Our Rides in Words, Photos, Videos & Maps

David Berry

Well-Known Member
I like your overlay of your route on the topographic map. What is your process or apps that you use?
Grant …
I record rides using Ride with GPS on my iPhone which is kept on the handlebar using the Quad Lock system.

Both the smartphone app and the web-based service allow one to choose from various maps. My choice is usually OSM Cycle as it highlights bike paths and on-road routes in purple.
… David
 

David Berry

Well-Known Member
We enjoy spending a month camping and riding the trails in the Okanagon and CVR trails across trestles.
Trestle bridges are among my favourites, too.

Here is a properly restored trestle bridge across the Lockyer Creek which is about 30 km up the rail trail from where we live…

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Lockyer Creek Trestle Bridge, Brisbane Valley RT
Although the inner safety balustrades are modern, the outer steel girders atop the three main pylons are more than a century old. The reconstructed bridge follows the original's design as faithfully possible. Good for another century? Let's wait and see.

Location (click for map)

Anyone else have favourite trestle bridge photos?
 
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Mulezen

Well-Known Member
Trestle bridges are among my favourites, too.

Here is a properly restored trestle bridge across the Lockyer Creek which is about 30 km up the rail trail from where we live…

View attachment 48375
Lockyer Creek Trestle Bridge, Brisbane Valley RT
Although the inner safety balustrades are modern, the outer steel girders atop the three main pylons are more than a century old. The reconstructed bridge follows the original's design as faithfully possible. Good for another century? Let's wait and see.

Location (click for map) : Between the seventh gate and the long, straight road to Coominya. (I neglected to include the photo there.)

Anyone else have favourite trestle bridge photos?

I think we have sufficient reason to excuse strict adherence to our 2020 theme and recall rides past or planned!
“Let’s wait and see” Sounds good to me
 

Twin Valley

Active Member
Trestle bridges are among my favourites, too.

Here is a properly restored trestle bridge across the Lockyer Creek which is about 30 km up the rail trail from where we live…

View attachment 48375
Lockyer Creek Trestle Bridge, Brisbane Valley RT
Although the inner safety balustrades are modern, the outer steel girders atop the three main pylons are more than a century old. The reconstructed bridge follows the original's design as faithfully possible. Good for another century? Let's wait and see.

Location (click for map) : Between the seventh gate and the long, straight road to Coominya. (I neglected to include the photo there.)

Anyone else have favourite trestle bridge photos?

I think we have sufficient reason to excuse strict adherence to our 2020 theme and recall rides past or planned!
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IMG_20150902_141652178_HDR.jpg
 

Twin Valley

Active Member
5 days into isolation from our return from Cook Islands to Canada, our biggest concerns were the Los Angeles and Vancouver airports contrary to what we expected little screening of passengers so time will tell on this one, logged lots of miles in Rarotonga, feel I know every corner and dog on the island, wished I had Stefan's mirror to screen traffic coming up from behind me, nevertheless loved our trip there
 

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Readytoride

Well-Known Member
Yesterday's ride was a test. A test of an idea. An idea that was given birth by virtue of a noise. A really, really, REALLY annoying noise. A noise to try the very patience of a saint. A cycling saint, that is.

A noise called "a rattle". A fender rattle, to be precise.

Allow me to digress a bit....

My bike was delivered to me complete with a pair of lovely tin fenders. Nicely painted, stylish even. It took one ride...and the front fender was summarily removed and stored. Why? Because it "rattled". I cannot abide a rattle, period.

Thus the poor, unassuming fender hung for months on the garage wall until a day or so ago when it was decided, by a committee of one (moi) to give it a second chance back on the bike. The incessant rains creating intensely muddy gravel spray on my beloved gravel roads had been the catalyst. All that grit was being tossed into the bike frame, and making a mess of the bike's front end. Perhaps if I tried the fender again, maybe it wouldn't rattle going down the bumpy washboard gravel roads.

Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly, too.

The re-trial didn't go well. The fender, tightened into place, still rattled and harmonically hummed happily with each singular bump in the road, as if it's sole purpose in life was to bait and annoy the ear, rather then protect from and deflect road dirt. I gritted my teeth on that first test ride, and checked and rechecked the fenders bolts to make sure nothing encouraged that annoying tin metal rendition of "Drive the Cyclist Bonkers". But that fender still sang with a pitchy frequency going down the gravel road.

I returned home from the failed first test, parked the bike, and checked the collective modern source of wisdom for all things in the world, great and small. Namely, The Internet. Unfortunately, according to internet discussion, there was no way to shut down the rattle shy of cutting off the fender's front extension. Which I was reluctant to do.

So I stood and studied the bike, studied the fenders, and came up with an idea. Perhaps I could dampen the harmonics by weighing down the thin metal of the fender. Change the surface area by adding a second surface to it, one that could not rattle. Maybe that might work. Maybe. But it had to be stylish. I don't do "ugly" mods.

