Just for the hell of it

The rarely seen Buell Blast bagger

WINTERGREEN -- With enough luggage space to make a trip to Sweden -- although why anyone would want to ride to Sweden I'm sure I don't know -- I pulled out of my Y-town haunt for  quick 40-mile jaunt to Nelson County for groceries.

There's no real reason to travel 40 miles for groceries. I can go one mile to Kroger, 4.2 miles to Kroger, 3.1 miles to Kroger and any other distance to any other choice from Food Lion to Giant to Piggly-Wiggly.

OK, not Piggly-Wiggly, but Harris Teeter is only 3.3 miles away.

So why Nelson County?

Why not?

Why not some smooth, rich organic, free-trade, local roasted coffee?

Why not a sticky, sweet, brown sugary cinnamon roll?

Cathy Blalock, of Spring Creek Farm, has my eggs and sausage

Why not some freshly laid brown eggs from Virginia hens or a Mennonite pie or locally grown, local variety apples?

Why not some tasty backroad riding early on a Saturday morning?

The Nelson County  Farmer's Market  is just outside of Wintergreen on Route 151 near Route 6, two wondrously twisted bits  of tarmac with some great Blue Ridge scenery and Saturday was the perfect day for riding.

Getting up late, I pulled all of the luggage out of the basement and strapped it onto Thumper, stopped for some 93-octane dino sauce and rolled down U.S. 250.

I know, the 250 is a big, easy-to-ride highway, but this ride isn't about challenging oneself. It's about going somewhere just because. Look, there's plenty to do at home and I have to get back to it ASAP, but why not treat myself to at least a 40-minute ride, some down time and another 40 minutes back?

No reason. No challenge. Just riding for the hell of it.

You never know when you'll need smooth, homemade lotions

So 250 at 9:30 a.m. is pretty sparse and it's an easy ride. Lots of time to think about things, things like what am I doing and how is my life going and good, God, what did that piece of Road Goulash used to be when it was whole and moving?

I roll with little trouble. The wind is cool coming'  up under the full face helmet, but I've got my lining in the jacket, an old polar fleece on beneath it and mid-temperature gloves plus riding pants so I'm toasty and groovin' past Old Trail.

At Route 151 I turn left -- turning right would put me in someone's front yard and, while the Blast can be made into an impromptu bagger, I know it makes a poor off-road ride (don't ask) -- and roll toward W-green.

It's a good ride. Everywhere there are signs for pumpkins and apple butter and beer -- OK, one sign for beer at the Blue Ridge Brewery -- and I pass the Flying Fox winery continuing on.

Everyone has The Music in him, sometimes it's just in the hands

The market is on the lawn at Stoney Creek. I roll across the grass and park the Blast among the SUVs and Priae (Prii? Priuses? Priuss? Toyotas?), take off my gear and wander through. Coffee comes first, coffee and a whoopie pie from Miller Bakery.

Yum.

I run into Steph, Bee and friends and family, who stopped on their way to the Waynesboro English car fest, but pretty much everyone else is a stranger. That's OK, I can talk the brick off a wall and, being as these folks want my money, they're pretty stuck having to listen, at least until their noon closing time.

They seem to be used to it, though. Everyone is friendly, including the three kids I plow into and knock down as I finish pouring my coffee. Their mother seems to good with it, too.

I grab some local apples from Tom Weber, of Heaven and Earth Acres, a Nellysford farm specializing in heritage apples. First I fight a few yellow jackets to grab a sample, but the apples are good and the price beats Kroger by 20 cents a pound.

Mmmmm, pie

Next I grab a good size butternut squash from Gary and Jeanne Scott at Twin Springs Farm and assorted cookies and goodies from other vendors before grabbing my dozen brown eggs from Cathy Blalock of Fairfield. She's also got hot and mild home-milled sausage from home-raised piggies, but I'm a bit late for the mild and too lame for the hot.

I grab a chocolate chess cake from Miller Bakery and some more coffee and another cinnamon roll, a bottle of Flying Fox Virginia white wine, a Christmas present, some sweet potatoes and some honey and I pack the bike up.

Then I see a beautiful dulcimer sitting on a card table. It's dark walnut, so says the luthier, Henry Hayman Davis, and a former table. He points out the matching grains on the front and the back. The scroll is well done and the finish is fine and the price -- hang on -- is only $200.

"Most times the melody is played on the two strings closest together and the other strings are drones," he says, showing how it's done. "Unfortunately, I can't play it. I can only build them. I told a friend that I couldn't do music and he said 'everyone's got the music in him.' I don't. I guess it's in my hands, because I can make the instruments."

There's lots of room for a wafer-thin mint. Some bread, too.

I head back to the Blast, lean against the front tire and sip my coffee and eat my roll. Folks come by and talk. Kids -- they love motorcycles -- make vroom noises, compliment me on the bike or simply point and say something close to 'motorcycle.'

Why kids love bikes so much, I know. Their parents have just forgotten, is all.

Then I pack it all up and head on back. I don't have time to take back roads home, I've got stuff to do. I don't have a list to double check either, because I didn't really come here to buy any one thing.

I just rode here for the hell of it.