Just got back from a bike ride.
I rode almost to the same place as last year – along the highway to Krāslava, past the Daugavas Loki nature park. This time I ventured further – my goal was the village and lake of Tartaka. Along the way, I checked out bicycle trail N22. Why it has such a number, and where the previous ones are – I have no idea.
The trajectory of a drunk electrician
The trail is located somewhere around the exit from the highway (the yellow one), marked on the road with a wooden sign, because it is part of the Daugavas Loki park. The funny thing is that at the end of the trail there is a “swimming spot” sign. I decided to check out what kind of spot this was – trudged along the path. First, a small 10-meter-high observation tower-booth appeared before my eyes, the likes of which they've placed all over the park. But the irony was that the booth was overgrown with dense forest on all sides – you can only see the clearing from which you climbed onto it. It gets better. Going down a brutally steep trail that 80% of tourists wouldn't be able to handle, I discovered that the promised body of water was the Daugava river. Moreover, getting to it is practically impossible – everything is overgrown with regular grass and chest-high nettles, and near the water - seaweed and muck. So you can't even dream of taking a dip in this place.
Then I cruised along forest roads of terrible quality and got stuck in the sand so much that I periodically had to walk. The only thing that justifies such torment is the stunning aromas of all kinds of forest herbs, which are felt even stronger in the sun. When the road turned into a fire ditch, I completely despaired, but suddenly I saw something gray. It was asphalt – the great happiness of a hybridologist who had swallowed enough cross-country experiences up to his neck. A hybrid, in case anyone doesn't know, is a bike that really should be ridden on asphalt more often, but if it goes off onto a bad/dirt/road, it'll handle it too.
So, the asphalt wasn't just there for no reason, I was behind barbed wire. But my soul yearned for a hard surface so much that I found a hole in the wire and snuck inside like a spy. The happiness didn't last long – a hundred meters later it turned out that I had arrived at the exit gates. Unfortunately, they were closed. But to my joy, the wire near the gates had worn out and fell apart on its own when I tried to pass through it. Don't even think that I helped it – after all, I don't have a Leatherman Skeletool like Tema Lebedev, even though I'd like one.
Leatherman Skeletool aka useful multitool
So, having successfully gotten out alive from the territory of a military base (I can't think of any other purpose for asphalt behind barbed wire) and having ridden another kilometer, I ended up in Borovka. And from there it's not far to Tartaka. To my great joy, asphalt leads to Tartaka. But there aren't enough normal approaches near the lake, and I had to climb down from the bridge to swim. I was wondering if I would get sucked into the sluice, but everything worked out – a thin trickle isn't capable of shaking my torso.
Having taken a dip, I pedaled back – I thought I'd stop by Krāslava for supplies, since I ran out of water – quite uncomfortable, frankly speaking. But here the terrible scourge of cyclists awaited me – a flat tire. The thing is, my rear tire wore out a long time ago, but in our wonderful city they don't have the size I need, so I keep riding on it. Nothing to be done, changed the inner tube, rode on. But literally after a pathetic 10-15 km - “pssh-poof-poof”. Same thing again, and in the exact same spot where the tire had ripped open quite obscenely. To be expected. What to do? I started frantically calling everyone, hoping my phone battery would hold up. Couldn't reach anyone, and already started thinking I'd have to walk home for 5 hours, but eventually my old man came and picked me up. We also found out that the bike fits in our small car if you fold down the seats.
The result is not exactly joyful: I rolled 63 km, walked another 7, spent six and a half hours on everything. Last year going to the same place turned out to be about eighty kilometers, and here it would've been a full 100, if not for this ambush.
But I realized a lot of useful things: lockout, meaning blocking the front fork suspension – is a godsend if the fork is of bad quality, meaning an elastomer one like mine. The speed increases by 2-3 km/h. The cycling gear I brought from the US gives another 2-3, and against the wind even a full 5 km/h. Actually, I don't have special cycling clothes, just compression clothes, meaning a tight synthetic shirt and shorts, but it helps like crazy too. Part of the way I also rode in an aero tuck - everyone watched the Tour De France, right? So, they race on road bikes – they always have that posture. Adds a hell of a lot of speed. I wondered if I could put aero bars on my hybrid to also set world records, in the nerd subgroup. Because that posture adds another 5 km/h, and sometimes even 10 – sometimes going down a hill and immediately back up I was rolling at forty.
After all these bonuses, I started riding like a decent casual rider – 25-30 km/h even on hilly terrain and with a breeze. Whereas before I didn't roll at all – I barely managed 15-20 against the wind. So here is a tip: buy an oil/air fork if you have the cash. And screw what others think about your belly and ass wrapped in synthetic fabric - wear cycling gear.