The Electric Gatorade Action Trips
I love my new Yamaha Electric Bike.
I forgot how much fun it is to ride on isolated country roads, with the smell of cow manure in my nostrils, the sight of distant peaks, the feel of a tailwind and electrons driving me forward, the taste of Chex Mix on my tongue, the touch of a Rottweiler’s fangs on my calf.
Nancy Fitzpatrick started an ebike group as a spoke radiating from the hub of the Blue Ridge Bicycle Club.
Nancy, Mike, Dinah and Calvin
Nancy lives in Weaver-Vegas, so most of the rides she leads are north of that ‘ville. We’ve ventured as far as the outer rings of Jupiter (which have Spandex moons), and have seen some beautiful countryside in Madison and Buncombe counties. Nancy’s partner Rod rides, when he’s not in FL or playing golf. Chris, Dinah, John and Jack have also pedaled the cow pastures with us. That part of the bike-o-sphere is another world compared to the skyscrapers of downtown Ashevegas. Tucked in the hilly terrain are ancient barns made of Chestnut, John Deeres dating from the Hoover Administration, and Hellbenders big as gators lurking under low-water bridges.
I’ve been on several rides so far, usually between 20–30 miles, which is perfect for someone trying to ride himself back into shape after years of commuting on a banana-bike at 5 mph. My Yamaha has five speeds: off, pedaling a 50-pound chuck of steel on Cross tires; Eco+, rousing a few dozen electrons; Eco, juicing my crank to help me up the hills; Standard, waking a Van De Graaff Generator that raises the hairs on my legs and the bike up mountains; and Zip, which I’m afraid to use because I don’t want to ride out of Jupiter’s orbit and get hit by a Tesla.
Motorists have been polite, and country folk will acknowledge you with a wave, nod, or finger doodle. Most of the dogs are fenced, and the loose ones are no match for an electrified iron horse. Because we’re out in the country, we see Saanen goats, Brahman cows, Appaloosa horses, Foghorn Leghorns, Meleagris gallopavo turkeys, Purple Guineas, jennet and jack donkeys, and horned bison ruminating on life. Chewing the cud. Set a spell. Vittles. Creasy greens. A lil chapter.
Whoa, fell into a pit of dialect, you’uns.
Looks like my bat-try will last about 50 miles, so I’d like to ride one of Jupiter’s rings around downtown, slingshot into Wvr-vegas orbit, enjoy the ebike ride, and cruise on home. It’ll be a few light-years before I’m ready for that excursion, but I’m making progress. Dancing and gardening are helping.
I’m learning to ride with no hands so that I can tuck newspapers under my kit at Alpine passes, or raise my arms as I cross the county line first, or stretch out my old body without dismounting. I forget my aches and pains, though, when I cruise up a steep grade at 12 mph, my little electrons tingling and my compatriots whooping and hollering at the sheer joy of bicycle riding.
