the alley behind the house there could be a car taking the blind corner too fast or an old lady with her head down.  You don't have to worry about the kids right now, they're in school.  At least they should be, you never know.  There's a boy in the back window of the cafe with his Dr. Dre's plugged into his iPhone and texting his girlfriend.  He looks you in the eye when you go by.  It is pouring rain.  They warned the wind could get to 30mph.  And you're going out for a bike ride.  Freak.

Quick, make a decision.  Left or right?  Left is through town with all the obstacles therein.  Right takes the road around the town, a little out of way and there's a tricky crossing at the river, but it's always easier to deal with the cars than the people with their shopping bags.  Right it is.  Clip that left foot in now.  You're home free until the intersection.  Ah, here we are.  What's the situation?  One car up, straddling the convergence of two roads.  He's turning left.  There's a car back now, no signal.  He could be up to anything.  The cross street is clear, time to make the jump behind the left turner.  You're heading straight, the road that doesn't lead anywhere interesting for them.  The car back followed the one up, free and clear.  No one in your way now.

Another intersection, another bridge over this ridiculous river.  You have the right of way this time, everyone else waits.  You're still up to speed from the last jump, there's no reason why they'll want to cut you off, but it's best to make sure.  Don't trust anyone.  Eye contact with the driver of the delivery truck on the right; yep, everyone is on the same page.  He waits.  Eye contact with the driver on left at the bridge.  OK here too.  But, she thinks you're crazy.  So do the kids in the back seat, mouths open and eyes wide as you zip past.

Another right turn, down into the parking lot, then sharp right again onto the path.  Ah, the Piste Cyclable, not that anyone will be joining you today.  There's a dog walker under the bridge with his head down while his furry companion is engrossed with something on the pavement on the other side.  The leash is a trip line.  Tap the brakes.  Where's that stupid bell?  Why don't they sell decent bells on this continent?  Bless the market driven economy, where the public demands a bell that works in the rain and doesn't come loose every half mile to dangle upside down near the headset.  You should chuck this thing in that darned river, or better yet at that oblivious dog walker under the bridge.  Piste Cyclable, ya moron, not Piste Pedestre!  It's on the sign right there!  Perhaps you may encounter a bicycle on it?  It shouldn't be a surprise.  Yet, it is.  You bellow a stern "Pardon!" That bell is just adding weight.  He looks up, a deer in headlights.  Wobbles from left to right, arguing with himself about where he should stand.  There's no need for panic.  You hold your line with perfection, willing him to collect himself to the left.  No.  He yanks the dog by the throat to scoop it up in his arms as he leaps in your path with a look of horror at the sight of a darned velocipede invading his little world, just like a squirrel.   That's the name you've given people like that.  He looks you in the eye, defiant of your presence.  You're just coasting at this point, dropped to a mere 6mph.  You hold his gaze and shake your head.  Piste CYCLABLE.  Moron.

Almost out of town.  Five minutes have been spent maneuvering out of town and around this river.  You'd like to tell that city planner a thing or two.  Weave through a few packs of strolling citizens.  Some on the right, some on the left.  Past the train station and under that big blue bridge for the railroad.  Almost there.  Free and clear.  Dip down under the bridge and check the mirror at the sharp right that takes you out from under it.  Clear.  You almost call it out.  No, you're alone today.  Remember?


Climb up from the river bed and turn left onto the road.  Just houses now.  No people.  Pretty soon the houses are gone too and it's just you, the path, the rain, and that river, rolling along oblivious to the inconvenience it causes travelers in these parts.  The path is wide and smooth here, except for some mud and sticks along the left side, the way home.  That river broke its banks again, just to dump its trash on the path.  Now, under the highway bridge and between its tall cement pylons.  Zip, zip.  Straight now for a bit, but a little uphill grade, barely noticeable   Past that random barnyard.  No goats today, but you can smell them.  The next town, cross the river again.  Bump, bump, bump over the covered bridge.  Careful at the blind corner, you spied a pedestrian before you crossed.  It's tight here between the trees and the concrete barrier.  Where is that pedestrian?  Ah, there he is.  Standing on the river bank, assembling a fishing pole.  The river seems too quick for good fishing, but you don't know anything about fishing.  Maybe this is the perfect day to have a fish dinner.  Ooop, he's stepping backwards into the path.  Darn this bell!  Maybe you can buy a whistle somewhere?  No matter, you swerve by without a word.  He probably only noticed the breeze.  Just a little longer and you'll be out of the towns for good while.  You can't wait.

In a bit you've arrived at the park.  The path is still closed on the left rivebank, blocked by some construction debris.  You won't be able to cross the river where you prefer on the wide red bridge.  You'll have to take the rickety, narrow wooden one over the rapids.  It's really too tight and if someone else is on the bridge it will be an exercise in handling you don't really want to have.  But, there's nothing for it.  Cross here, or head into the the traffic of the town.  It's always congested in the center.  Why? You don't know.  There's nothing in the center worth congesting over.  You take the wooden bridge.  Ah, luck is on your side, it and the visible path on the opposite bank are all your's.  Now you're finally through it.  There will be nothing or very little to contend with until you turn around for home, wherever that is.

