Fall Creek Gorge

Even though the weather report looked dicey I decided to ride down to Fall Creek Gorge just outside of Williamsport, IN to see the geologic glacial formations known to the locals as the potholes. The water was too high to see scenes like the ones featured in The Nature Conservancy's Guide to Indiana Preserves, but I had quite the adventure anyway. I waited to get into Williamsport to read the detailed directions with GPS coordinates that I'd found online, but I had to follow the directions backwards since my last couple of turns were on the north side of Williamsport. The directions said that the road was unpaved so I was expecting something less than stellar for riding conditions, but it was even worse than I'd expected. The last 2 mi were gravel with alternating patches of the smaller gravel with the excruciatingly impossible gargantuan rock gravel. It was hellish, but I managed to find the parking lot and had a lovely time snooping around and taking photos. I sat down by the water and ate a lunch that I carried in and watched the birds (swifts?, flycatchers?) swoop repeatedly to the surface. I hiked as far back the trail as you could go and was just thinking that one of the things that makes nature preserves so appealing is the lack of guardrails. Lots of the preserves that I've hiked have had foot wide trails that follow the lip of a deep gorge or ravine. I was on a section of the trail that looked like that when I heard the first rumble of thunder. It was a real killjoy moment, especially remembering that I'd forgotten to wear the boots with actual tread instead of the riding boots with a small heel. I finished the trail headed back to the bike and fired it up. I was tired from climbing to the gorge bottom and back up and in retrospect I should have waited a few minutes to catch my breath and cool off, but I didn't. I was fine sailing along in 2nd gear when I saw a patch of the large gravel coming on a curve and I let off the throttle too fast. The engine started lugging and I tried to keep it going, but instead found myself in the man down position. Actually only the bike was down, I've become pretty adept at just letting it go down softly and stepping aside like a matador. Only one of my bike downs has ever been while moving, mainly it's some problem with uneven surface, grass, gravel, etc... Well, the bike was down and despite the fact that I'd seen a number of cars down around the Potholes, nary a car in sight. Being on a rarely traveled road with a thunder storm imminent, 3 hours away from home started seeming like not such a great thing. I tried picking it up by myself using the method that I've read, turn the fork into the ground, put your butt in the seat, push with your legs while lifting the handlebar simultaneously. I tried three times, but I couldn't lift it all the way. I took my key and my wallet off the bike, hung my pretty pink helmet on the handlebars as a red flag, and headed back the way I'd come. I'd passed a house about a quarter mile back that was set back from the road, but when I got close enough I found it wasn't a house at all, but a very nice looking barn building so I headed back for the bike worried about it being down on a curve and someone hitting it. After I'd trudged back over the giant gravel rocks in my slightly heeled boots, I noticed a strong gas odor and started worrying about long it had been lying in the down position. I considered my options; I could call my insurance towing service, but that might be hours before someone could be dispatched, I could call J and consult him, but decided I would hold that as my Ace in the hole (pothole, that is), or I could hike the mile and a half or so to the main road and flag down some help. Ever since seeing that movie, Jindabyne, being in a vulnerable breakdown situation on the road has given me extra heebie jeebies. But I had to live with the consequences of my actions, so headed down the giant gravel road in my slightly heeled riding boots. I could still see my bike when I heard a vehicle coming around the blind curve, he missed my bike and when he got close, I waved him down and asked if anyone would be able to help me with picking up my bike. It was an old farmer dude and his daughter. He said, "Sure!" and threw it in reverse back to the bike. Between the three of us, we lifted it with ease. He asked if I wanted him to stay while I rode the rest of the way out to the road, but I didn't want any audience for what I knew was going to be a hellish scared of the gravel road endurance nightmare. I can't even tell you how hard it is to ride from a dead stop in giant gravel without dumping it. My hands were sweating so badly and my arms were so shaky that I actually said a little prayer of thanks when I reached the road. It was smooth sailing the rest of the way home. I took 28 E to 37 to avoid the volatile weather and it worked splendidly, didn't have a drop of rain the whole way home. So once again, crisis was averted and both I and my bike made it through unscathed.