Spring Bicycling

The weather has turned mild, and I have begun my spring cycling outings. When I start riding in the spring, it's cold and dirty outside, and I ride my trail bike, and I wear heavy clothes to keep warm. Right now the weather is fine, but most of the people out riding are taut road bikers with intense looks on their faces. Now and then I see a couple of kids, and a handful of middle-aged lunatics on fat-tired bikes. I know where I belong. In my yellow striped pants and purple jacket, riding my trail bike, I am clearly one of the middle-aged lunatics, and we all smile at one another and wish each other good day. The road bikers do not acknowledge my nods unless I am riding the skinny-tired bicycle.

When I switch to my skinny-tired bicycle that my helmet matches, and I wear biking shorts and a jersey, the road bikers acknowledge my presence, while my own people, the middle-aged lunatics, view me with some suspicion. I might ride too fast on the trails, where people are trying to be at their ease and move at leisure.

There is no unity among bicyclists, except at RAGBRAI. I almost missed the registration deadline this year, but at the last moment I registered for two days. If all goes well, I will ride from Iowa City to the Mississippi.

Trying Out RAGBRAI

After three years back in Iowa, I finally rode a little of RAGBRAI (Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa). I signed up for Friday, July 27, and I dreaded it all summer. It was a 64-mile day, going from Independence to Dyersville, and it might be hot, there might be large crowds of people, it might rain, or there could be almost any sort of unpleasantness, not to mention excessive sweating.

I set up a reasonable training schedule for myself but wound up not keeping it. I had to travel for work three times, and one of my colleagues had to be hospitalized, which forced me to work on two projects at the same time, cutting my riding time substantially. Also, I found out that spending more than three hours at a time on my bicycle tended to result in back pain. Finally I realized that Friday’s RAGBRAI included Manchester as a “meeting town,” only 42 miles into the ride. I arranged for my parents to pick me up in Manchester, which was more convenient for them than Dyersville anyway, and I stopped worrying about being in good enough physical condition for the ride.

The day turned out to be beautiful, not oppressively hot or humid at all. In addition, the hills were very moderate, and even when there was a headwind, my group was traveling at such a slow pace that the wind scarcely mattered. Finally, even when there was a big crowd of bicycles and we were all on top of one another, such as when a Team Skin pace line caught up to me, it wasn’t aggravating. It was fun.

To my surprise, I hardly seemed to notice the hills. I live near Iowa City, and if I want to ride more than about 3 miles toward town, I have to cross a ridge, which means going up and down some hills that are just progeny of dogs. There was nothing on RAGBRAI that remotely resembled those hills. Back on my home turf today, about 2/3 of the way down one of those puppies, I decided to let go of the brakes and see what would happen, and I hit 29 m.p.h.

Another great thing about RAGBRAI is that you never go more than a few miles without a place where you can stop and buy something to drink or eat. There are a number of local organizations that earn money by selling food during RAGBRAI, and also, vendors follow the route. Pastafarian has great-smelling grilled salmon, and they play reggae. This is the last year for Mr. Pork Chop, which apparently is an institution. Rumor has it that Lance Armstrong stopped there for a pork chop, and some lady asked if he would move out of the way so she could have her picture taken with Mr. Pork Chop.

The varied teams are a highlight; people choose a theme for their team, and it can really be just about anything. Team Spin, for instance, is a group that revolves around the color purple, and flipping people upside down and placing stickers on their behinds.

I rode with my old friend Linda, who was a member of the Lance Armstrong team, and I got to meet some of her teammates, who were very interesting folks. We didn’t ride with very many of them, though. There was a team photo, and then several shouts of “Who’s got Lance’s bike?” followed by an assembly in the parking lot. Linda and I got left behind on the first block out of the parking lot, when Linda dropped her camera case. We rode like crazy to catch up, but we couldn’t make it. I had my first near-asthma attack since the age of 22, and eventually I wound up way ahead of Linda and had to stop and wait for her in the first town. We settled on a group of four of us, and we stayed together until I peeled off in Manchester.

It only took me two hours to figure out that RAGBRAI was the best place in the state to hook up with somebody, and I’m annoyed that I lived here three years and nobody told me. I really should have set aside more vacation time for this. I already have all my vacation time booked up for next year, but I’ll at least ride on the final day.

