A few weeks ago, a writer for our local paper rode all 91 miles of official bike trails in our city in two days. My plan for this weekend was the same but in three days rather than two, since after all I am a month shy of my one year anniversary since my hip replacement. Together with different combinations each day of my cycling friends, we covered 2/3 of the trails, and I added 60 miles to my bike, and nearly 8 hours of trail time not counting rests and eating.
A short history to start:
Four of us have been riding together since I bought my Trek Navigator 100. It is undeniably a grandma bicycle, but then after all I am a grandmother. If I thought I could do it, I’d put a wicker basket on the front of my bike and ride with my shi tzu in the basket and look like Dorothy of Oz 30 years later.
We have been the core group of what I have come to call the Breakfast club. Every Sunday morning those who can, select a restaurant and have breakfast together. On Fridays the group shifts members a bit and makes breakfast together. I’ve been part of the Sunday group for nearly two years. Last October, after reaching the point of needing a walker and having had to give up my love of hiking, I had my hip replaced. This occurred after two specialists told me I was too young (48) to have my hip replaced, despite the fact that I could no longer walk. Doctor number three, told me he didn’t know there was an age requirement and the rest is history which those of you who have been reading since the start are all too aware of.
In the spring, I decided that I was ready to start hiking again and suggested that the Breakfast Club add hiking to our repertoire. It only took a few hikes before I realized that even hiking was too much impact and thus too painful. All of the other breakfast members rode bikes. Some of them like myself, also drive, but most do not own cars nor want to own cars. I was convinced that I could not ever ride a bike again, but decided on a whim to try one of theirs. It was terribly frightening, but do-able. With two of our breakfast friends, we went shopping until we finally found the perfect bike. Since then Sunday has become our breakfast and bicycling day, and we have ridden several miles of trails and roads. Last month a reporter road all of the cities trails in two days. So I suggested that we could do it in three and thus labor day weekend was spent mostly on the trails.
Day One:
Saturday of labor day weekend began the great adventure to ride all of the city’s trails in three days. After some discussion with the group of guys I ride with. We decided at the least each day of the three-day weekend we would find and ride one trail we had not explored before. Saturday we started out with myself and two other folks and breakfast downtown at Kuhl's restaurant. Kuhl’s is an old fashioned, family owned diner that does a hell of a business. Packed in a sea of red hats, t-shirts, shoes, pants, probably even socks and panties, Husker fans pumped up for the first game of the year hooped and hollered over their pancakes and eggs, while our table, our totally not red table talked about bikes and exchanged conversations with the waitresses about not football.
Following breakfast, we quickly rode away from the thickening Go Big Red traffic converging on the city. One of our members in his sixties, had a stroke about 2 years ago. He started with us, but decided a few miles out that his knees were killing him, so two of us continued the ride. Mike and I started out on the Rock Island Trail which connects to the SouthPointe Trail. The Rock Island trail is scenic but nothing compared to what was to come. The SouthPointe Trail is a fairly boring trail that runs along Pine Lake Road and to the Mall, very suburban—lots of cars. However, both trails are well kept, concrete, marked divided lane except for a block or two of unmarked lanes on south 14th street that almost lead us to believe we had lost our trail, but we picked it up again on Pine Lake.
The SouthPointe Trail T’s into the Tierra Williamsburg Trail, the find of the weekend. We headed south, despite knowing that it would soon dead-end. It took us past a pond, under a bridge and through huge willows and cottonwoods lining the backside of large homes. The scenery had us both in awe and then it suddenly ended. We turned around and took the route north past the spectacular view only to find that on the other side it was even more fantastic. More lakes, fountains, parks, kids playing, riding bikes, fishing. It was Norman Mailer set in the suburbs without quite the nauseam. Sorry not a fan.
The height of the day was as we passed the largest of the lakes, a huge wingspan overhead caught our eyes. My brain scrambled to identify it, hawk—not small enough, Eagle—still not small enough, sounds of ohhs and ahhs drifted over the lake, until I heard “crane.” The Sandhill crane has a wingspan of about 7 feet, yet only weighs about 7 pounds. By the time my brain registered and I grabbed my camera, it had swooped a fish out of the water and had landed on the other side of the lake to dissect its lunch. Unfortunately, my camera is not capable of that distance and my attempts to get a photo were futile.
