Italian racing bike and dead corn.

After weeks – months, really! – of extremely hot weather and drought, this weekend descended upon the region like a breath of fresh air. I’d grown accustomed to triple digit temps, so waking this morning to weather cool enough that it made me wish for arm warmers was simply a wonderful experience. I stopped far more times than I normally would so as to better enjoy the land I was passing through.

This morning I chose to ride the Freschi; I can’t express my delight at hitting the road on such a light, fast bike. The Boulder is comfortable and moderately fast. I can carry loads of stuff in the front bag, but it’s far from nimble. Out of all my bikes, the Freschi best fits that profile, and so long as I’m of a mind to stuff only the basic essentials into my jersey pockets it is a fantastic choice.

I had no intention of riding at full tilt and had no real destination in mind as I headed out from my driveway and down the road. Five minutes in,  another rider passed by as I came to a stop sign; I paused and followed him, catching up at a traffic signal. We chatted until the light turned green; I noticed he, too, was riding with toe clips, and I could almost forgive him for the aluminum Cannondale.

About five miles out of town I saw a couple of riders struggling up a long hill. Feeling strong, I kept the gears high and easily caught up. At the top of the hill, they continued east and I turned south. The fields have turned gold, the sky a brilliant blue with wisps of clouds dancing across. The corn sure makes a beautiful backdrop for my chrome Italian bike; too bad it’s flat out dead.


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