In Which the Wind Comes Whistling Across the Lake

Cedar Lake late Tuesday afternoon--calm north end.

The week started warm and wet, and I drove on Monday. By Tuesday, a cold front was passing through and winter was on its way back into Iowa—arriving with buffeting wind.

It was still damp Tuesday morning and flurries were possible that day, so I rode my mountain bike. I need not have bothered—the sky, in fact, in Cedar Rapids became increasingly clear as the day went on, and even if it was windy and cool, at least the light was good.

Cool, windy Tuesday morning, sunrise at Collins pond on C Avenue.

Late in the afternoon, I left work. Despite the chill wind, I was in the mood for the longer trail ride, and I headed over to the Cedar River Trail and circled Cedar Lake before heading home.

I was not unhappy to be on the mountain bike. It’s my slowest bike, but in the wind I would not have made much speed anyway (and you all who know me are thinking “you would not make much speed in any case, CR Biker,” and to be fair, you would have a point). It does feel like a very stable bike on a windy day.

I had my good camera with me. I had photographed a basketball game Monday afternoon, and for some reason felt it was important to photograph the first sunny ride of the week. When I got down to the lake, the sun was very low. Geese were all huddled at the north end of the lake, where the water was fairly calm. But anywhere else, especially on the south end, the lake was choppy. I was impressed with the sound of the wind and the water smashing against the shore.

You Californian family members who see actual waves on an actual ocean would be amused, I’m sure, but I was impressed with the surf.

Water splashing against rock at south end of Cedar Lake.

I was also surprised that, unlike geese, some ducks didn’t seem to care to hang out where the water was calm. There were several duck pairs bobbing up and down on the choppy lake, sometimes with feathers ruffled by the wind. There are silly sayings about wet weather being the kind of day that would only make a duck happy—but in this case, despite it being sunny, I’m sure these ducks were getting quite wet and sad. A duck’s face does not have expression, but I could only imagine them quacking vague duck curses under their breaths as they questioned the wisdom of wintering in balmy Cedar Rapids.

I headed north to home and thought the flag at Harding Middle School looks pretty in the late golden light, so I shot some images of it—not realizing until I looked at them how frayed the flag seems. Then again, maybe it wasn’t frayed so badly when it was raised Tuesday morning.

It was that kind of day. Every once in a while, I shifted into a climbing gear on flat ground to ascent the wind hill. I was thoroughly chilled by the time I arrived home, but still rode my bike up to a dinner invitation a half mile or so from home.

The mountain bike has lots of lights. Why not?

Today, it was getting colder and was still breezy in the morning, but luckily not so windy. Winter was back, but there are mittens and warm boots and long underwear, and your biking correspondent was still on two wheels, although today I rode the hybrid bike.

Here are more images from my windy Tuesday ride:

Geese in golden light on lake.

A great wave hit the little ship. "Hold on," Captain Jim told his men.

Flag waves vigorously at Harding Middle School.

Cedar River Trail north of Cedar Lake--pretty sky and golden light of late afternoon.

Ducks, riding waves on Cedar Lake.

More lake waves.

In Which Our Biker Hero Rides Off Into the Sunset

Sun sinking to horizon seen at Cedar Lake. Appreciate it, I took my mittens off just so you could see this, too.

Well, not really, because: A) I am not a real hero, I just play one on my blog and B) I was riding north, and I think west is by definition where the sun spends her nights.

But, I was leaving campus around 5 p.m. It was cool, in the 20s, and it had been a bit of a grey, cool, dreary afternoon. While the morning ride was nice and bright and sunny, midday treks across campus were sad affairs.

As luck would have it, the cloud cover was breaking at sunset. Well it would, wouldn’t it? In Iowa, if you want it cold at night, it’s best for it to be clear.

But wait, there is more! Same sun and same lake, but a few minute later at a different spot.
Old Sol sure is purty, ain't she?

Anyway, despite the chill, I enjoyed the evening sky, so I did the extra miles to loop down by Cedar Lake, an asset that I hope this city can enhance and preserve.

