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WBL #2 December 14^th, 2024." The Choco Coffee Railroad to Rayle

88 miles, 4.5 hours, 21.2 mph average

Total WBL Season Distance: 170.6 miles

The journey to Rayle took some 60 Zealots through the western reaches of the empire that feels like the heart of nowhere. Leaving town, there air was thick with the scent of pine and the sound of buffalos hummed from the nearby woods.

The route was simple but beautiful—small hills, shaded stretches, and wide-open vistas. For the first few miles, the ride was blissfully smooth. A light breeze helped cool the air as the ZEALOTS rode past old farmhouses and fields that stretched for miles.

Then, turning on to Wolfskin road, it hit. The wind. It wasn’t much at first—a soft breeze that felt like it might just be a passing gust—but soon, it picked up. The Queen of Georgia Ave Alexis Magner and Professor Kelly Black both had their heads buried under their front wheels trying to be as small as possible. Frank the Tank Travieso and Candy Andy Scarano both furrowed their brows and squinted into the horizon towards the Queen and Professor. For why are we going so dang slow Frank screamed? The duo took to the front only to soon realize their folly. The wind hit them back with a force of a one-ton truck. The skies had begun to darken slightly, and the trees on either side of the road began to sway more forcefully. The next miles were slow, frustrating the Tank to no end. 350 simply wouldn’t do it.  

The headwind became a wall. With every pedal stroke, it felt as though the world was conspiring against the ZEALOTS, pushing them backward. Thighs burned from the effort, and each gust seemed to come straight out of nowhere, slamming like a freight train. And honestly that made sense as the route followed the derelict train tracks past Crawford, Lexington, Stephens, and finally Philomath. Maybe the ghost of a train?

Jesse the Classy Marino glanced up at the landscape again while pulling alongside Jordan the dude Pridgen.  A few cars passed, their tires humming over the cracked road, but the isolation of the countryside made it feel like they were the only ones fighting through this. But that certainly wasn’t true as others including Marky Mark Babcock, JR Diaz, Willy not running Fleenor, Ivan the smiling Gartvig, Dylan Lindsey and his Piedmont Posse, and Sir Conrad von Dziembowski. The road ahead was straight, leading into a small patch of forest that seemed to swallow up the horizon with pine straw. Rayle wasn’t far now, but with this wind, it felt like an eternity. Side note: Special amazement goes to Marky Mark Babcock for completing the whole ride with tennis shoes and knobby tires. A spectacle not seen his Clarke “Spurrier” Hurst nearly won a pro sprint in 2011 with the same 1970’s setup.

Rayle has a subtle beauty of its own. It is just a dot on the map, a town small enough to blink through on a long drive. But today, it opened its doors with piles of sandwiches, cookies, cakes, chips, and the rare bagel. The buildings of the tiny town are interesting on their own. Their siding is not the typical southern pine. Instead, most of them are clad with tin. The rust that develops slowly over time only adds to the mistic of that dot.

And then, pulling out of Rayle, the wind shifted.

It wasn’t gradual, either—it was as if someone had flipped a switch. In what felt like 30 seconds everyone was traveling far beyond the normal rate of forward progress. Speeds almost unheard of…especially with poor hearing. That good ole average speed notched further and further higher until all the ZEALOTS coasted into Athens feeling like champions. Riding towards Independent Bakery, the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wafted through the air welcoming everyone home. The Queen of Georgia Ave and New Mrs. Hobbs could not resist the buttery flakey goodness. A truly sweet reward.

There is something about these rides, about the battle against the elements and the moment when everything falls into place, that makes all those ZEALOTS feel alive.

 

WBL #1 The HUB Home Opener: The Ila Dog Lover's Loop 

[80 miles / 4 hours / 19.6 mph]

The HUB home opener is always something to look forward to—though also the anxiety of the coming OTHER SEASON had been building for months in the Classic City, home of gods. The morning brough the coldest air of the year, biting through layers of wool, but the 50 something ZEALOTS signed in and weren’t deterred. The sky above was the color of a soft blue bird, light with the promise of roads stretching ahead like a ribbon of asphalt winding through the hills of Dog Country.

Dog Country isn’t a place you find on a tourist map, but anyone who lives in the area knows it well. It is the patchwork of farmland and thick woods that lay beyond the main roads to the north, a land where the horizon meets the earth in such a way that it feels like the world could stretch forever, or perhaps stop altogether. It is a place of hard ZEALOTS and even harder people, where the rides are known for their deep burning and the dogs for their intensity. Those dogs love hiding in wait for their next barking target.

The WBL today was something different. The route planned would take them deep into Dawg Country—past the farmhouses that lined the edges of the road, past the red dirt-dusted barns and dilapidated silos. The riders had a sense of what they were getting into, but nobody had quite expected the journey to be like this. With five newly branded Zealots—the group of elders had to muster their years of experience to guide those fresh faces past the packs of dogs along the way. Those new Zealots included Dillard Townie Townley, Spencer Wiseman Weisgram, Joshua not Fake Falkowski, and Dustin Dust man White.

As the elder veteran Zealots pedaled deeper into Dog Country, the landscape shifted. Those vets included last year’s OVERALL WINNER: JERED GUTCHECK GRUBER, Natty Dunn, Cyril the Frenchman, Jordan not scared Pridgen, Ole Noah Niwinski, Fat Frank Crumley, Charlie Get me in to UGA Carabello, John JFM Martin, Wiley Wes Parrish, Izzie Harder than Harden, Candy Andy Scarano, and Tommy Boy Morrison among others. As the day opened up past Cold Sassy Commerce, the roads became narrower, less maintained. The houses grew farther apart, the distant bark of a dog the only sound marking the distance between them and civilization. The hills grew and grew along the northern portion of the piedmont where the Broad River meets the Hudson River in a confluence of never-ending twists and steep hummocks of hills. It was just after the old stone bridge that everyone saw the biggest of them—a large, shaggy dog standing sentinel at the edge of the road. That dog would rule the day as it stood proudly atop his prey of the day, none other than a two-ton Texas sized longhorn.

More later…For now…