Hill Slugs Ad Hoc Sunday, 3 March 2012

29 February 2012

Saturday's weather looks to be bad, so the Hill Slugs ride has been moved to Sunday instead.

Meet at the usual spot:  the Hopewell YMCA/Administration building on Main Street, across from Ingleside, in Pennington.  The ride will start at 9:00 a.m. and will be about 45 miles.

Stuff I Did This Weekend

Blurry Snow Geese on 526 East of Allentown

26 February 2012

I took a day off from work on Friday in order to check in with my back doctor and then drive down to Chinatown in Philly for a few hours to say goodbye to a former colleague.  The three of us had met at the Brain Factory, a veritable prison camp for scientists.  When I escaped, one of the three of us already had, but the third, a visiting professor from Japan, was stuck there until this week.  The lab did its usual send-off for foreigners, which included the mandatory coffee-table book of university photographs, lest he forget what the place looked like.  But we two escapees waited until Friday so that we could meet for lunch in Chinatown, away from the lab and its bad memories.  He asked the two of us to sign the book, as other lab members had.  I wrote, "All U.S. labs are fucked up in one way or another. The [Brain Factory] is fucked up in every way.  They're not all like that."

After lunch, we walked him to the subway, and then the two of us wandered through the Reading Terminal Market.  I still had time on the meter, so we walked down to his new lab, on a high floor in a university complex, with commanding views of South Philly and New Jersey.  Well, they would have been commanding had the city not been hidden under a persistent mist.

Jack was at a meeting in Camden that was scheduled to end soon.  I left my friend to his work and went back towards the market, where I had just enough time to buy beans from Old City Coffee, and a mug that I'm considering bringing to work:

Nerd!

Then there were these:

Chocolate-covered onions.  Yeah, um, no thanks.

Now I had to go pick Jack up.  I say "had" because, after spending two hours reliving one bad experience, the last thing I wanted to do was drive to the campus of another.  Yeah, a chunk of the Lost Years was spent in a lab in Camden.  It was my graduate school experience that soured me on the scientific life, but I put most of the blame on my own personal shortcomings rather than the working environment.  After I left, as the years wore on, as I jumped from one lab to another, some good, some wretched, I realized that it's a combination of both, and that I have just enough of whatever it takes to stay on as a technician who can go home at night and think about something else.  Anyway, as I turned onto campus I figured that I'd remember every bit of concrete in the place.  Boy, was I wrong.  I guess fifteen years and moving on with my life will do that.  I couldn't even remember how to find the highway from campus.  You'd think I'd at least have remembered how to get out.

Get out we did, with only one wrong turn.  On the way home, Jack bought up my freshman year of college -- arguably the worst year of my life.  "Geez,"  I said.  "It was bad enough talking about Camden and the Brain Factory, so, thanks for that."

What saved me was knowing we were on our way to going out to dinner with some of the gang from my current lab at the Castle on the Hill.  That was fun.  I'm glad it's not taking me more than an hour or two to remember where I am now.

Saturday's wind was ridiculous.  Only Plain Jim and Al were dumb enough to try to ride in it.  Cheryl, Ron, and I all showed up at the gym for Andy's spin class instead.  In the afternoon I went to a town hall meeting to see my Congressional Representative about a local environmental issue that, despite years of work, hasn't been resolved.  It was fun listening to him answer most people's questions, deftly dodge a few others, and dispose of the apparent Teabags.  I wouldn't want his job.  After that, Jack and I wound up going out to dinner with two of our Terrys and a different Andy from the one in the morning.

Today the weather was much better.  Theresa picked me up and the two of us went to Winter Larry's ride.  There was a strong wind out of the northwest, but it was manageable.

We were at a red light halfway through Hightstown, on one of the ages-old standard southern routes, when a white SUV called out to us that no bikes are allowed on this road.  Larry wasn't playing dumb when he turned to say, "I didn't know that."  The driver said, "There's a sign back there."  Larry answered, "Thank you," and the light turned green.  We grumbled.  What sign?  We've been coming through here for years.  This is a County road.  The township can't make the rules, I was certain.  What if we were commuters?  We're vehicles, just like the cars are.  "He's full of shit," I said, with no evidence to back it up.

Kermit is a perfect bike.