The Sandhill cranes migrate through Nebraska in spring and fall. Their migration pattern forms an hour glass, wide up into Canada and down into the gulf coast. The thinnest and most concentrated part of the migration happens along the Platte River in South-Central Nebraska where hundred of thousands of cranes share the river with thousands of ducks and geese. The sound and view bring tourists from everywhere. One of my English professors once described a tour she took where she suddenly became overwhelmed as to which part of the moment was the most exciting: the thousands and thousands of birds or the fact that Burt Reynolds rode on her tour bus and at the moment she stood viewing the birds, he stood next to her.
Mike and I waited several lovely minutes waiting for the crane to take off again so that I could snap my picture, but lunch apparently took a very long undertaking, and so we rode on while still heady in the moment. From Tierra Williamsburg we found our way to the western end of the Hwy 2 trail, one of the oldest trails in Lincoln, now renamed the Helen Boosalis Trail in honor of one of our former mayors, a democrat AND the first woman mayor of Lincoln, who later ran against Kay Orr the first republican governor in the US and the first only woman governor to date in Nebraska. This also marked the first gubernatorial election in the US in which both the demoncratic and republican parties were represented by women. Enough of politics.
The intersection where we picked up the Boosalis trail marks one of the busiest intersection in Lincoln, but one might assume safety in its clearly marked bike crossing with a clearly marked lane to cross the very busy Pioneer’s Blvd, but despite having the crossing light to go north, a very large truck in the eastbound right turn lane buzzed through totally oblivious to our existance or our placement near his truck. Fortunately, we weren’t in our big ole pickup listening to the Huskers make a touchdown, so paying attention saved our lives. Please--don't Husker and drive--go home--be safe.
The Boosalis trail is old, blacktop, narrow, and littered with lots of bike thorns—a very lovely looking viney plant that creeps out of concrete and blacktop and hides very large thorns that look similar to sandburrs only larger, stronger, pointier, and most importantly capable of puncturing innertubes. There ended our trail and we made our way back to our starting spot and my car. Total miles 19.2 including starting point, breakfast, and ending point, total drive time 2.10 not including breakfast, rests, and a Sandhill crane. The weekend doesn’t get any more breathe-taking than this ride, but do stay tuned for the heart pounding end of the three day tour.
Note: Fast forward to the end of the cranecam link above to see and hear the cranes in flight
Four of us have been riding together since I bought my Trek Navigator 100. It is undeniably a grandma bicycle, but then after all I am a grandmother. If I thought I could do it, I’d put a wicker basket on the front of my bike and ride with my shi tzu in the basket and look like Dorothy of Oz 30 years later.
We have been the core group of what I have come to call the Breakfast club. Every Sunday morning those who can, select a restaurant and have breakfast together. On Fridays the group shifts members a bit and makes breakfast together. I’ve been part of the Sunday group for nearly two years. Last October, after reaching the point of needing a walker and having had to give up my love of hiking, I had my hip replaced. This occurred after two specialists told me I was too young (48) to have my hip replaced, despite the fact that I could no longer walk. Doctor number three, told me he didn’t know there was an age requirement and the rest is history which those of you who have been reading since the start are all too aware of.
In the spring, I decided that I was ready to start hiking again and suggested that the Breakfast Club add hiking to our repertoire. It only took a few hikes before I realized that even hiking was too much impact and thus too painful. All of the other breakfast members rode bikes. Some of them like myself, also drive, but most do not own cars nor want to own cars. I was convinced that I could not ever ride a bike again, but decided on a whim to try one of theirs. It was terribly frightening, but do-able. With two of our breakfast friends, we went shopping until we finally found the perfect bike. Since then Sunday has become our breakfast and bicycling day, and we have ridden several miles of trails and roads. Last month a reporter road all of the cities trails in two days. So I suggested that we could do it in three and thus labor day weekend was spent mostly on the trails.
Day One:
Saturday of labor day weekend began the great adventure to ride all of the city’s trails in three days. After some discussion with the group of guys I ride with. We decided at the least each day of the three-day weekend we would find and ride one trail we had not explored before. Saturday we started out with myself and two other folks and breakfast downtown at Kuhl's restaurant. Kuhl’s is an old fashioned, family owned diner that does a hell of a business. Packed in a sea of red hats, t-shirts, shoes, pants, probably even socks and panties, Husker fans pumped up for the first game of the year hooped and hollered over their pancakes and eggs, while our table, our totally not red table talked about bikes and exchanged conversations with the waitresses about not football.
