Introducing Miss Piggy

She has my hair.

18 September 2010

Friday was a good day. First, I accepted a job offer, then I handed in my resignation, and after that I went to pick up my new bike, a Cannondale Synapse in black, white, and don't-run-over-me green..

There's a huge backstory to the job thing that will probably never see the light of day. The quick version is that, after a dozen years of 3-hour round-trips to work, my commute will be a mere fifteen minute drive each way.

Anyway, my world was feeling a little surreal by Friday afternoon. I made it to Hart's with ten minutes to spare before closing time only to discover that Ross had forgotten to order the pedals. "Tell ya what," he said. "Go home, get your other bike, and we'll swap." But that would take at least half an hour. "Don't worry. I'll be here," he told me. The joint was jumping at 6:00.

So I went home, pulled the wheels off of Gonzo, and stuffed the frame in the trunk. Gonzo, whom I considered selling to make room for Miss Piggy, is going to be my commuter bike.

It was a race against sunset as Ross and I tweaked a few things. I rode through the back end of Pennington, grinning like a fool.

Miss Piggy's real debut would have to wait til Sunday, though. Tomorrow was Tom's Sandy Hook ride. Long and flat, it was no place to test a bicycle tricked-out for climbing.

I took Miss Piggy home. Jack was in NYC. Cheryl and I went out to dinner to celebrate my new life. Jack was home when I got home. We watched TV as I adorned Miss Piggy with her saddlebag of tubes and levers and added a small pack for the top tube to hold my camera. I hung the pump on the top tube but I didn't like the aesthetics of it.

What I needed was a pump holder that fit to the side of the bottle cage, not instead of it. I looked over at Gonzo and poached his. Now he was upside-down, wheel-less, missing pedals, minus a pump, and short a bottle cage. With a dropped chain, too. Some commuter bike!

By now I'd spent an hour and a half messing with my new toy. I couldn't just leave her til Sunday. I sent an email to Cheryl and Blake. "I'm going with you," I told them.

Blake is one of those guys who could kick my ass with one leg tied behind his back. But he's not like that. He's that rare breed of speed without attitude. And he loves to climb.

We started in Lambertville and took the river bridge in the town of Stockton. I've never done that; I've always crossed at Bulls Island, a few miles north.

Blake posed for scale. "So you don't think it's the Walt Whitman," he said. That's Cheryl up ahead.


We'd only gone a few miles when I decided that my seat was too low. I'd brought the wrong size Allen wrench, but Cheryl had a tool kit. I dropped the seat by two millimeters and it felt perfect. (When I got home I measured it against Kermit and found that I'd gotten the height exactly right.)

Here's a picture of the wooded side of Fleecydale Road.

Here's a cottage farther up the hill:

In Carversville we turned onto Wismer, which starts with a short, steep climb. I dropped into a low gear and shouted, "Go, Pig!" as I felt myself zipping up the hill ahead of Cheryl and Blake.

I wasn't anticipating the rest of the road, which levels out then becomes a slow climb that's probably a mile long. I decided to switch into the smallest ring. Big mistake. I lost all momentum before I'd caught my breath. Afraid I'd drop my chain if I changed front gears on a hill, I had to turtle along until I went aerobic again. Blake and Cheryl passed me, standing as I stayed seated. Lesson learned: I don't know how to use a granny gear.

At the top Blake stopped at a turn and was surprised when I didn't. He said, "I thought for sure you'd want a picture."

"Of what?"

"The farm," he said. I hadn't even noticed.

"Thanks."



We were up on the ridge west of the Delaware River. To get back to Uhlerstown by the water, Blake decided to take Uhlerstown Road. It intrigued him, he said, because Google Maps says the road is closed between December and April.

The reason was obvious right away. I took this picture near the top. Things only got narrower, steeper, and more full of gravel after this. I was too busy grabbing the brakes to grab my camera. I had to hold Miss Piggy back; she really wanted to go. Now I know why Tom fell on his Synapse.

At the bottom of the hill is a covered bridge by the Delaware Canal. I took pictures of it back in the spring when I went walking on the canal with Jack, Gordon, and Terry. I can't find the blog post at the moment, but it's in there somewhere.

Miss Piggy takes a break in Frenchtown:

Climbing Horseshoe Bend, Blake disappeared ahead of us. "He says he wants more climbing gears," I said, "but what we really need to do is take some gears away from him."

On the Jersey side, descending Locktown-Sergeantsville Road:

Cheryl and I were pretty trashed by the time the ride was over. Miss Piggy's cables were stretched to the point that some of the smaller gears were useless.

Cheryl went home to take care of the dogs. Blake and I walked over to Rojo's for lunch. We hung out there for a while and ran into the same bikers we'd seen in Frenchtown.

On my way home I stopped by Hart's to get Miss Piggy's cables adjusted.

I didn't feel tired anymore. We'd climbed about three thousand feet in forty miles, which is on the low end of elevation and distance for a Hill Slug ride. Still, it should have been enough to make my legs a little sore. But that never happened. The next day I took Kermit to the Freewheeler's picnic ride, where we dropped the hammer on Route 524.

Up next: Will OLPH reveal why she quit her Philly job? Or will she just keep posting pictures of asphalt, trees, and the Raritan River? Stay tuned. She might even be leading a ride next month...