As I wrote just yesterday, I had a great adventure on the bike this weekend. It left me with such good memories, I’ve been thinking all day today of going back. The views were new, and all quite good, especially as I made my way north in the early morning.
I’m particularly keen on going back for a couple of reasons. Minor among them, to see something I missed. On the far eastern point of the ride, I turned north and crossed a river. As I made my way up a sweeping turn to a “T” intersection, a tree caught my eye to the right a few hundred meters and behind some small buildings. I could only see the top half, but I had a feeling it would be interesting. Unfortunately, I’d already passed the turn for it, and had other things on my mind. I made a mental note to check it later once I’d gotten home (using street view), turned away from it at the intersection, and moved on.
It turns out, there was a marker of historical significance in the shade of that tree, and now I feel somewhat obliged to go back and check it out.
On top of that, the rest of the ride going north was both magical and adventurous. I wound through a narrow valley, carved by a lovely little stream, with the occasional sheer cliff and rock formations on each side. But even then, as things seemed more distant and rustic, I emerged in a few places to small hamlets and villages that were quite pleasant to the eye. I’m sure I didn’t appreciate the steady climb in spots (never too steep, to be sure), but I don’t remember if I voiced any audible complaint.
But it wasn’t all magic, all of the time, and there did come a time when I may have uttered a few choice words.
And this is where the thoughts of the “Dream Road” (something I mentioned in the capture of a picture yesterday) came to me.
If you recall from yesterday’s post, my phone’s battery died with over half of the ride left, so I was navigating by bus stop. But the bus stop maps disappeared once I got closer to the Han River. On top of that, unlike the mountains, there were far more options for direction once I got closer to civilization. All I remembered from the route I’d designed was that I was supposed to cross the Han right away when I got to it, but even then I couldn’t remember if there was a bike trail on the opposite side or not. I vaguely remembered one, but when I’d only gone a kilometer or so from the bridge, all signs of the one on which I was riding disappeared.
No problem though. I knew Yeoju straddled the river up ahead somewhere, and if I kept parallel to it, I’d get to the city somehow. But oh, the roads. Small ups and downs that I knew would wear me out. And quite often – as a matter of fact, most of the time – I couldn’t see the river at all. It almost seemed like I was leaving it behind in spots, so every chance I could get to turn left back toward it, I took it. I thought that I’d wandered quite far from my route, and if there was a bike trail anywhere on the river at all, there was no way I could find it on my current route. And yet, the thought was always there, too, that if I just turned down any of the small roads that seemed to slope toward the river, I’d find something. At the same time, though, if there was no trail there after all, I’d have to turn around and climb back out of the valley.
In the end, I stuck to the larger, two-lane roads. And this is where the complaints started coming. “I can’t take another hill like that one. It’ll wear me out.” “I’ve got to make a move toward the river and take my chances.” “I sure hope I haven’t wandered too far off track.” And “This kind of sucks. Where’s Yeoju anyway? I should be there by now.”
But then I hit it — not Yeoju, but something better. I crossed an intersection and there I was on a road lined by trees and arched metal trellises, covered in rose bushes without bloom, but, to make up for the lack of flowers, festooned with plastic imitations for the fall and winter. And then I said to myself, “This is my dream road,” and I remembered all of the times I was whizzing through the Korean countryside on expressways, and these side roads and valleys that would weave through and around and over and under the road would catch my eye and I would think “I would love to be biking on that road right now, exploring and enjoying the ride.” And here I was, on just such a road. And I was happy again. All of the complaints slipped away, and the ride turned back to magic.
I guess when things get rough on the road anymore, this is something I have to remember. My dream road could very well be just around the next corner. That’s a pretty good reason not to complain if you ask me…