New Wheels

I just bought my second bicycle. I bought the first a year and a half ago: a Cignal Ranger hybrid trail bike, a little too small for me but I bought it at a small independent bike store at the end of the season when the owner didn't have many bikes left. I didn't want to spend too much money in case either I wound up not enjoying riding very much, or my acute sciatica prevented me from riding. I could only ride a short distance at first, and it would make the sciatic nerve ache, but riding quickly began to make the sciatica improve!

I was thrilled to find a form of exercise I enjoyed that made my body feel better instead of giving me more injuries. I observed other bikes to figure out what I wanted to upgrade to. At first I wanted a mountain bike with disc brakes because road riding makes me nervous, I love trail riding, and mountain bikes are a blast. However, I decided that there are only two single track riding areas within a two-hour drive of my apartment, and I had no one to mentor me or ride with me on mountain bike trails, and a mountain bike would lock me into solo riding because I wouldn't be able to keep up with groups on road rides. Thus, I needed to choose a bike based on my riding goals, rather than what appealed to me most.

So did I want a road bike? Suiting up in fancy riding gear and cruising at high speeds isn't my style. I don't take a serious attitude to bicycling, I mainly bike on rough surfaces, I'm a little clumsy, and I really don't like to wipe out. On the other hand, I wanted to join Bicyclists of Iowa City for some low-key road rides just to be social and hang out. Thus, I decided to buy another hybrid, but a faster one.

I thought I might get a Trek hybrid because the nicest bicyclists seem to ride Treks and I wanted to be like them. However, it was too much of a bicyclist's bike for me. There wasn't even a shield over the chain spokes, so the bike couldn't be ridden with trousers on unless the cuffs were bound to my legs. Also, although the bike shop would have fitted the bike for me, the default handlebar settings were so far wrong for me that I wasn't entirely confident they could be fixed. My rotator cuffs hurt just from taking a spin around the parking lot!

I think Cannondales are gorgeous, but I fell in love with the Specialized Sirrus, which is a cushy, compact bike designed for the casual rider. It seems to be very popular; there were at least two others out for customers when I bought mine, this time at Northtowne Cycles in Cedar Rapids. I have to say, if there was a Northtowne charge card, I'd have it. I think I shop there more than almost anywhere else except grocery stores. Anyway, the Sirrus has a comfortable ergonomic seat; it's sporty and compact so I can reach the handlebars easily; it has a straight handlebar instead of curved, which gives me more control and keeps my back straighter; and its handling is far superior to that of my Ranger. It has narrow tires that help it get up a good speed easily, yet the tires are still wide enough that they won't get caught in a crack in Sutliff Road and throw me on the pavement. Plus it's beautiful. It's a little cheaper than a low-end road bike, as well.

I took the Sirrus for its maiden voyage today on the North Ridge Trail. Very sweet. It corners smoothly, with a certain style and grace. At times I get the feeling of floating over the road. Hopefully now when I ride with other bicyclists, they won't turn and look at me every time someone's brakes squeal; and mechanics won't look askance at me and hint that I might have purchased a bike at a department store. For the record, my Ranger's brakes have never squealed, not even once, and I'm keeping it for trail riding.

Two Bike Trails

I explored two new bicycle trails where I can get passed by people on light road bikes who aren't working nearly as hard as I am. My only satisfaction has to be my thigh muscles.

First I rode the trail along the Mississippi River in Davenport and Bettendorf. The paved part is not terribly long, but it looked like it continued as a gravel path. I didn't try the gravel since it wasn't marked, and 16 miles or so were enough for me that day. It's a pretty route, especially the south end.

The north end goes through a lot of civilization, passing riverboat casinos, factories, and a couple of bridges. The most memorable part of the north end was passing under a bridge and then hearing a thunk on the top of my bicycle helmet. I thought, "Was I just divebombed by a bird? Naw..." and I pedalled faster, figuring the bird would let me leave in peace.

THUNK!

I could sense the bird behind me, dipping and rising like some World War II fighter pilot ready to strafe, but I wasn't about to get divebombed a third time. I brought the bike to a dramatic stop across the whole bike path, hollering in my gravelly predator voice, "That's it, bird! Now you're gonna get it!"

She flew off. On my way back she came for me again, a red-winged blackbird, but this time I was watching for her. She flew overhead, and every time she started to swoop downward, I yelled at her menacingly and shook my fist in the air. I was fully prepared to clobber her and knock her right out of the sky, and she knew it and stayed out of reach.