The following morning found the front fender outfitted with a stylish new "overcoat" of faux black leather, custom cut to fit the width and curve of the metal, held into place by a trim of green electrical tape. Green because I could not find any black tape to save my soul and I was not going to rush out to buy black tape until I knew for certain my test idea would work. So green tape would have to do. I would just not look at it.

Now it was time for the road test. The test would involve 21 miles of combined paved and gravel roads. A true test, in every sense of the word, to my ears and my patience.

Yesterday promised to be a good time to ride. After a cold morning spent working around the farm, the afternoon sauntered in, unrepentantly late, yet still bringing the promised sunshine and warmer temps. It also brought some unwanted wind. I shrugged, and decided if I couldn't have perfect weather, this would do. And so set off into the warm sunshine, and breezy wind.

The test was ready to commence.

The first 7 miles were easy - all paved roads. I found myself listening carefully, but the front fender remained unusually silent under its faux leather coat. I relaxed, and began to enjoy my ride, listening to the sounds of my tires rolling on the smooth road as the scenery, resplendant with flowering trees and plants decked out in the latest Spring colors, rolled by in a kaleidoscope of pretty pastel hues. The Blue Ridge mountains were starting to glow with their namesake color, complimenting the deep green rush of fresh grass springing up in the rolling fields. Spring was well and truly underway. I pedaled along, basking in the sunshine and peaceful silence.

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Still, a nagging voice in my head warned me not to get complacent. I was on a smooth road after all, not one to produce any spontaneous fender-induced songs.

I stopped to take a picture of the world's current life and times during a pandemic - a closed brewery. Still, hope springs eternal when one can get brew to go when the taps have been shut off.

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As my route turned into the first gravel road, I tensed up. Would the fender, decked out in it's new leather finery, decide to sing again? Did I face 14 miles of gritted teeth and outraged ears? The tires hit the gravel and immediately hit a series of washboard that rattled my teeth.

But the fender remained silent! Not a peep, not a hum, not even a hint of a rattle. All I heard was my teeth clacking in my head as the bike lurched over the washboard, then settled into a smooth section of road, ready to tour the countryside. In peace and quiet. I almost cheered with delight.

The test was successful...thus far. The fender was doing its job keeping my bike clean from the recently rained upon gravel, and was doing so without a peep, without even the smallest hum.

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The next couple of miles the road ranged from rough and uncouth with rivers of water replacing the shoulders and impromptu sink holes deep enough to bury my bike without a second thought, to more civilized byways decked out with flowering borders. It was all delightfully decadent, and fun to ride past.

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Once again, the roads were dotted with people out enjoying the day. Mostly young people, released from school early due to the unprecedented pandemic, and ready to find things outside to keep boredom at bay. A group of teens were having fun exploring the rough and weedy banks of a nearby stream, laughing and chattering. I called out a hello to them, and they all happily replied the same back.

Everyone, it seemed was out, including one old timer I came upon a few miles later, dutifully jogging up the road with a single minded purpose. My bike, with fenders now rendered as silent as a grave, did not announce itself, so I felt duty bound to say hello as to not startle the fellow. But there was no response as he kept up a steady trot uphill, unperturbed. I called out again, louder, as I gained on him. He ignored me, and continued to ignore me until I was almost abreast of him. It was if he was in his own little world, trotting along, never missing a beat, on very familiar terms with all the nuances of this gravel road. There was no question he was a local and this road was a friend of his. I had removed my bell that morning (it was broken) and had nothing to ring, and for some reason he just wasn't responding to my voice. So I finally did the next best thing. I barked. Like a dog.

THAT got his attention. He whipped his head around with a startled look on his wiskered face, completely taken by surprise at the bicycle right next to him. At that moment, looking at his face, I reckoned old guy was probably close to deaf, or at the very least, hard of hearing. He was polite, though, and greeted me with a dignified sniff of my offered fingers. I'd wished I had a treat to give him, but he seemed to have his mind and agenda set towards continuing his journey (presumably) towards home. I asked if he minded if I snapped a photo of him, and he politely obliged. Then we set off, me soon leaving him behind as his jog home continued with the same easy "getting the job done" rhythm as before. I did stop a lone motorist heading the opposite way on this winding road to let him know that the old timer was coming up the road, and the driver thanked me graciously. I do hope the little old guy got home safe.

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I was now just a few miles from home, immensely pleased that my bike no longer felt compelled to hum and sing at every bump in the road, but now traveled with me in companionable silence. Just the way I like it.

A half mile from home I took a small detour, slipping my bike past a locked gate and rode to the crest of a high field that overlooked the eastern horizon. It was the perfect platform, a direct line of sight to watch and hear the endless flights at Dulles International airport, and see the amazing criss cross of dozens of contrails etching white lines on the blue skies.

