OK Connecticut

 Yes, this post's title could mean various things. You decide for yourself, and I'll continue to decide for me. I don't know, and I'm a fan of that 

Last Saturday, while at Bike Lab, I received a group distribution text invitation to Mark's fall ride starting in Marlborough, just across the line from my hometown. I had mixed feelings about making the trip down part way through that state. I don't in any way mind longer rides, but heading in that direction to do one was leaving me, meh, flat. Then, after my phone kept sounding off with the bevy of reply messages, at least for the next minute until I silenced it, I spent most of my time at Bike Lab helping Lisa rework the brake pad installation her friend had done on her bike so she could continue, and safely stop continuing when appropriate, with her training rides to prepare for a round trip ride to New Haven on the Farmington Canal Trail.

Lisa may have almost made my quandary of whether or not to join Mark's ride easy. She works as a nurse, and nurses, as part of their trade, often have exposure to lots of sick people, and the couple hours I spent working with Lisa, outside, but unmasked and both in close proximity to her bike, was the only close contact exposure I could remember when I started feeling a scratchy throat 36 hours later. I've mostly staked belief that my viral exposure at Bike Lab was low when outside, but I'm guessing I was wrong. Lisa may have even sneezed a couple times.

I in no way blame Lisa for my getting sick. I'm the one who chose to work without a mask despite my increased risk of Long COVID due to the TBI history. I'd just read that flu cases were rising early this year, and while I'd received my flu vaccine on a doctor's visit twelve days earlier, two weeks is what I've read is the delay for full protection. At two days shy of that, I'd have had substantial protection, if it was flu, and I never felt too awful, but I have a bad habit of going out and riding all day when I don't feel too awful.

I did eventually remember what I'd finally learned about ten years ago. Rest works. Thursday, after an early morning walk, and nap, my exercise was limited to the four mile, flat round trip ride to the library, slowly, to check out a couple videos. The first one was especially long, two discs worth, and not good, so I may have benefited from a couple more restful naps. Meanwhile, with the prospect of not being in condition to join the Connecticut ride, I found my desire to do so increasing. We do want what we can't have.

Thursday's rest helped, so I raised my physical exertion Friday only a little to a ten mile round trip for an errand. I felt pretty ok, but still sat myself to watch the second movie, which like my health, was an improvement. Blowing my nose a lot, I started to think maybe my body was flushing the illness and it's resulting crud out of my system. I wasn't tip top, but decided on a qualifying metric for the next morning: if I could breathe without restriction through both nostrils, I'd leave early and ride the fifty-ish miles down to Becky and Mark's house, slowly. I figured the large group ride to the memorial plaque, for a friend of Mark's and a number of other people I know, would be sedate and easy.

Saturday morning, nasal intake up to spec, I left six hours before the ride start on the route Google predicted would take just over four hours by bike. See, I did need the reminder, but I do know how to take it easy. Even after an errand stop part way, I was far enough ahead of schedule that in Vernon, at the junction of two unpaved (yay!) rail trails, I called my friend Mar, who lives just around the corner to see if she was home and accepting visitors. 

No answer, so I headed on my way to cross Manchester, my home for four years, combing my memory to decide on my best route. A mile down the road, I recognized Mar's voice, "I recognize that four foot pole!" from the passing car. My reply: "It's only three!" I use a shorter pole for Connecticut's less generous law, and there was the possibility I might have to stow it on my bike for the trail section of the ride. Mar hadn't yet listened to my phone message, planning to do that while waiting in line at the post office, where she was headed. We were just fated to meet! After a ten minute pow wow at the end of a side street, we were both again on our way. Perfect!

I still hadn't settled on my exact route across town, but thought it would be pleasant to ride through the trails of Porter Reservoir, especially if I remembered exactly how to make it to and through there. Then, after passing within a quarter mile crow flight of my old house, I remember the semi back road ahead shortly on the left, which would take me to Route 44. From there, my memory was fuzzy on the alignment of the roads, but I was pleased to find another neighborhood street directly across the numbered route. I didn't remember exactly where it went, but the general direction was good, despite also being substantial up.

I crossed and climbed, a street hill, and at the T at the top I was just about to consult my phone for a map when the view down to my left clicked. In years past, I'd usually been looking up that view, after taking the path through Porter and avoiding the hill I'd just climbed. It wasn't too much of a deviation from the more direct and less hilly route, and two minutes later I was in the woods after finding the somewhat hidden entrance to the reservoir.

Successfully in the woods, 

headed the opposite direction

 from most of my memories, 

lightweight potluck contribution leading the way.

See why I was happy to find Porter!

Even with the addition of trail and trading the flat, direct Route 85 for climbing over Birch Mountain Road (what's in a name?) I arrived at Becky and Mark's house forty five minutes early, so I stayed outside, ate a snack, and offloaded gear from my bike rather than roust them out too early. As it turns out, I'm a creature of habit, as Mark reminded me when he recounted the story of a past early arrival, before I was hit in 2022, when I'd napped on the stone walk in the woods behind their house, again to avoid being too early. Go brain injury, I only vaguely remembered all of this, but hopefully no future event will make me forget Mark's invitation to come to the house anytime.

The other long route riders arrived, a smaller group than I'd expected, and as for the mellow memorial rice pace, I'd figured wrong. I'd thought I'd missed the memorial invitation the last year or two, but it seems I hadn't because there hadn't been a memorial ride. There still wasn't. This Saturday was just an unspecified fall group ride, with the choice of various start points to adjust the distance, but happily keeping the memorial's post ride potluck tradition. The other thing that didn't happen was the meeting of the two groups. It turns out, the long option of starting from Mark's was also the fast option, or the "bro ride" as my friend and fellow hoper-for-a-recovery-ride, Mary, observed at the start.

Phew, that was a long, meandering introduction to the main event, the long and fast ride. Consider it part A. Now, Monday, I want to run a few errands and will have to continue the telling of my trail tails in a future installment.