Another Way to Sergeantsville

Poor Farm Road, looking down from just before it gets bad (image swiped from someone else)

25 February, at the gym:

"Hey, John, you think you guys can do Poor Farm?" He grins. "I think so."



28 February:

Jack is reading Facebook. "Chris says the fixies are coming."

I roll onto Cheryl's street. She and Chris are waiting for me and Mike B. to show up. I must be on time; I beat Mike here. Chris says, "When you see John, tell him you say, 'no'."

"What?"

Cheryl says, "He says we're doing Poor Farm."

"Quiet! You weren't supposed to tell her that!"

"We are."

"You are?"

"It was my idea."

We roll out, Mike rolls up, and we push against a headwind all the way to Pennington.
I sign in fourteen people. Six of them are fixies. Two of those are the Montreal Mayhem, Thing One and Thing Two, Drew and Murdo. Jimmy, last week's new guy, is here too.

Drew has Look pedals. "Hold my bike," I tell him and take his bike for a loop in the parking lot. The Fixies cheer me on. Somebody says, "She's next!" A figure eight in an empty lot is one thing; forty miles in the Sourlands is something else. I like to coast.

Without calling Poor Farm by name I tell the crowd that there will be one bad hill on the way up. And I quote Henry: "He said, 'There's no hill I can't walk up.' There's no shame in walking." There are two new people on this ride. One is on a vintage (but not as vintage as my Bluestreak) Raleigh.

Ingleside, Delaware, Timberlane, Pennington-Harbourton, Burd (massive headwind), Woosamonsa, bear right onto Poor Farm.

Chris is telling the new guys that this is only the first third of the climb. I tell them, "Save a gear for when we get into the trees and the road turns left." The Fixies and Jimmy charge ahead. Way ahead.

Songs for Poor Farm: Crosseyed and Painless by the Talking Heads, seque into U2's Zoo Station:

I'm ready I'm ready for the laughing gas I'm ready I'm ready for what's next I'm ready to duck I'm ready to dive I'm ready to say I'm glad to be alive I'm ready I'm ready for the push

Into the trees, shift down, try not to hit that last gear.

All right, all right, all right, all right, all right It's all right, it's all right, it's all right, It's all right Hey baby, hey baby, hey baby, hey baby It's all right, it's all right

I have to hit that last gear. The road cuves left and there they all are, scattered and splattered across the road. Two fixies are at the top. Three are walking. I'm thinking two things at once: "Damn," and "Yesss!" There's a car behind us but the driver isn't even trying to get around us.

Drew is struggling up the last bit, the steepest bit. I'm catching up to him. I call out, "Push, Drew! Big circles! Push! You got it!" People behind me chime in. "Aaaaugh!" he says. When he gets to the top everyone cheers.

The driver waits for the walkers and then rounds the corner at the end of the road. "Thank you!" I call out. He smiles.

The vintage Raleigh has been walking since the trees. Time for some encouragement. "This is the toughest hill around here. This is the biggest climb we'll do today."

Harbourton-Woodsville, New, 518, 579, Rock Road East, Harbourton-Mount Airy. Before we descend I warn the geared riders that the Fixies are going to be hitting the breaks.

This is Dinosaur Hill. Jimmy says, "I thought it was Snoopy hill." It depends on which direction you're going. If your're climbing you have time to see Snoopy's head painted on a boulder near the top. If you're bombing down you see the dinosaur, a tooth-bearing T. rex head. I've never gotten a picture of either rock; I'm going too quickly or too slowly to stop for anything. Jimmy says he's never taken it in this direction.

Straight on past the high school, down the big hill, up the ass-burner to the church. The calves we saw sleeping last week are galavanting near the fence. Their fur looks silky. We scare them. They run to mom.

Down Church over to Queen, wait at Lambertville Headquarters. "We're finished with the big hills. We just have a few little stomach churners left." We turn right onto Lambertville Headquarters and left onto Buchannan.

I forgot about that hill at the stop sign. It looks so small from here, but the Fixies seem to be slowing down. When I get to it I'm in my bottom gear. We wait across the street. The Raleigh is walking.

Straight onto Rittenhouse, left onto Sergeantsville-Ringoes Road, and we're at the deli.

Everyone is asking Howard what the percent incline of Poor Farm is. He has a pricey GPS. "Poor Farm is seventeen percent, but that's the average. The last part is twenty-one percent."

"Twenty-one!" says everyone. "What about Buchannan?"

"Seventeen."

I say, "Wow. I think I wish I didn't know that." It'll never seem easy now.

One of the Fixies says, "I had to unclip on Poor Farm. I don't think the plastic on my cleats can handle that kind of torque."

Lamest. Excuse. Ever.

The Fixie is roundly and rightly razzed by everyone.

Everyone eats inside except Jimmy. "It's too warm in there," he says. He sits in the porch instead.

Everyone except Jimmy:



"The way back is mostly downhill," I tell the new people.

Sergeantsville-Ringoes Road, Lambert, Sandbrook-Headquarters, Yard.

Cheryl and I are talking about how neither of us gets up at 4:30 anymore. "It's the Fido (*) rule," I tell her.

(* If you want to know what this means I'll tell you when I see you next.)

Time for a little music. Stop-Go by Widespread Panic explains what it means to be a Hill Slug. The Fixies are just getting it:

Used to ride the highway
I used to know where I was going
Now this shady dirt road is feelin' cool beneath my feet
Used to ride on
To get to where I was going in a day
Now I've got to stop
And go and stop and go along the way
Was a fool to waste my time
Just searchin' my mind
But the more I find
The more I find the time to search
Used to ride on
To get to where I was going in a daze
And now I've got to stop
And go and stop and go along the way

Cross 31 onto Everitts, then Old York, Van Lieus, that annoying hill, and it's time to decide how to tackle the Sourlands. "Straight up, which is faster, or sideways, which is prettier?"

One look at Cheryl (two days of teaching Spinning, one day of lifting, and now this) and the new guys and I have my answer. "Sideways."

Wertsville, Runyon Mill, Orchard, all the way to 31 on Linvale, cross to Woodsville Road to 518. "You guys want to do the double-humper or take 518?"

The new guys say they'll take the hills. Murdo says, "Did someone say 'hump'?" The first one isn't too bad. The second one is longer, but it looks much worse than it is. "It lies down for you," I call out. Most hills will lie down for you.

Cross 31, right on 654, left on 31, right on Woosamonsa. The Montreal Mayhem are contemplating how to get to Lambertville from Sergeantsville and from here. It's easy. "Just go back up Poor Farm," I begin.

"No, thanks."

Left on Burd. The wind seems to have shifted a little. Right on Pennington-Harbourton, left into the parking lot at the new strip mall (the all-independent feel now trashed by a Subway and Dunkin' Donuts), across 31 (again), into Pennington from the back.

41 miles. No matter how you go to Sergeantsville, it'll be between 41 and 43 miles.

We're yakking away in the parking lot.

"Hey," I ask the Fixies. Are you guys a flock or a herd?

"We're a fleet!" Jane says.

"Really? That sounds kinda, I dunno, industrial. Like trucks."

"Like ships," she says.

Fleet it is.

Mike, Cheryl, Chris, and I pedal home. Tomorrow's snow clouds are rolling in.