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It was also this very same spot that I climbed 19 years ago on September 11th 2001, to listen to the silence of the skies as every flight around the US was ordered to the ground. I paused and listened. Gone was the distant, endless roar of jet engines taking off. Not a breath of a sound could be heard. Everywhere around me the silence was deep. I searched the skies, the breathtakingly beautiful blue heavens for any lines of white, but saw only Mother Nature's hand painting a few wispy cirrus clouds. Nothing manmade etched the skies. Nothing at all.

I stood for a bit, reflecting as I looked at the empty skies, my bike waiting patiently by my side. It was not an act of terror that had robbed the skies of our presence this time. Instead, it was an enemy so tiny and invisible that one needed a microscope to see it. One that attacked in secret, doing horrific acts of sabotage undetected until it was almost too late. We had taken our planes back down to the ground, and sequestered our population into hiding as our armies of medical professionals marshalled on the front lines. Such a tiny enemy with such a huge footprint. I stood and stared at the arch of blue above me, and wondered what the coming months would bring, and when it would be that I would climb this hill yet again to hear the planes at Dulles, and see them etch the skies in perfect white lines.

I saw a tiny dot overhead, just as I began to turn away. I paused and looked carefully. It was a jet, a bare sparkle in the sky, etching a single painfully thin line of white behind it as it made its way toward the western horizon. Proof, although scant, that we were not defeated yet. There was still going to be a long, dirty, fearful fight ahead of us, and the skies may be empty for a while longer, much longer than I had to linger on the hill. It was time to bike down to the opening at the gate, and follow the road, in a symphony of leather bound silence, towards the mountains....and home.

And maybe take a quick trip to the store to get some black electrical tape. My bike fenders are about to be dressed in custom made faux leather couture.
 

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Stefan Mikes

Well-Known Member
Very smart action of yours with that fender, Flora! Now fancy a bassist buying his Fender Precision Bass and discovering his brand new instrument produces the "wolf" tone (the unpleasant overtone similar to howling of wolves). It is not easy to get rid of the "wolf" from the instrument and one of the ways is to weigh the headstock down. You found a similar solution yourself. Bravissimo!
 

Twin Valley

Active Member
This photo appears to have been taken on one of the ~18 trestles on the Kettle Valley Railway (KVR) above Kelowna in British Columbia.
exactly, I should have mentioned that, last year the better half dropped me off at top of Kelowna and I pedalled to Penticton across the trestles on KVR and slight decline all the way where she picked me up in Narramata, pedal 70 km then sample the wineries - perfect day
 

Alaskan

Well-Known Member
We live near a US Covid 19 epicenter. I turn 70 this year, I have heart issues so I am both high risk for getting Covid 19 and high risk of not getting anything but palliative care if I do get it. Nancy and I have been house bound for three weeks, constant hand washing. doing rigorous disinfection of anything that comes into our home, no guests, family included. We do get out to walk the dog and ride our bikes. We don't stop and talk to anyone. Ride out, ride back, avoid mixed use trails and stay on the road. That keeps enough distance. The weather has allowed me to ride 9 of the past 11 days but the current forecast does not bode well.

Blossoming cherry trees and some fun memes.

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Alaskan

Well-Known Member
To be 100% clear: I'm out of cycling, not of business :) I've been working fully remotely since 2000, and partly remotely since 1996 (the fax/early e-mail times).

The executive order is crystal-clear: "Stay at home, unless..." If I were commuting to/from work, use of an e-bike would be welcomed and praised. I work at home. I may do some grocery shopping using the bike, that's it. I intend to spend spare time on upgrading my e-bikes.
Our lockdown allows for outdoor exercise, walking jogging, biking observing a 10 foot proximity rule. This is easily done on a bike. Thankful for this.
 

Saratoga Dave

Well-Known Member
Almost the same story. 200 miles north of NYC, but part of the Capital Region which is turning up more cases daily. 1 year younger than you, me with A/Fib and my wife a cancer survivor with some respiratory issues. We’ve been sequestered since early this month, haven’t had any direct contact with anyone. Lots of FaceTime with family and friends.

I haven’t gotten out on the bike as much since winter hung around, but yesterday we had a sunny day and I got the snow blower back to the shed and the ebike in the garage where it belongs. Got in a quick 10 miles along the Erie Canal, which I can access right from our driveway through the neighborhood. I think I’m going to be riding that stretch a lot for the next month or so. Vicky is just too apprehensive for me to go out on the roads.

But being shut in together has been pretty easy, I must say. We were well stocked before this ever came along, have always sort of operated that way, which made it easier. We never had to go deal with the crazed crowds at the store, just picked a day and said That’s it, we’re in for a while.

Best to everyone here, and certainly to you and Nancy, Richard. I’ve enjoyed your posts ever since we all showed up in this little arena.