Now that I have passed through safely, I will leave her in peace and not return to that bike path until her babies are grown.

The other new trail was the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. This is a rails-to-trails path and really amazingly dull. It's just a straight shot, no bends or small hills to liven things up. I went about 10 miles before turning back, rationing my single bottle of water in the heat, stopping at a park for more water on the way back, and making it to town for Gatorade in the nick of time, just as I was beginning to feel dizzy.

Once you get about 6 miles out of Cedar Rapids, you find some pretty trees and streams, as well as a little shade here and there, so although it's still a straight shot, at least there's more visual interest and a break from the relentless sun. Next time I'll start from Boyson Road at the edge of Hiawatha, rather than from inside the city of Cedar Rapids, so I will reach the shady part of the trail more quickly. Bicycling will be more enjoyable when temperatures get below 90 degrees later this month.

Making Connections

I've been checking out a few more area trails, and I have to say that it's a good thing I specialize in seat-of-the-pants navigation. Recently I was extremely irritated after I drove out to Lake MacBride, asked around for the bike path, had to circle the whole park because all the roads were one way, parked near the path, and biked the little 5-mile multiuse trail, only to find that the trail terminates in a town that's very convenient to me. My bike trails book makes it look like the trail ends out in a cornfield somewhere, but no, it ends at a baseball field in Solon, which is on my route home from work.

The towns of Iowa City and Coralville have a number of multiuse trails, but the amusing thing is that they are not connected to one another. I carry a brochure with a large map of bike paths in the Iowa City area, and it doesn't really give excessive street names or any such extraneous logistical details. My bike trails book never says how to find smaller trails, basically gives the name of the town and a phone number, and you're on your own. I only found Olin's Grant Wood Recreational Trail because I knew where the railroad used to be; there's a sign for the trail if you arrive from the south, but not if you come from the north. We used to stop and wait for interminably long trains on our way to visit Great-Grandma Mary, but now there's no trace indicating that there ever was a train track. To get to the Grant Wood trail, I turn at the splendidly restored Victorian home where Grandma Ruth grew up and Grandpa Roy courted her, and then I take a right and pull into the parking lot on the left.

However, back in Iowa City there's the challenge of finding the next trail when the trail you're riding on suddenly ends. This weekend some friends and I met at Coral Ridge Mall for a ride to North Liberty on the North Ridge Trail, to be followed by a ride south to Highway 1 on the Coralville Clear Creek Trail and the Willow Creek Trail (not connected). The first navigational challenge was that I knew where the southbound trail was, but not the northbound. This problem was easily solved as they turned out to be connected. But what I didn't know was that I wasn't officially on the North Ridge Trail yet, although my map said I was!

We biked around North Ridge Park, picked the most likely-looking path north, and biked all the way to the town of North Liberty (only 5-6 miles), taking a few wrong turns but finding our way. The path was not at all well marked until we got two miles out from North Liberty, when we realized we had not been on the North Ridge Trail at all. We returned via the North Ridge Trail, a well-marked 5-mile path which terminated at an apparently random street about half a mile from North Ridge Park.

We did not take the two paths south to Highway 1 due to a thunderstorm, but I do know the way, thanks to Thursday Night Leisure Rides with Bicyclists of Iowa City, people who know the connecting routes between the bike trails!

Deer Crossing

This weekend I biked from Epworth to Durango and back, a distance of 24 miles on the Heritage Trail. Durango has a population of 34, making it larger than nearby Graf.

I am becoming a better cyclist, and I averaged 12 m.p.h. on the crushed limestone path without particularly exerting myself. The trail is long and rural, so there's no need to slow down or stop all the time for pedestrians like on urban trails: only occasionally. And then there's the wildlife.
This time I saw a deer leaping into the woods ahead of me, and I stopped because I heard something on the other side of the path, and deer usually travel in groups. As my friend Chuck would say, "Bambi they ain't." I would sincerely not like to get kicked by a deer.

Well, a doe and fawn broke out of the woods a safe distance ahead of me to my right, and the doe turned away from me and jumped back into the trees, but the spotted fawn, less than two feet tall, spun around and ran straight at me on my stopped bicycle. As I stared in astonishment, the fawn barely missed my front wheel, brushed my right ankle, crossed behind me, and vanished into the woods at my left.

I rode on, still feeling the sensation of deer fur against my ankle. I'm glad it wasn't the buck!