On our way home from the rest stop in Hornerstown, we passed a field full of snow geese.  I pulled over for a picture, and as I did, the nearest of them took flight.  By the time I pulled my gloves off to turn on my phone's video camera, they'd settled down again.  I took a video, sticking my thumb in the way, of course.  At this point, Larry climbed onto the fence and started yelling at the geese, hoping they'd startle again.  They didn't, but that's not stopping me from posting the video.

Our route home took us back through Hightstown.  I kept my eyes on the signposts, looking for something, anything, that said, "no bikes."  When we got near the intersection of this morning's incident, Larry started looking behind him.  He said that he knew that there had been a sign many years ago, but that when one of our members had asked the township about it, he was told to ignore it.

Larry looked back again.  "I saw it," he said.  "A bike in a circle with a red line through it."

"Yeah," I said, "But on this side there was no sign," and I started singing:

As I was walking

I saw a sign there

And that sign said

No trespassing

But on the other side

It didn't say nothing 

That side was made for you and me

(Woody Guthrie, kids.  Look him up.)

And now, a random picture of an 11-month-old kitten trying to look regal:

Plain Jim Rocks!

24 February 2012

Because of this.

This Ride is Cursed

The condition of Miss Piggy's drive train 

18 February 2012

Miss Piggy's tires were wearing thin, so I put on a new set a couple of weeks ago.  It took me something like an hour to do it.  The Mavic Aksium rims are deep, and Michelin's Pro Race tire beads are tight, tight, tight.  But I did it, filling the tubes, checking every few pumps for blebs, finding none, and letting the bike sit until last night, when I topped off the air.

It matches.  Sweeeeeeeeet!

Last night I was out of it, though.  I'd gone home early from work feeling sick and spent several hours asleep.  By bedtime I was feeling better.

Now it's almost time to leave for today's ride.  I'm finishing breakfast -- hot oatmeal -- but I'm no longer hungry.  Uh-oh.   I'm upstairs with the thermometer in my mouth when I hear Chris knock on the door.  98.6, it reads, which is a little high for me, but normal.  Still, I'm feeling a little off, a little "muzzy-headed" as a friend from England puts it.  The first thing to go when I have a fever is my judgment; I tend to feel invincible.  Also I feel as if I'm walking on air.  I don't feel those at the moment.

It's 8:35 by the time we're ready to leave, a little late, but we can get to Pennington by 9:00 if we hustle.  We push off.

Thump thump thump.  "Hang on," I say, and start inspecting the rear wheel.  There it is, a bleb that somehow eluded me twice.  Chris rushes to let the air out of the tire before it blows.  "The tube is shot," he says.  We decide to throw our bikes in his truck and drive to Pennington.  We can fix the flat up there while I'm getting everyone signed in.

I get the tire started; it takes two steel-reinforced levers to do that.  Chris takes over while I sign people in.  I'm so spaced out that I can't remember the trick for getting the rear wheel back into the frame.  Chris comes to the rescue again; he's faster at all of these things than I am anyway. 

Oh, crap.  I've forgotten my sunglasses.  This is now like one of those dreams I have every so often, where I just can't seem to get my shit together in time for the ride to start.  Howard F has a spare pair, though.

We have a few new riders:  a couple from Cherry Hill, and someone who has been riding in the C+ group for a while but is looking to move up.  She's loaded down with water bottles, gear, heavy clothing, and commuter lights flashing in both directions.

I've picked a mellow route to Lambertville with a few moderate climbs for the way back.  Our first few miles are pretty flat and I'm in the big ring.

Glenn is here.  I haven't seen him in donkey's years.  We catch each other up as we ride down Pennington-Harbourton Road.  At the end I try to shift to the middle ring.

Nothing happens.  I try again.  Nothing.  The shifter is moving but the derailleur definitely isn't.  Chris and Jim take a look.  They try to move it with their hands.  Nothing.  I pull the chain to the middle ring, but the derailleur overrules me and puts it back on the big one.  "I'll just ride like this," I tell the group more than once.  "I'm sorry," I say to the new folks.  "My rides aren't usually like this.  Honestly."  We've managed to get the thing to budge a little, but not enough to move the chain.  "I guess I could turn back," I suggest, and Lauren from Cherry Hill nods.  "But I'll just ride like this.  I'll deal with it."

We start off again, my chain grinding against the derailleur.  Well, at least I'll find out how well Cheryl and Andy's spin classes have prepared me to grind up a hill.  I don't know how my back will take it, but I can always stand.

