In Which Birds are Seen on a Final Ride

A pair of geese form a heart on the pond at Collins Aerospace on C Avenue.

Iowa’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic has been a bit confusing. The state was divided into zones and the governor uses unexplained matrices to assign a risk score to each zone, and the level of state-mandated isolation varies as a result.

I live in Cedar Rapids, the city in Iowa most hard hit by the virus. And this week, we reached 10 on the mysterious state matrix, which promoted today the ordering of new restrictions.

In Linn County, popular walking/bike trails are going to become one-way routes, to facilitate easier social distance. Well fine—except that another new rule is that any person over the age of 60 is not supposed to be on those trails at all.

Well, darn. I am not sure about street bicycle riding; I’ll spend part of tomorrow reading the new directive in more detail. But CR Biker may not be doing much biking for a while.

I did not know this was coming today when I went on a very short ride with a very short co-rider. A 4-year-old grandson, a refugee from a closed daycare, was with me today, and we took advantage of a comparatively nice day.

Although the temperature was in the upper 30s and then lower 40s, there was limited wind and some sun, so it was OK to be outside if one dressed for the weather. The grandson and I went in back to hang a swing that replaces one which broke this winter. We played for a while in the sandbox, and I offered to take him on a bicycle ride.

Two views of the hybrid bike. My wife walked up to the pond and met us there, she and my co-rider along with the bike, above, bike portrait, below.

I got the hybrid bike out, and attached the Tag-A-Long trailer. We spent a few minutes finding a child’s helmet that would fit over a thin hat, since it would have been too cold without a hat.

We cycled up to a pond south of my house on C Avenue. At the pond, the grandson had a snack, and we watched some geese and a cute group of baby ducks with their mom.

Two views of duck family we watched at the pond.

The pond is just over a half mile from my house. On the way home, we rode for a little while on the paved part of the Lindale Trail (the trail closing order had not been issued and did not go into effect until midnight tonight anyway).

On the way home, we approached the C Avenue bridge over Dry Creek (badly named, it’s almost never dry, it’s just a creek). As we approached the bridge, a big tom turkey strutted out from under the bridge and walked along the edge of the wooded creek bed. We paused and enjoyed watching it.

It was a short ride. I didn’t even bother with a computer, knowing we weren’t going very far—we probably rode only about 3 miles. That was enough of a journey for the 4-year-old. It may be my last bike ride for a fortnight. If so, I’m glad I had a pleasant companion for this ride.

April 17 update: Here is the notice from the City of Cedar Rapids that I was writing about.

The turkey near the creek.

In Which I Night Ride to Ghost Town

Bike with lights on, ready for ride home Tuesday night. Pretty proud of myself for holding camera steady in the dark.

I was riding to campus Tuesday night, and felt faint. I had to stop, take a drink of water and rest, briefly. Stress, I think, is getting to me, so I took it easy from that point on and rode very slowly.

The good news is that the rest of the cool, evening spring ride was uneventful. It’s odd to be on a bike this late when days are getting longer, but the streets were very familiar and very quiet. I am used to night riding, but it happens more often in winter. I was deliberately going to campus late, hoping not to see anybody. Isolation is, well, isolating, but necessary.

I went to copy some computer files that I can’t access from home, and hopefully won’t do many more rides to the college campus where I teach. The semester goes on, online. Honestly the adjustment to online teaching has been pretty rough—but harder, I imagine, on students. Their futures are uncertain, this is a historic event for me and I can only imagine facing it with only two decades of experience rather than six.

Too often, six decades is still not enough.

The ride, despite the incident, was comforting. Getting out is harder to do these days—I’m taking isolation fairly seriously and keeping my distance. As I noted, I felt a bit off physically on the ride there, for a brief time, but the cooler ride home was more enjoyable.

Maybe I just felt less stressed having copied the files rather than wondering how my little project would go. Then again, nothing against work, but the ride home is almost always more pleasant than the ride to work. I guess one factor, which was not really the case last night, is that I'm almost always hurrying on my morning bicycle commute, and can ease off and relax more on the way home. So it goes.

Campus was very quiet. The library, where the computer resides with the student newspaper files I was coming for, was closed, but I have the card to get in. I came, I copied and then I left.

Tuesday night's ride was a very slow ride, but a ride nonetheless. We’ll have rain in Iowa off and on for the next few days and a spoke is broken on my bad-weather bike, and I am taking a lot of time to do the teaching thing. I’m not sure when the next ride will be.

End of the ride computer summary. I always start and stop in my driveway, why do the feet climbed and feet descended always vary?

I am not sure when the next anything will be. I miss meals out, movie theaters,bicycle rides with family and friends. I felt very weird leaving the library at the university. When will I see the newspaper office again? When will it be filled with music and cookies and students laughing and arguing and working?

It will be, again. This storm will pass. That’s what six decades of experience says. Ride safely, my friends, I hope you stay healthy. And I hope you enjoy every ride you’re blessed to be able to experience.