Not Particularly Snazzy

I found out that my Sutliff Bridge route is a well-known scenic bike route, but many people avoid it because it's so bumpy. Once a month the tandem club PIGS (Paired Iowans Going Somewhere) rides out that way.

I joined Bicyclists of Iowa City for a "Thursday Night Leisure Ride." It was extremely leisurely, but I figured out that if I shifted down, I was able to bike that slowly. The slow pace made the hills more difficult because I had less momentum, but the extra exercise was probably good for me, though it gave me sore knees the next day. They set an average pace of 10 m.p.h., which is the speed I normally ride; but I normally ride on crushed limestone. This was smooth concrete, a much faster surface.

I think the path was called Glen Willow, although it is unnamed on the map of Coralville trails. It runs between Coral Ridge Mall, which is the largest mall in the area, and another major shopping area, terminating at a small, well-hidden, and very popular ice cream shop. The trail area is undeveloped because it used to be a Boy Scout camp, and it is now being used as greenspace.

Before the ride I went to the mall to buy a brightly colored shirt to ride in. My wardrobe is mainly black, white, brown, and navy, due to nine years of New England living--enough time for most of my bright and funky Texas and California clothes to wear out. So the first place I went at the mall was Scheels All-Sports, where I decided that there was no way on this green earth that I was paying serious money for a bicycle jersey when I never ride more than 22 miles at a stretch. I went to a department store instead and bought an orange T-shirt on sale for $14. It's a shade darker than a traffic cone, but just as bright, and it has stupid little flowers on the front, and it still looks better than most cycling jerseys. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing it in Boston, but we Iowans are less finicky about what we put on our backs.

I was happy to find that most of the other riders were also wearing T-shirts and ordinary shoes, so I didn't feel out of place in my makeshift riding gear. Most of us had bicycle shorts, though, which are well worth a $60 investment. I now see why my cyclist friends say "everyone looks funny in bicycle shorts," but frankly, I don't mind looking funny (if I did, I'd throw away the corduroy sneakers I'm wearing right now), and those shorts are darned comfy. But I still think the jerseys are funnier. I have no idea what that back pocket is for.

Iowa City is a generally unassuming town. Back in the 80s I bought a comic book called "Superheroes of Iowa City"; they all had these piddling superpowers like melting the soles of tennis shoes, so they couldn't get in on the big leagues and had to content themselves with banding together to fight crime in Iowa City. Bicyclists of Iowa City also proved to be a lowkey crowd in which each individual had a few unique talents. I look forward to riding with them again.

More Exploring

My new favorite place to ride is the Sac and Fox Trail in Cedar Rapids. I still technically prefer the Dubuque-Dyersville Heritage Trail, but the Sac and Fox is a lot closer. It is an easy trail, actually even less strenuous than the Heritage Trail because there are lots of little hills, and the speed from descending one hill gets me going up the next. Since the Heritage Trail is fairly flat, I work a lot harder and change gears more when I ride there.

The Sac and Fox is a multi-purpose recreational trail, but it is much better for bicycling than for walking. Its turns and hills are too small to provide interest for a hiker, but they are lots of fun for a novice bicyclist. I meet a lot of recreational riders, some serious road riders, a few walkers, and typically one deer and one tanned guy on a gently used Trek (not the same deer or the same man every time). The men on the Treks can be a little crushing to my ego because they pass me really easily, and they're obviously not putting forth any effort, sometimes even riding without hands. Still, I treat them extra nicely, not only because I'm a nice person, but also because I recognize their potential usefulness. One heavensent Trek rider fixed my front brakes for me one night.

I checked out Matsell Bridge Recreation Area, which got a full page spread in a book on Iowa biking trails, but I didn't like it. I had to either share a trail with horseback riders, which seemed daunting, or else I had to ride on a gravel road out behind the firing range. I find gunshots unsettling.

I decided to pick out my own riding route. There's a little-trafficked, scenic county road running from Lisbon to the Historic Sutliff Bridge, where a small tavern is conveniently located. The ride is 6 miles out and 6 miles back, and it can be extended by either cycling on into Mount Vernon on the north end, or riding out past the bridge toward the historic church on the south end. I made a good call; it's an excellent ride past several scenic farms and over a stream or two. I don't know why I never see any bicyclists out there. I wonder if it has anything to do with the condition of the road; I've encountered fewer bumps on gravel roads. It doesn't bother my steel-framed hybrid bike, but I don't know what someone on a skinny-tired bicycle would think.

