Benny says it's Lazy Season. He and Burnaby are having a tummy-off. It's a draw.
OK, unless you’re riding Anchor House this week, you’re not allowed to complain about hills for the rest of the season.
While I was riding a cushy, flat, century, Irene, Henry, Theresa, Barb, Bob, and Garey were hauling themselves over the Vermont hills. Then they pulled themselves over the Adirondacks. Maybe they’re tackling the Appalachians today, I have no idea.
But Irene has been sending me cell phone pictures daily.
On Saturday there was a motorcycle escort out of Trenton:
Sunday gave them a sampling of local bovine art:
This last one, Irene says, is "high class bovine art."
Monday she sent a picture from Saratoga County:
Tuesday they suffered, with a 14-mile ascent being the easy part:
But at least the bovinity was real:
As were the Amish:
Today the art switched from cows to trucks:
Irene assures me that she and Henry are dutifully sampling the local ales, which, she says, are very good.
What mountain range will these intrepid Anchor House riders conquer tomorrow? Stay tuned.
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