Following breakfast, we quickly rode away from the thickening Go Big Red traffic converging on the city. One of our members in his sixties, had a stroke about 2 years ago. He started with us, but decided a few miles out that his knees were killing him, so two of us continued the ride. Mike and I started out on the Rock Island Trail which connects to the SouthPointe Trail. The Rock Island trail is scenic but nothing compared to what was to come. The SouthPointe Trail is a fairly boring trail that runs along Pine Lake Road and to the Mall, very suburban—lots of cars. However, both trails are well kept, concrete, marked divided lane except for a block or two of unmarked lanes on south 14th street that almost lead us to believe we had lost our trail, but we picked it up again on Pine Lake.
The SouthPointe Trail T’s into the Tierra Williamsburg Trail, the find of the weekend. We headed south, despite knowing that it would soon dead-end. It took us past a pond, under a bridge and through huge willows and cottonwoods lining the backside of large homes. The scenery had us both in awe and then it suddenly ended. We turned around and took the route north past the spectacular view only to find that on the other side it was even more fantastic. More lakes, fountains, parks, kids playing, riding bikes, fishing. It was Norman Mailer set in the suburbs without quite the nauseam. Sorry not a fan.
The height of the day was as we passed the largest of the lakes, a huge wingspan overhead caught our eyes. My brain scrambled to identify it, hawk—not small enough, Eagle—still not small enough, sounds of ohhs and ahhs drifted over the lake, until I heard “crane.” The Sandhill crane has a wingspan of about 7 feet, yet only weighs about 7 pounds. By the time my brain registered and I grabbed my camera, it had swooped a fish out of the water and had landed on the other side of the lake to dissect its lunch. Unfortunately, my camera is not capable of that distance and my attempts to get a photo were futile.
The Sandhill cranes migrate through Nebraska in spring and fall. Their migration pattern forms an hour glass, wide up into Canada and down into the gulf coast. The thinnest and most concentrated part of the migration happens along the Platte River in South-Central Nebraska where hundred of thousands of cranes share the river with thousands of ducks and geese. The sound and view bring tourists from everywhere. One of my English professors once described a tour she took where she suddenly became overwhelmed as to which part of the moment was the most exciting: the thousands and thousands of birds or the fact that Burt Reynolds rode on her tour bus and at the moment she stood viewing the birds, he stood next to her.
Mike and I waited several lovely minutes waiting for the crane to take off again so that I could snap my picture, but lunch apparently took a very long undertaking, and so we rode on while still heady in the moment. From Tierra Williamsburg we found our way to the western end of the Hwy 2 trail, one of the oldest trails in Lincoln, now renamed the Helen Boosalis Trail in honor of one of our former mayors, a democrat AND the first woman mayor of Lincoln, who later ran against Kay Orr the first republican governor in the US and the first only woman governor to date in Nebraska. This also marked the first gubernatorial election in the US in which both the demoncratic and republican parties were represented by women. Enough of politics.
The intersection where we picked up the Boosalis trail marks one of the busiest intersection in Lincoln, but one might assume safety in its clearly marked bike crossing with a clearly marked lane to cross the very busy Pioneer’s Blvd, but despite having the crossing light to go north, a very large truck in the eastbound right turn lane buzzed through totally oblivious to our existance or our placement near his truck. Fortunately, we weren’t in our big ole pickup listening to the Huskers make a touchdown, so paying attention saved our lives. Please--don't Husker and drive--go home--be safe.
The Boosalis trail is old, blacktop, narrow, and littered with lots of bike thorns—a very lovely looking viney plant that creeps out of concrete and blacktop and hides very large thorns that look similar to sandburrs only larger, stronger, pointier, and most importantly capable of puncturing innertubes. There ended our trail and we made our way back to our starting spot and my car. Total miles 19.2 including starting point, breakfast, and ending point, total drive time 2.10 not including breakfast, rests, and a Sandhill crane. The weekend doesn’t get any more breathe-taking than this ride, but do stay tuned for the heart pounding end of the three day tour.
Note: Fast forward to the end of the cranecam link above to see and hear the cranes in flight