Back Roads and New Neighbors, Part 2

I got a day off this week and decided to find Sugar Bottom Recreational Area, site of the only mountain bike trails I know of around here. I knew the directions I had were inadequate, and the park was not marked on my map. First I found the wrong recreational area, stopped, and acquired directions and a map, so after that I went straight to Sugar Bottom. Of course when I arrived, I didn't know where the bike trails were. I stopped at the campground to ask, and they didn't know either. They had a map of the bike trails, and I had that too, but we couldn't tell what part of the park the trails were in.

However, the signs seemed to be pointing me to the beach, so I went there. At first I only found the frisbee golf course, the picnic shelter, and the bathrooms, but then I spotted a dilapidated sign at the far end of the parking lot. There it was: the access road to the bike trails.

I was glad to visit Sugar Bottom on a weekday morning when there was no one else around. I knew I was clueless, and I didn't want to be a rolling roadblock slowing down all the other riders. On that weekday morning I was alone. The only sounds in the woods were the cries of the birds, the whirr of my bicycle tires, and my muffled shrieks and curses.

The trails are rated "easier," "more difficult," and "most difficult." Some of the "most difficult" ones have colorful names like Hell Trail. I only briefly attempted a "more difficult" trail, but it seemed to have the same obstacles as "easier," just more of them. I suspect there is a substantial jump between "more difficult" and "most difficult."

Frequently on the "easier" trails I couldn't make it up a hill, either because it was too steep for me, or more often because I couldn't navigate the tree roots. I would get my rear wheel caught on a root and come to a dead stop, and then I couldn't get started again because of the uphill path choked with tree roots. Twice I simply carried my bike up a hill because the tree roots were so huge. Once my chain came off its track when I shifted down while ascending a steep hill. I took some skin off my thumb from gripping my handlebars too tightly.

I'm proud of my bicycle for managing all the bumps and abrupt changes of direction. My spokes are all intact.

I had to stop from time to time to admire the scenery, which was quite varied and nice. There was no time to look while I was riding! I was always either pedaling hard to get uphill, or holding the brakes like a total sissy on the downhill. I did improve over the course of my ride, and one time the cackling birds were briefly silenced by my raucous whooping and hollering after I made it up a root-choked hill without stopping.

I enjoy birds. I enjoy birds except . . . except when they take up residence in my air conditioner. Last week a pair of sparrows did just that. They would flap their wings against the grate of my A/C at 5:45 a.m. sharp, waking me up. Although it was 40 degrees outside, I ran my A/C fan in an attempt to frighten the birds away, but I was the only one frightened by the clanking, sickly churning of my A/C. The sparrows were unphased.

My A/C is well out of reach of a broom handle, so I called my landlady. She promised to come out the next day, but she didn't make it, and these birds were making a very large nest, so at 8:15 p.m. I took action. I laid my yoga mat out and wrapped it around the tip of a dowel to make a long pole, and when that wasn't quite long enough, I clipped my dust pan to the other end of the dowel. I was on a mission, and I didn't care how much of a crackpot the neighbors thought I was.

I knocked down about half the nest, with the sparrow couple watching me in dismay from a nearby phone line. "The crazy predator is after our humble home! Have we offended? Edna, what can have gotten into that monkey with the stick? I've never seen anything like it!" They were so sure I must have had a bout with temporary insanity, that they came back and rebuilt the next day. Equally obstinate, I gave the nest a quick knock in the morning, and my landlady got the rest down in the afternoon. The sparrows decided that since there were multiple monkeys with sticks, appearing at irregular but frequent intervals, maybe this wasn't such a great place to start a family after all, and they moved on to a quieter spot with saner neighbors.

Back Roads and New Neighbors, Part 1

Occasionally I use my bicycle to save a quart of gas by riding to the next town instead of driving, but most of the time when I ride, I use up a gallon or two of gas by driving my bike somewhere and then riding on a trail. I feel a bit silly about this, but it sure is nicer than riding around town, especially now, when the town's lilacs are in bloom and I practically choke on their overwhelmingly heavy perfume. By the time I get across town, I feel sick to my stomach.

Trailheads are often located in the countryside, and I sometimes have to travel obscure roadways to find them. Driving on back roads in Iowa is challenging even for an experienced navigator such as myself, and I've decided to search for a road atlas of the state. Ordinary road maps show most of the roads, but they don't provide names for the small roads. I have to guess as to whether I'm on the correct road.

