Pictures from the Charity Ride for Joe McBride

20 November 2010

Thank you, all of you, who contributed and came out to last week's Charity Ride for Joe McBride. So far we've raised around $1400 and the checks are still coming in.

Thanks go to Ira Saltiel for leading a group up the river to Frenchtown and back, like Joe used to do, and to Bill Cooper and John Smolenyak for helping me lead the rest of the crowd up the ridge and down to Upper Black Eddy in a version of one of Joe's other favorite routes.

Kudos to Dale and Sean Ireland, who were our California contingent, holding a west coast version of the ride.

I was too busy corralling twenty riders to take pictures, but Glenn Cantor and John Smolenyak stepped up. Below are some of the images they sent me.

Glenn took this group photo before we headed out:


Here we are milling about as people sign in (Glenn):


More milling about (John):


Jim enters the Green Sergeants covered bridge (Glenn):

The outbound "big hill," Sanford Road (Glenn):


Our rest stop was at the Homestead General Store in Upper Black Eddy, PA. The store is just across the river from Milford, NJ, where Joe liked to stop at the deli. I guess it was earlier this year, or late last year, when I convinced him to follow me across the river for a better rest stop. He resisted at first, but I managed to get him to agree to it, just this once, to try it. When we got to the store, he was amazed. "Why didn't you tell me about this place?" he demanded.

John took this picture of us behind the general store:

Homestead roasts their own coffee beans. Regular readers of this blog will remember that I'm fond of buying a bag and stuffing it into my jersey pocket for the ride home. John, having heard me rave about the coffee here, crammed a bag into his backpack. Cheryl, though, had no pockets, and, with my prodding, got creative about her storage options (Glenn):

Nice rack, Cher.

I made her remove her falsies for the ride home, though. She handed her boobs over to Chris, who had a handlebar pack big enough to hold them.

Glenn took a picture of this maple tree. Everywhere the maples were yellow. It reminded me of a Thanksgiving ride that Cheryl, Joe, and I did a few years ago. We wound up in the Quakerbridge Mall parking lot, just because it was there and empty. Yellow maple leaves were all over the ground that day. Cheryl took a picture of me and Joe, in matching DeRosa jerseys, in his driveway. Ever since that day, whenever I see yellow maple leaves, I think of that ride.

Glenn got this excellent shot of us walking our bikes back across the bridge to Milford:

While we were stuffing our faces and our jerseys, Dale and Sean were getting ready for their ride. Dale sent me this as I was finishing my coffee:

Sean reports the following conversation from their ride, fully capturing the spirit of our departed friend:

Dale: How come my handlebars feel further to reach since the last time I rode?

Sean: You've aged and shrunk into an old lady since then.

Dale: Fuck you!

Charity Ride for Joe McBride, Saturday, 13 November

This Saturday's Hill Slug ride will be in honor of Joe McBride.

We will ride one of Joe McBride's favorite routes along the Delaware River and the ridge above Frenchtown. Joe didn't like big hills, so we'll stay away from the nasty ones. There will be one rest stop in Upper Black Eddy, PA, and an additional, optional, stop in Sergeantsville. The route is 50 miles.

The ride starts at 9 a.m. Meet in the CVS parking lot off of Route 29 in Lambertville. Wet roads cancel the ride.

Please bring a check made out to the American Diabetes Association or the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

Please contact me at perpetualheadwinds at gmail dot com with any questions.

Eulogy

photo by Ira Salteil

7 November 2010

On Friday we lost one of our strongest, steadiest, funniest, most cynical, and most sarcastic riders to a freak accident that should happen to nobody, the least of all Joe McBride.

There's a hole where he used to be, and the best we can do is fill it with memories.

He was fond of long rides and steady riders, less so of big hills and squirrely cyclists.

He was the Big half of the Joes.

He wore red.

He gave me his old De Rosa jerseys.

He brought me gummy lobsters from Cape Cod. Twice.

He taught me how to ride flat centuries.

He loved going to Belmar and riding along the Delaware River.

He didn't like long rest stops.

He didn't like big groups.

He was a good listener.

He was smart and insightful.

He had certain gestures.

photo by Ira Salteil

click on the picture and you'll see

He had certain phrases:

If he said, "Fuck you," it meant he liked you.

"You know I love you like a brother, but..."

"JESUSsaves!" whenever we passed a church.

"Fuck you."

He called Cheryl "the Hub of the Club."

When Mike M pulled us for miles and miles, he called him "Mighty Mike," and it stuck.

Under all that rough exterior was a man dedicated to the sanity of others. He could spot a person in trouble from a mile away.

He showed up in my blog time and time again:

Joe knows Drew and Murdo; I figure this out because he’s cursing at them already. (4/27/08)

Cheryl was talking about her family, about her being one of a large handful of kids. Big Joe asked, “Are you the youngest?” “Yep. I’m the baby.” “I could tell.” “Fuck you!” Oof! She got him! The first “fuck you” of the day and rather than coming from Joe it hit him smack-dab in his dignity. He grumbled about it for the rest of the morning. (7/11/08)

Big Joe fired off a “fuck you” or two before anyone could beat him to it. (7/11/08)

Mike M. notices that we haven’t had a “Fuck you” from Big Joe yet. The lapse is quickly remedied. (8/8/08)

Big Joe laid down the rules right away: we were to ride in a pace line and there would be no stopping for pictures. This elicited the first FU of the day by yours truly. There was no pace line and there were pictures. (8/10/08)

We weren't much further along, but at least we were on a shady road, when his tire went "Pfffftttt!" again. More F-bombs, and someone wondered if he'd gone over his F-bomb quota. He pulled out a boot -- a four-inch long section of old tire -- and placed it between the gash and a new inner tube, courtesy of Little Joe. Tom said, "You get one more time, Joe, then we're leaving you." I said, "I thought our love for Joe was unconditional." Jack H. looked at me, paused, and said, "Heat getting to you?" (7/24/10)

After reading my blog, Big Joe declared that I'm a bigger wise-ass than he is. I didn't think that was possible. Takes one to know one, Joe. (8/10/08)

We miss you already.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 6 November

3 November 2010

It'll be a little chilly, and I'm still recovering from whatever it is I did to my leg, so we'll take it easy on Saturday.

The route will be the usual combination of hills, scenery, and a decent coffee stop. Where we go depends on what we feel like doing. Count on 40-ish miles.

Meet at the Hopewell YMCA parking lot on Main Street in Pennington at 9:30 a.m. Extra-milers can meet me at my house at 9:00 a.m.

Note that if you Google the YMCA location it will put you at the wrong spot. The parking lot is on Main Street about a mile south of where it intersects with Delaware Avenue. The lot is across from Ingleside Road.