Just got back from a bike ride.
Rode almost to the exact same place as last year – along the highway towards Krāslava, past the Daugavas Loki nature park. This time I ventured further out – 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.
Trajectory of a drunk electrician
The trail is located somewhere around the exit from the highway (the yellow one), and is marked on the road with a wooden sign, because it is part of the Daugavas Loki park. What's funny is that at the end of the trail there's a sign saying “swimming spot”. I decided to check out what kind of spot this was – stomped down the path. First, a small 10-meter-high observation booth-tower appeared before my eyes, the kind 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. Further on – it got even better. Having descended a brutally steep path 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 about taking a dip in this place.
After that, I cruised along horrific quality forest roads and got bogged down in the sand so much that I periodically had to walk. The only thing that justifies such torture is – the mind-blowing aromas of all sorts of forest herbs, which are felt even stronger in the sun. When the road turned into a fire trench, I had almost completely despaired, but suddenly saw something grey. It was asphalt – the great joy of a hybridologist who had swallowed cross-country impressions right up to the “I can't take it anymore”. A hybrid, in case anyone isn't aware, is the kind of bike that generally should ride on asphalt more often, but if it veers off onto a bad/dirt/road, it'll manage too.
So, the asphalt wasn't just there for no reason, but behind barbed wire. But my soul was yearning for a solid surface so much that I found a hole in the wire and stealthily crawled 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, closed ones. 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 does, even though I'd like one.
Leatherman Skeletool aka useful multitool
And so, having successfully made it 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, there is asphalt leading to Tartaka. On the other hand, there are too few normal approaches near the lake, and I had to climb down to swim from a bridge. I pondered whether I'd get sucked into the sluice, but it turned out fine – a tiny little stream is incapable of swaying my torso.
After a dip, I pedaled back – I was thinking of dropping by Krāslava for supplies, since I ran out of water – quite uncomfortable, frankly speaking. But here the terrible scourge of cyclists was waiting for me – a flat tire. The thing is, my rear tire has been completely worn out for a long time now, but our wonderful city doesn't have the size I need, so I keep riding on it. Nothing to be done about it, I replaced the inner tube, rode on. But literally after a pathetic 10-15 km - “pshh-poof-poof”. The exact same thing again, and in the exact same spot where the tire had torn up quite indecently by now. To be expected. What to do? I started frantically making calls, hoping the phone battery would hold out. I couldn't reach anyone, and was already starting to think that I'd have to walk home for 5 hours on foot, but in the end my pops arrived and picked me up. At the same time, we learned that the bike fits into our small car if you fold the seats down.
The result is not exactly joyful: I racked up 63 km, walked another 7 on foot, spent six and a half hours on the whole thing. Last year going to the same place turned out to be eighty kilometers, and here it would've been a full 100, if it weren't for this snag.
On the plus side, I understood a lot of useful things: a lockout, that is, locking the front fork suspension – is a godsend if the fork is of poor quality, that is, an elastomer one, like mine. The speed increases by 2-3 km/h. The cycling gear I brought from the USA gives another 2-3, and in the wind even a whole 5 km/h. Actually, I don't have special cycling gear, but just compression clothes, meaning a tight-fitting synthetic shirt and shorts, but it also helps like crazy. Furthermore, for part of the way I rode in a lying-down position - everybody's watched the Tour De France, right? Well, they race on road bikes – the position there is always like that. It adds a hell of a lot of speed. I fell to thinking whether I could put aero bars on my hybrid to also set world records, in the nerd subgroup. Because such a position adds another 5 km/h, if not a full 10 – from a hill and straight back up a hill I was sometimes 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. Because before, it didn't roll at all – I could barely manage 15-20 in the wind. So here is my advice: buy yourself an oil/air fork, if you've got the dough. And screw what others think about your belly and ass wrapped in synthetics - wear cycling gear.