How’s it going?

“Alright. How are you?”

Good. Beginning to wonder about this ride, though.

“Yeah, I was going to say, it is hot out.”

If I’m not back in three hours send out the search party.

“We’ll send the air conditioning, too!”

That was my neighbor, at the beginning of my ride today. He was pampering a Rolls, so I didn’t have a lot of faith that he’d come looking for me. And there was a moment or two when I could have used the help today. I took a route we’re accustomed to, but then branched off of it and headed out to another wide spot in the road, just to have a different route.

Sometimes you need to see different trees.

So 13 miles in I turned left and pedaled down a round that was closed. Signs and everything. I dislike backtracking on my bike, so I’d determined that I would just become the cyclocross type if I had to negotiate a bad bridge. But the road was fine. Better than fine, really. It was perfect. Newly painted and still without traffic. Made it through the now absent construction and then found that the road turned to dirt.

A lady happened to be checking her mail just then and we discussed the roads. It seems the road I’d mapped out for myself was just gravel the rest of the way. I’m not interested in that, so I had to backtrack. Go to the next intersection back, she said, take a right and then ride that until it ends. Another right will take you to to 280.

Which is what I’d hoped to avoid, but that’s my only option. So I backtracked, passed the Auburn asphalt research center — the roads around it are, unsurprisingly, in pretty decent shape — and ultimately found myself on the road I’d originally hoped to reach. This was about the halfway point.

And now am I’m on roads I’ve never been on. There’s nothing but woods and the occasional house.

I like to know where I’m going. I like to know the roads, the distances and what’s out there so I can meter my pace, ration my water and generally feel like I can tell someone where I am if there’s a problem. But my detour has thrown all of my distances out of whack. There’s not a gas station around for miles. Fourteen miles, in fact. Also it is mid-day. And hot. And I’m by this point thirsty.

So I nursed my water and pedaled on. And, if you passed me, I’m sorry about that.

Here are some of the scenes:

The artist seems to be making a statement of rural life here. Note the overexposure, the storm moving in over the dilapidated farm and the heavy equipment lying in repose beneath the shade tree.

Or it could be that I was trying to not fall off my bike.

Hay!

Where I saw possibly the largest butterfly of my life. Birds thought it intimidating:

When was the last time you saw bunting? Note the very friendly folks who waved me on from the parking lot there.

And, finally:

After that seven mile stretch, which felt more like a test of purgatory — and far more than seven miles because I was limping along for fear of my water situation — I made it back to the home road. After four more familiar miles I was back to a gas station where we frequently stop. It is my goal to carry my bike inside the store and not have them be surprised by it.

While I was picking up a Gatorade it began to rain, so I sipped my drinks under their covered picnic table area. I drank 64-ounces of fluid and didn’t even feel it. (Did I mention the heat index had been around 100 degrees and I’d been outside for several hours?) The rain passed. I got back on my bike, ignored the aching protests from my body, which pretended to not know I had a little way to go, yet.

I pedaled close to home, through the red light and past the drugstore and down the long straightaway that is my sprint. I pushed beyond the subdivision, choosing the longer way home, so up another hill, where I was by now getting a kick from the Gatorade and raisins and pedaling like a maniac, and then onto another road and then two more hills. The last of which was almost the end of me.

Made it home, got cleaned up and deleted the map I’d made for the trip, redrawing instead the route I wound up taking.

When I plugged it into MapMyRide I found good news. I broke through my wall. The last three long rides I’ve hit the physical and mental wall at 42-miles. My first “long ride” was 42 miles, and I was done, physically spent, just as we got home. The second time I’d planned to do 42 miles I made it home and felt better, but there was nothing left in me. The third time I’d planned for 50, but called it off at 42.

This was my fourth try, and my original plan today would have been 47 miles. But there were those changes in my route so I had no real idea. On the bike I felt great, though, so I was worried about the actual distance.

Fifty miles.

Did I mention how hot it was?

We visited the grocery store before dinner, bought the things from the list, made jokes of other things that caught our eye, acted silly and had a nice time of it. The cashier rang us up. Another young man bagged our items. He offered to carry them out for us, which is nice, but silly.

He seemed incredulous, disbelieving that I could handle the last 16 feet. Never mind that I’ve been pushing the cart all over the store. Or that there’s someone in one of the lines who might need more of your strapping young help.

Besides, I wanted to say, I just rode 50 miles in blistering heat. I can do this.

Like I deserve a medal or something.

We had chicken parmesan tonight, which is a tasty dish The Yankee makes. Chicken, cheese, sauce, pasta. I could have eaten another plate or two. I burned some where between 3,400 to 4,600 calories today. I could afford more pasta.

Tomorrow I’ll rest. Tuesday I’ll do more riding and reading and writing … that’s the summer to me.