Hurricane warning flags...
It blows them off the road. It blows them onto the road. The trucks make it worse. The trucks make it better. Its always a headwind. They could only manage 4 miles per hour into the wind. They hate the wind. Its like riding uphill all the way across the state. I was never so glad to leave a state for the remainder of the trip. Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah...
Kansas warning flag...
As my Dad used to say of the wind, "Yeah, there was a barb wire fence in Oklahoma to break it up, but it blew down last year."
My immediate family's view of the wind is no different than the Trans-Amers whose blogs I've read.
Susan, who most of my followers are familiar with, takes a view of the wind markedly similar to that of hills. They both are to be avoided whenever possible. Since her failing in this regard has been discussed previously, we won't bore the reader with additional details.
Susan can ride today flag...
My daughter Kelsy, recently married BTW, has a viewpoint similar to that of her mother. Though possessed of a bit more grit. Speaking of which - grit , that is - the wind has provided considerable “story fodder” over the years. One example: Several years ago I was riding BAK with Susan (on the tandem) and Kelsy on her single bike. We were someplace out West where cows and feed lots dominate and the forecast for the following day was for - what else - wind.
Now I am as familiar with the wind as are they, but view it as something to be managed rather than suffered. The route the next day called for a jaunt to the North of about 15 miles followed by something like another 60-70 miles pretty much straight East. In my view the forecast couldn't have been better. This because the wind was predicted to be out of the South at about 20-25 mph until 0630, when it would shift to the West at roughly the same speed. PERFECT. Get up early, hit the road by 0545-0600 and enjoy a tailwind as we're Northbound. Then make the turn to the East at about the same time the wind shifted around to come out of the West. We could enjoy a tailwind all day - provided the weather guys were accurate. Concerning which, let me digress for a moment to vent my spleen about weather guys everywhere...
Seldom have I encountered a profession in which one could be right maybe (maybe!) half the time and remain employed, let alone smile about it as one dissembles concerning the following day's prediction. If the guys where I work managed to arrest the right people only half the time, well - suffice it to say that I'd spend a lot more time talking to lawyers.
But back to the story at hand. Despite my suggestions to the contrary, my two dilettantes refused to listen to reason and slept in that morning. If you've been on an organized ride with 800 plus people sleeping in a gymnasium you know that this is an accomplishment in its own right. I mean really, the cacophony of noises produced by that many human bodies at night in a gymnasium is rivaled only by a pod of dolphins in pursuit of prey (plenty of chattering and venting) - and a good deal smellier. But apparently those air mattresses are quite the slumber inducing proposition, because despite my entreaties we didn't get out the door on time. The net result of this slothful approach on the part of my compatriots was that the princesses and I had to ride in a 20-25 mph cross wind for the first 15 miles. This, of course, generated the anticipated result; the royal party whined and carped about the wind incessantly. Oh - I may have failed to inform the reader that the wind speeds I mentioned previously were the straight winds with gusts in the range of 30-35. My apologies. Regardless, at this point I viewed the wind as a blessing - at least it masked the whining and carping.
Now a tandem is nothing if not a rather large sail in crosswinds. And my daughter on her own bike, weighing whatever it is that high school girls weigh - which is considerably less than the good Lord can justify when compared to her parents - had her own difficulties maintaining a straight line. I reminded them both that I had suggested an alternative plan - but I only reminded them once. Neither was in a mood to cotton anything resembling "I told you so." So I maintained an enforced silence. But I was THINKING "I told you so."
Comes now the first feed lot - and much to our misfortune it was on the upwind side of the road. For those of you who ride where wind isn't a big deal, or where there are no feed lots - are there such places? - this means that all the dust from the feedlot was blowing right across the road. This was some serious wind, wind which stirred a quantity of feed lot dust sufficient to obscure the head lights of oncoming vehicles until they got rather close. As we continued thru the cloud I could hear my daughter occasionally spitting behind Susan and I on the tandem. I chose not to inquire as I had already suffered the wrath of the X chromosome.
When we came out the far side of the feedlot dust cloud, which coincidentally was right at the turn to the East (a tailwind - thank God), Kelsy continued to spit. Given that we could now carry on a conversation without shouting, I inquired as to the reason for her salivary distress. She replied that because of the dust cloud, she had a lot of grit in her mouth. Hmmm - reasonable, but... Having borne the burden of enforced silence as long as my Y chromosome permitted , I politely informed her that as we has just passed thru a feedlot dust cloud, what she was spitting out wasn't grit; but it certainly rhymed with grit. After a (very) brief pause to reflect, this occasioned (much) more spitting and concomitant complaining about the wind.
The moral of the story here is, "Manage the wind and you won't spit grit."
The alternative morale of the story is, “Breathe thru your nose when the grit hits the fan.”
Disclaimer: Susan (who reviews my missives before posting) says I have the story wrong and that my assessment has some mild inaccuracies. I'm pretty sure that was the term she used. Something to do with the timing of the wind change, or the wind speed. But she does admit to sleeping in that day. Who knows? Regardless, in her view this makes all the difference in the world. I told her I had noted her objections and would give them the attention they deserve, hence this post script. For her version of the event, please see her blog. Oh wait - she doesn't have one...
I believe it was Indiana Congressman Charles Brownson who said, "I never quarrel with a man who buys ink by the barrel."