Last week I rode my bike from Graf, a tiny village in the hills west of Dubuque, an area similar in appearance to much of Pennsylvania. Only one road goes to Graf, and much to my surprise, the bridge from the east was out. I could either go back south the way I came and approach Graf from the northwest, or I could reverse direction and head east, look for a turn to the north, find the highway going west, and cut south in the hope of finding Graf Road. I accomplished this without making a single wrong turn, although it took 25 minutes, and I did not know I had chosen the correct route until Fivepoints Road became Graf Road a couple miles north of Graf. Graf is a lovely spot to ride from, but in future I'll park in Epworth instead so I won't have to worry about any collapsed bridges.

The ride was simply divine; I particularly enjoy the views of creeks that flow alongside the trail and cross it under bridges. There was one view that I'd like to forget, but it is, thankfully, unlikely to recur. Let's just say that bicyclists move faster than pedestrians, so a pedestrian might be in the midst of a private act and not notice an oncoming cyclist.

I saw two Great Blue Herons together, the first time I had seen more than one at a time. However, the next week at Coralville Reservoir I saw several, as well as possibly an osprey, and many smaller birds.

Return of the Prairie Wind

Sometimes a gal has to be determined if she wants to get in her bike ride every few days. Friday I didn't ride because it rained; Saturday I didn't ride because it had just rained, and there was a ferocious wind; Sunday things were drier, but there was still a ferocious wind, and I rode anyway. I was the only bicyclist out there. I decided to do my standard short ride of 10.5 miles, and it wasn't so bad because I didn't worry about going fast, but I was continually worried that I would tip over or be blown off the trail. I felt like a swimmer traveling at an angle to the undertow.

I remember when I was a kid, and I could never seem to find days that were windy enough to fly a kite. Must have been a quiet year!

There are several good turnaround points for short rides on the Heritage Trail out of Dyersville. I can turn around at the large tree after 3.2 miles, which I do when I take my mom out with her antique Schwinn. I can turn around at the birch stand at the 4-mile mark, a lovely spot. I can turn around at the crest of the hill after 4.75 miles. But I prefer to ride to the raised roadbed at 5.25 miles, and get a good rolling start on my way back down.

However, my favorite turnaround spot is the willow-shrouded pond with the swans at the 9-mile mark. I'll wait for a calmer day.

Spring Bicycling

I enjoy exercise, but I don't so much like to exert myself. Monday I went out for a 12-mile road ride to the historic triple span Sutliff Bridge over the Cedar River, and I only traversed about 5 miles. I remembered why it was that I never rode very far when I was a kid:
1) The roads are hilly.
2) The prairie wind can be so strong that it carries away air that I'm in the middle of trying to breathe.
3) There are cars.

I have worked out a town ride that I enjoy, to the Mount Vernon library and back home, about 8 miles round trip, a good thing to do in the evening after work.

People keep asking me if I'll participate in RAGBRAI, the Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. I tell them no, but now I'll tell them NO WAY. I'll hit an offroad bike trail this weekend.

Killing Bikinis in Winter

Today is my second-to-last weekday of unemployment, and it is 50 degrees out, so I went for a bike ride. I anticipated that the trail might be too snowy and I would not get my ride, and it was, and it was much muddier than I expected, but I rode a little anyway. I rode for 20 minutes, and I spent another 10 minutes brushing the worst of the sand and limestone off my bicycle. I would have gone longer, but the snowy parts were extremely bumpy, and I didn't want to trash my little hybrid bike, which is not the sturdiest thing in the world. I can't keep the front wheel tuned to save my life. At least the guy who sold it to me occasionally tunes the wheel for free, which makes me like him even though I told him I wanted a mountain bike, and he talked me into a hybrid bike instead.

When I can afford it, I will probably order my mountain bike through him, explaining to him in detail why it is that my fancypants shoes, which I insist on wearing when I am not riding or hiking, do not mean that I need a wimpy bicycle.

I am thrilled with my new job. I signed the contract yesterday. It is customary to celebrate these sorts of events with champagne, but I have recently been dumped and am still in the phase of listening to too much Bikini Kill. (I'd offer illustrative lyrics, but this is a polite blog.) Therefore, I bought something that is at once celebratory, consoling, and somewhat badly needed: a new pair of black leather shoes with silver metal buckles. My ideal shoe is a steel-toed black leather motorcycle boot covered in superfluous buckles, but I realize that it would create the wrong impression, so I content myself with snazzy women's low-heeled dress shoes accented with buckles.

