In Which We Sort of Get It Together

Hopewell-Amwell Road

22 February 2014

I'm halfway through my mug of Death Wish-Steady Eddy (do they cancel each other out?) when I think I see a black Prius driven by a red jersey pass the house and keep on going.  It's 8:45.  We leave at 9:30. This is early even for Plain Jim.  I don't see him pass again.  Maybe he's gone to the diner to pass the time.

I'm ready early.  I have time to play fetch with Moxie (yes, he's a cat, and yes, he fetches; all three do).  Then Chris pulls in, two wheels into the snow.  Then Jim is back, and Ed, and Ron.  Chris had to extricate Jim's car from the snow, and Ed found himself at Quakerbridge Mall or something, and Ed pulls into my driveway (finally somebody has!), and we're five minutes past the time we need to leave, but Ed is still getting his shoes on.

We leave in a hurry, but when I look back there are only three of us.  "Ed forgot his gloves," Chris says.  "They'll catch up.  Jim knows where to go."  That'll ruin Jim's reputation for sure, if it gets out that he knows where he is.

9:59, within sight of the Hopewell Administration Building (not the YMCA!), Miss Piggy stuffs her chain between the front chain ring and the frame. This happens as Jim and Ed catch up.  I send everyone on but Ed and Ron stay to help me extricate the chain.

At 10:02 we pull in, two people ready to go, one more driving in, and two more arriving by bike.  When I see that Sean is among our number, my decision is made.  We're going to Lambertville.  I'd promised him I'd take him there someday.  He's on his cross bike.  He'll be the only one who won't need to dodge the new crop of potholes.

The potholes keep the ride interesting.  It's a new slew of landmarks we'll have to memorize.  Pennington-Rocky Hill Road is going to be detoured around the bridge soon.  Federal City to Old Mill will add some miles.

We're heading to Province Line Road.  We're taking it all the way to its northern end.  I do this to the Slugs every spring.  The view balances out the pain.

This is the fun part, the roller coaster from Cherry Valley to Route 518. That's Sean about to descend:

On our way up the second half of Province Line, Sean and I look at an ivy-laced silo.  I contemplate getting a picture.  "Naah," I decide.  "Too phallic."  Sean suggests that it needs a pair of hay bales at the base.

Then the fun begins.  It's not as tough as I remember.  More than enough sleep? Death Wish doing the work?  The fact that's it's nearing 50 degrees right now? The marathon training sessions on Gonzo?  All of the above?  Anyway, I'm not pushing.  It's not my job to be out in front; it's my job to keep my eyes on everyone.

Hopewell-Amwell Road:

We cut west on Ridge, then Mountain.  One of our number, riding too close to the side of the road, finds himself half-sideways in a snow bank.  He dusts himself off, unhurt.  I look at his imprint in the snow, but he's so light that he's barely left a mark.

Plain Jim sings us through Route 31 at Rocktown Road.  It's the Lord's Prayer, in Latin:

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.
Adveniat regnum tuum. 
Fiat 

CAR!

voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. 
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. 
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo."

I want Sean to see Mount Airy and Alexauken Creek, so even though we've got 20 miles under us, I aim us towards the scenery.  "Wait at the cows," I instruct.

Jim says, "Where you'll take pictures."

"Of course."

Sean is digging the view.

Alexauken Creek Road blows his mind too, as does a ginger cookie at Rojo's (via Lovin' Oven).  I choose fruit-nut, and we each down a Red-Eye (that's a cup of drip coffee with a shot of espresso).

At the top of Rocktown, I wave Chris on with "Right turn!" seconds before somebody calls out, "Flat!"  Chris is long gone, and it takes us a CO2 cartridge, a hand pump, another new tube (the first being shredded at the valve), and another cartridge to set things right.

We turn onto Dinosaur Hill, then head across 518 to one of the two hills around here that's worse than it looks.

Ron's chain, being on the same model as Miss Piggy, and jealous of her earlier antics, hops off the rear cog into the spokes.  It takes a few minutes to untangle that.  Chris must be back at my house by now.

The rest is downhill and flat, and studded with fresh potholes to the point of requiring single-track mountain biking skills.  We get through it without incident. Chris is waiting at the entrance to the parking lot.

The five of us dodge more potholes on the way home, the road being much worse in this direction.

It's Chris' turn to be stuck in the snow, the right rear wheel of his truck spinning furiously. I offer to dig him out.  When I come back with the shovel, he's freed himself and is heading down the road.  I make sure Ed knows how to get home without going to the mall.  Miss Piggy gets hosed down.

Burnaby sleeps through the whole thing:

Good idea.  I should stretch.

Tomorrow has us following Winter Larry through the flatlands.