3 Bros LLake LLoop

Check out that hand in the photo above. It’s not a pretty picture, but that’s what you’ll end up with following a roadside repair of a broken chain.

Those multi-tools in our seat bags usually include a chain tool. I saw one in action for the first time on Saturday’s Lake Loop. Brother Tim inadvertently crashed his derailleur into his rear wheel. The collateral damage included the derailleur, a snapped chain and a broken spoke, which showed up about 20 miles down the road.

For the third consecutive year, the Dayton Bros. gathered on the last weekend in October for a sibling ride around Buggs Island Lake. A fun time was had by all.

I owe a lot of my cycling success to Brothers Rob & Tim. I give Rob credit for introducing me to my first 10-speed. In 1971 he returned home from the Higgins bike shop in Greensboro with a monster red-black Raleigh Grand Prix. It was the biggest bike I’d ever seen at the time --- probably a 25-inch frame and about two inches too tall for him. It was also the first derailleur bike I’d ever been on. I took it up one hill and I was hooked.

One week later, with paycheck in hand from the Big-T Burger in Clarksville, I visited Higgins and plunked down $375 on a champagne Raleigh International. A few weeks later, Brother Tim did the very same thing. We’d soon do a multi-day tour on those matching bikes.

It saddens me to say those bikes have been retired from active duty: Tim bent the hell out of his in a spectacular head-on crash into a deep ditch. Mine was hit by a motorist during the 1981 NYC transit strike. I still have the frame with a tidy dent in the seat tube. It’s rideable but no longer built up.

Those bikes may be history, but we’re still in the saddle, and those early riding years in the Clarksville area are some of our favorite memories. So it’s fitting that we’ve begun to return there for our annual cycling reunion.

This year’s ride was poised to be our first rain event, but the clouds mercifully lifted by Saturday’s 8:30 a.m. start from the Best Western parking lot in Clarksville. The roads were wet for the first hour but dried rapidly as a 10 mph northwest wind kicked up.

We cruised slowly south toward Oxford, pausing briefly to take pictures of these llamas. I’ve seen them out before on Shiny Rock Road. This is the first time they’ve been over by the fence. LLovely, yes?

After we passed through Stovall, Tim dropped his chain. When he attempted to pedal it back on, something went awry and he pulled the derailleur into his spokes, snapping the chain and putting an impressive crimp in the derailleur body. After a choice cuss word or two, he got to work and in about 15 minutes had shortened the chain and turned the bike into a single speed.


Here we are doing the roadside repair. Me? I offered technical assistance only.

Tim set his Trek up with a 100-inch gear and for the rest of the day didn’t feel comfortable unless he was cranking along at 20 mph. Our casual ride suddenly put on a business suit.

About 20 miles up the road, climbing up from Nutbush Creek, snap went a spoke in Tim’s rear wheel, obviously damaged by the derailleur incident. No worries. I pulled out a spoke wrench, and we managed to get the wobbly wheel to clear the brakes and the chainstays. Tim was not going to be denied by any mechanical woes. Good attitude.

As we headed into Drewry, we met up with the only other cyclist we’d see all day – Bubba, riding a Schwinn with a collection of improvised parts. Bubba was solid on the pedals and easily cruised along with us for several miles. He said he rode about 50 miles a week. I asked about his high visibility hat. He said he used that to keep from being shot by the deer hunters.



About a mile up the road, the hunters appeared. Hmmm. I wonder where I can get one of those hats. Hunters in another truck razzed this fellow about the buck's small size. "That's all right," he said. "The little ones eat, too."



On the east side of Drewry, we made a quick stop at an old bulk barn converted into a General Store. Not much merchandise in there but plenty of country flavor.


On to the dam for the Tres Amigos photo shoot. Can you tell we all go to the same barber?

As usual, our ride coincided with the annual Boydton Day. Sure there’s a parade and lots of music, but we come for the barbecue. Maybe I'm just arriving there at a weak moment, but for my money those are the best barbecue sandwiches I’ve ever eaten – and a bargain at $3.00. I had two, as did Brother Tim. The cue tastes like Piedmont style, but I also detected vinegar, a hallmark of Eastern cue. The pig was being cooked about 50 feet away and I asked about the recipe. “It’s a secret,” the woman said at the barbecue window. “He won’t tell nobody.”

Our bellies full, we cruised up to Skipwith, where Rob began to suffer from the dreaded “dead legs” and took a shortcut back to Clarksville. Tim and I did an out-and-back up to Chase City to turn the 85-mile loop into a century.

We didn’t have quite enough miles as we neared town so we detoured into Clarksville’s Industrial Park (Hey! Where are the businesses?) and then into Occoneechee State Park, a beautiful peninsula of old oaks and rolling fields.

Then we rolled down the hill and across the old bridge, which has finally reopened, and into Clarksville with 100.1 on the odometer, for my third century this month.

After a shower, the Three Bros. and Rob’s wife Susan hit the Pizza Pub for a couple pies, before we went our separate ways.

Thanks, Bros, for another fine day on the bikes. I’m already looking forward to next year’s event.