I will be apartment hunting tomorrow, but I hope to find time to describe how Magdalena gets her own job.

Heritage Trail

In early September I bought myself a hybrid (mountain-road) bike. I didn't shop around at all. I went to a tiny bicycle shop in Dyersville, Iowa, run as a hobby by a nice man with a day job, and I bought the only new bicycle he had in stock. It is a Cignal Ranger, an inexpensive bike with a heavy steel frame. I figured that if I turned out to be too lazy to ride my bicycle, I wouldn't be out an arm and a leg. As it turns out, I ride about as often as my back allows. Every time the weather is clear and tolerably warm, I say, "This could be the LAST beautiful day before winter! I have to go for a bike ride!" and I'm out the door.

I had intended to regularly ride a circuit from the house to the park, around the park a few times, and back. Unfortunately, my back would not tolerate the terrain, which is hilly and full of deep ruts and plenty of loose gravel. Sadly, I resigned myself to driving to the Heritage Trail, which runs between Dyersville and Dubuque. Philosophically, it irritates me to drive somewhere in order to ride a bicyle, but I suppose that cripples can't be choosers.

Fortunately for me, it turned out that the Heritage Trail was a wonderful bike path. It is a rails-to-trails project with a smooth surface of crushed limestone. I have previously bicycled only in towns and on Rhode Island bicycle paths and roads, which are certainly pleasant, especially the East Bay Bike Path, which runs down the eastern shore of Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island. However, I like Iowa's Heritage Trail better. It has the beauty of New England without the crowds. Of course in Iowa there's also the intermittent smell of cattle manure, but the natural beauty and solitude make up for it in my view.

At first when I rode for short distances from Dyersville, I was impressed with riding past farms and fields, surrounded by wildflowers and trees and birds. There were a lot of benches available to sit on, great for walkers. Leaving from Dyersville, I would ride uphill on the way out, then downhill on the way back, which meant I could go as far as I could manage, then return easily. I would measure my distance by the number of farms that I passed.

The Heritage Trail propaganda claims that it has no more than a 1% grade at any point, but I do not think that is strictly true, because there are a couple of places where the trail crosses a raised roadway. I guess it would be cumbersome to write "The Heritage Trail has a 1% grade everywhere except at a couple of places where there's a 5% grade, but they're small enough hills that you can get off and walk your bike if you want to. Otherwise it's all 1%."

It does not follow that because the trail is flat, the area is flat. The trail is on a raised rail bed and is often surrounded by hills on either side, sometimes small cliffs where builders blasted a path for the track.

After Farley, the 6-mile mark, the trail becomes sheltered and even prettier, which surprised me since it was so pretty even before that. Farley is the high point of the Heritage Trail, so the trail past Farley is a downhill ride that comes as a relief after the laborious 6-mile climb to Farley up that demanding 1% grade... After Farley one enters cattle country, but it is not particularly stinky because the cattle graze in the fields instead of being kept together in a small area. There are many streams and fields, a few very low cliffs alongside the trail. My favorite spot is at the 9-mile mark: a pond with a large overhanging willow and often geese or swans.

At Epworth, the 10-mile mark, is the first view of a hillside covered in trees, which is a particularly lovely sight in autumn. A mile beyond Epworth the downward slope ends, and the trail climbs slightly uphill again for three more miles toward Graf, where there's a park with welcome toilet facilities.

One weekend I parked in Graf and bicycled to the Farley high point and back, 8.75 miles each way. Graf is difficult to find without either directions or a detailed map, and at first I took a wrong turn and wound up driving on unnumbered roads until I found myself 12 miles away in Dubuque.

Shortly after Graf the terrain changes as the trail nears Dubuque. Dyersville is part of the Western Corn Belt Plains, but Dubuque is part of the Paleozoic Plateau, so named because of the rock strata that have been exposed through erosion. There are a number of steep hills and bluffs. Sometimes the trail cuts directly through them, but more often there are simply beautiful views of stony hillsides. A stream runs alongside the trail for several miles.

At this late date most of the trees have dropped their leaves, and the trail looks wintry. Soon daytime temperatures will be reliably below 40 degrees, and I will stop riding until spring. I don't like the cold wind on my nose.