A bit of open water at lake's north end, as there often is. In other years, eagles have crowded this open patch of water. Not so far this year--but geese and ducks sure like it.

Final look at the pretty evening as light fades. I'm heading north, having left the lake behind. This is a trail bridge--is it near J Avenue? Or is J where the park is? I forget, anyway a trail bridge near some street. And a sun. And some lights from traffic.

I still have had no eagle sightings, but as you can see, it was nonetheless a very pretty evening to be riding a bicycle on the Cedar River Trail.

Feb. 11 Update: A groovy member of the Joe Correction League (my sisters) points out that the bridge is at 29th Street, while the Park With A Name Nobody Remembers is at J Avenue. She's right, so shout out to Cate, today's winner of the JCL Badge of Honor. It made me think of this song, which of course, is about the 59th Street Bridge, but still explains how the Cedar River Trail and the 29th Street Bridge makes a biker feel:

In Which I Reflect On the Morning Ride Reflections

View of creek beside Cedar River Trail this morning.

It was a bit cloudy this morning, but I took the slightly longer trail route in to work. The Cedar River Trail parallels a creek for much of the way. I was thinking about how water in morning light pleasantly reflects the sky and trees— how pretty that can be, but how hard to capture via a photo.

A photo freezes an instant of time. But part of the pleasure of seeing water as you ride is movement—the water’s and yours. And there is sound. Of course the hum of traffic on nearby I-380, but also the various voices of birds declaring  their territories in the morning light. And the quiet sounds of the bicycle itself, the little squeaks of the pedals, clicks of shifting gears, the mild rumble of tire against asphalt.

On this morning’s ride, one unfamiliar pretty bird darted in front of me. It was red and brown and white with an interesting double V shape to its wings, and I couldn't tell what it was, and then it was gone.

For some reason, a mama duck amused me as she sat in a puddle of a tire rut beside the trail. There’s a creek nearby, dear, and there you won’t have bikes practically on top of you.

Lady Duck in puddle by the trail.

The afternoon ride was not quite so pleasant—it had started to rain, and it was a cool, penetrating, cooling rain.

It must have motivated me to peddle faster. I was home in 25 minutes, and the 4-miles to Mount Mercy usually take me closer to 30 minutes. I guess a faster bike ride is one way to try to stay warm!

In Which Morning Snow Is Warmer Than Evening Wind

A bit beaten up by Sunday's storm, first blooming Iris on MMU campus seen Monday morning.

It was cold on my bike rides both this morning and this evening—it was snowing on me on the way into work. Only lightly, not accumulating, but it was snowing.

Despite the morning snow, there are undeniable signs that today was a spring bike ride day. Dry Creek was swollen from spring rains. On the way across campus on my bike in the morning, I paused, briefly hopped off, and photographed the first irises blooming in the garden between Warde Hall and Basile Hall.

A very wet Dry Creek seen from the C Avenue bridge Monday morning. You can't see them, and I snapped this photo hoping you could, but there are lots of snowflakes in the air, too.

And this evening, the ducks were back in their customary puddle at the corner of Lennox Avenue and 40th Street.

Most of all—the morning’s most undeniable sign that the season has indeed changed most definitely—here is a photo of the parking lot at Rockwell Collins looking south towards Collins Road.

Risking life as I snap this photo--because I'm in motion, crossing Rockwell-Collins parking lot. We're looking south towards the corner of the lot where mountains of snow were piled all winter long And there is no more snow to be seen--my first view of this lot this year with no snow in it.

What don’t you see? No snow. This is the corner of the parking lot where the company piles its mountains of white stuff, and the dirty piles of snow were visible well into April, even last week.

But, not today. I don’t know if it was the 80 degree day Saturday or the 4 inches of rain Sunday, but today there was no snow here. Finally.

Because it’s spring. Hip, hip, hooray!

The ducks in their puddle Monday evening.

Sunset view as I peddle through campus Monday around 7 p.m. Guess we really should replaced that poor tattered flag.