"There's a bike shop in Lambertville," I suggest to Ron.  "They have coffee and snacks there.  We can stop there."

On one of the flatter roads Chris has to catch me up and slow me down.  Because I don't have my own glasses, I don't have my rear-view mirror.  "I can't help it," I tell him.  "I'm stuck in the big ring!"

He stops me so that I can take this picture, too.

At the moment, I feel like that rubber chicken.

We arrive at the northern end of Lambertville and take Union all the way to the southern end.  I pull into Pure Energy, hoping that, at the very least, the mechanics can move my chain.  We're pretty sure that the shifter is broken; there's nothing that can be done on the fly about a broken shifter.

The sign reads, "Closed for February Break."  I wonder what grinding up Quarry/Rocktown is like in the big ring.  We turn around and head to Lambertville Trading Company, the closest coffee shop.

Ron and Chris descend on the derailleur with an Allen wrench.  They loosen the rear screw so so that the chain falls to the granny gear, then they play with the limit screws to move it back to the middle.  "Yeah, baby!"  I exclaim.  I won't be able to shift to the big ring now, but all that means is that I won't be able to hammer on the way home.

They did a good job for the climbing gears.  Anything farther out sets the chain to grinding again.  After climbing out of Lambertville I start to feel wiped.  All that big-ring stuff must be catching up to me.  Or I have a fever.  For sure my judgment left a while ago, when I didn't turn back.  My legs feel light and my face feels a little hot.  Whatever.  We don't have that much further to go.

I spin, the chain grinds against the derailleur.  I give instructions:  I tell them to watch for me to make a hidden turn.  "Or listen for me."

Grind, grind, grind.  At the intersection of Pennington-Titusville and Route 31, I hand Howard his glasses and peel off toward Hart's.

I watch Ross undo the mess we've done with the derailleur.  There's nothing wrong with it.  He takes the shifter apart and finds a loose screw, its origins unknown, from somewhere in the tiny workings of the still-under-warranty shifter.  "You won't pay a dime," he tells me.

I'm beginning to think that my bike is cursed.  That, or she has a crush on Ross.

Chris picks me up.  I buy him a slice of pizza next door and he drops me off at home.

Shivering, I take my temperature.  Normal.  I get a shower and take it again.  99.  I take a nap for two hours, cats at my feet.  I take my temperature again.  99.7.

I'll be sleeping in tomorrow.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 18 February 2012

16 February 2012

I'll have figured out a route by the time we meet at 9:00 a.m. at the Hopewell YMCA Administration Building on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington.  Count on 40something miles, hills, and coffee somewhere.

Best Line of the Day

14 February 2012

From the blog called Pharyngula:

"Religion is the diaper of humanity’s childhood; it’s OK to grow out of it."

My Fuck-It List

11 February 2012


There are some people who make a list of things they want to do before they die.  They call it a bucket list.

I'm not that well organized, nor that morbid-thinking (at the moment, anyway).  However, even though I've been cycling in central New Jersey for over a decade now, there are still a few roads nearby that I've never been on, or, in some cases, up, and there are some things I've just never tried.

Now, I know that Hill Slugs traditionally aren't supposed to think like this, and I'm sure I'll catch some flak from a certain contingent who will tell me I'm not being true to our name, but, in the spirit of a bucket list, let me introduce my fuck-it list.  As in, "Fuck it, let's just climb this thing already."

Here are a few for starters.  Feel free to add more in the comments.  Maybe we'll get to them, maybe we won't.  Just 'cause they're there doesn't mean we have to climb them.  But we might...

1.  Pine Hill (ascent, Delaware Township);
2.  Tumble Falls (ascent, Kingwood Township);
3.  Parsonage Lot (ascent, Tewksbury);
4.  Black River (ascent, Bedminster, but only if it's been re-paved);
5.  River Road along the Raritan's South Branch as far as it goes, from Flemington to Califon;
6.  A hilly century;
7.  Following 539 or 523 or 519 from the river as far north as we can go, taking one road up and another back;
8.  Eagle Road (ascent, Newtown, PA; I did this once before but it was in 2001);
9.  Following the Delaware River on the NJ side to Phillipsburg and beyond;
10. Following the Delaware River on the PA side to Easton to see where the Lehigh and the Delaware meet; and
11.  The Longest Day route (but not in one day; I'm still not that crazy).