The river is high, yes, but back where it belongs, more or less.  Pedal along under bridges and past empty, waterlogged camp grounds.  The benches along the path look like giant birds' nest, caked in river mud and sticks from the last flood.  You wonder for a moment if some goose would consider taking up residence  on one of these prefab constructions.  Metal frame, good view, built to last.  No, that's ridiculous.  What if it floods again?  Better drink a little.  There's a big deep puddle ahead.  You have to go through it, there's no other option.  You've done it before.  Hopefully, there's no surprises like nails or glass in there.  Pedal steady, position the crank arms parallel to the ground just before you dive in.  You're feet aren't too soaked, the back and front of you, well, you're not in this for the fashion.

Now you're in a field, big beautiful views open up.  There's some town on your right.  The church steeple pokes up above the grey slate roofs.  You wonder what that town is called and the name of the hills behind it.  What is everyone doing there today?  Holed up at home reading the paper?  Sipping coffee at the corner cafe and discussing the failing Eurozone?  You're out riding your bike.  That's all that matters.  You forget about the town and the people when it swings out of view.  Back along the river again.  Just the river.  Now under the welcoming branches of the forest.  This is one of your favorite spots on the route.  Trees, silence, and a big muddy river.  Just like home.  There's a road up above you.  You saw a cyclist up there once on a hybrid three sizes too small.  You wonder where the road goes.  Maybe you'll find out someday.

Into the next town now, pop off the trail and onto the road.  Zip right, then quick left past another closed campground and a flower shop.  You like their delivery van, a homage to the old hippie buses.  "Flower Power" is painted on the side, in flowing script.  Past a school now, full of children learning things, and up the steep little climb back into the countryside.  There's a hill up on your right.  In the summer white cows stand on that hill.  Not today.  The river is far on your left now, across the floodplain that you can look down on from here.  Here's the other perfect part of the trail.  Completely covered in trees.  A barely noticeable downhill grade, you can push it here and give yourself a break at the same time.  It's perfect.  Plop! Plop! Smack!  Only the big rain drops make it through the branches in this section, even though they are leafless.  One hits your helmet, loud like a gunshot.  Another pelts you hard on the left arm, right below the elbow.  Ouch.  You wonder if that will leave a bruise.  Shift position, stand in the pedals and let the warm blood flow to all the empty places.  Take another sip of water.  Hmmm, maybe better to go for the electrolyte drink this time.  Mmmm, that takes good, cold, but sugary and revitalizing.  What is this? A commercial?  Unclip the left foot to shake it out and pedal with just your right.  Switch.  That's better.  Everything is awake again.  Now you're going up, far above the floodplain now and you can't see it through the trees.  You didn't even notice until now.

Another town.  The trail ends on a street lined with row homes.  The rain has let up since you entered the woods.  There's an old woman sitting on her front stoop in a floral apron.  Her grey hair is wrapped tightly into a bun, her lips purse around a long cigarette.  A mop leans against the doorjam.  She eyes you suspiciously.  You nod a greeting, you know you're not supposed to, but darn it you can't help yourself.  You're out riding your bicycle.  She's been mopping her floor.

There's a tunnel under the road here, last time it rained like this the tunnel was under water and there wasn't any warning.  You just happened to notice a bizarre reflection at the last minute.  That could have been a disaster.  You won't risk it this time, and stay on the road maneuvering the intersection like a car would.  Wait.  There's a car on the left.  Perfect timing, no need to unclip.  He's gone.  Back to the path, along the hedge on the left, watch the grates around the trees here, they're terrible wheel catchers.  Past another campground and its cafe.  They are advertising frites and ice cream.  Not open.  Keep pedaling.  You're past the spot where your turn around on short rides, near the electrical box.  There's a wide spot that's perfect to pull over and take a break if you want.

Not today though.  You have time.  The legs feel good.  The wind is tough in places, and it will be worse on the way home as it always is, but you don't want to turn around just yet.  Not yet.  You have a banana in your jersey pocket and a sandwich.  Plenty of fluids.  There's a gas station up ahead if you want to grab anything else.  They sell towels made by a company that sponsors Tom Boonen, at least that what you gather from the sign.  Odd that a towel company sponsors a cyclist, but those Classics are dirty affairs, you know.  Past the gas station you go, the trail is one bike width after this point.  Hopefully, you're the only person on it today.  That would be a welcome break.  Up ahead you're getting into holiday country.  Hotels are advertised here and there.  There's another campground on your right.  That big hotel looks fancy, but every time you go by here no one is there.

Just a little further, maybe about 2kms, you could turn into Germany.  You've been meaning to ride in Germany.  Or maybe just stay in this country today.  Go to that town with the Roman Villa in the park and get a mettwurst.  It's only another 18kms, that mettwurst.   Well, heck, it's only another 25km to the town where they make your favorite sparking water.  You could get some where they bottle it.  That'd be something.

Unclip the left foot, shake it out.  Repeat with the right.  Look over your shoulder to see where you've been.  Put your hands on the tops, flex your back.  Stand in the pedals.  Tug on the left glove, then on the right.  Push your glasses up a little further on the bridge of your nose. Adjust the brim of your cap back to center.  Watch the water drops fall in front of your eyes.  Look at the clock.

Yeah, there's time and Germany is just across the river.