Sourland Spectacular, Larry's Horses, and What Happens when Jim Doesn't Sweep

A Chicken with Attitude (Gravity Hill Farm)

14 September 2014

I'm behind on my blogging.  This post will squish what ought to have been three posts into one.

I

Jim herded us Slugs at some indecent hour, an hour that would be perfectly acceptable in July, for the September 6 Sourland Spectacular.  I got a picture of the sun over Montgomery High School while Jim was making sure he had all of us corralled before we began the 60-mile route.

Michael H was in charge of the routes, and it showed.  There was a lot of doubling back built in so that we could visit a few local farms, and because Michael's philosophy is "Why climb a hill once when you can climb it twice?"  The event T-shirt said, "It's a hill.  Get over it."  Get bent.

Oscar, from Hart's Cyclery, had a repair tent at the registration area.  I said hello to him, and said, gesturing towards Miss Piggy, "She's doing great."  This usually lasts a couple of weeks before I'm back at the shop again for a shifting adjustment.  She won't stay tuned.  I've come to accept that.

I know every road that was on the route, but I'm not sure where I took this picture.  I think it was on Pleasant Valley Road.

We were on Pleasant Valley so that we could get to Gravity Hill Farm.  There's a long, winding driveway leading to the farm store.  I got off my bike and hunched down in the grass for these pictures:

This is the view from not quite the top of the driveway:

The view from the top:

At one of the rest stops we ran into three Etra flatlanders who informed me that, after I'd broken my spoke and headed for home on that ride last Sunday, the group came in at 19.5 mph.  This led me to start grumbling to Jim about ride leaders needing to change their ride descriptions.  B pace, my fat ass.

The route put us on Rainbow Hill at mile 50.  I cursed Michael H as we made the turn because I knew that after we finished this we'd have to tackle Long Hill.

Halfway up Long Hill, Miss Piggy decided to throw her chain into the rear spokes.  The last time she did that was on last year's Sourland Spectacular.  This time I was able to clip out and stay upright. I used the shifters to get the chain back on, and was climbing again in less than a minute.

The ride began and ended with Fairview.  I'd wanted this picture in the morning:

I made my way back to Oscar, who did what he could for Miss Piggy. "Y'know," I said, "I really oughta learn how to wrench so I don't have to keep bothering you."  Oscar replied that he's going to be teaching a bike repair class for four Thursday nights starting in October.  I plan to sign up as soon as I can find the details (there's nothing on their web site yet).

II

After hearing about the Etra flatlander pace, even Jim was reluctant to do the ride the next day.  There was no way I was going back, especially after a hilly metric.  We decided to gather a group to do something on our own.  We didn't have to, though. Lucky for us, Winter Larry was starting his Sunday rides again.  That's where we went, and gladly.

Winter Larry loves the church on Emley's Hill Road.

He's also in love with the white horses on Route 518 outside of Cassville:

On our way back, Larry and Jim launched into show tunes again.  "Good thing Tom's not here," I said. His ears are still bleeding from last time.  The three of us also had a serious discussion about ride leaders, paces, and ride descriptions.

We cut through the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area, and then Larry took us on a side road in Roosevelt. There, we found another white horse:

We also found a friendly donkey.

The ride ended with just enough time for me to get fed and cleaned up before meeting one of the Etra regulars to paint J arrows for the September 20 Ride for McBride.  "The pace was more civilized today," he reported. "I came in at 18.1." By this point I'd realized that my rear wheel had sacrificed a spoke in order to protect me.

During the week, Jim, Snakehead, and I had a 20-message-long email conversation about ride classifications and pacing.  I followed this up with an email to a couple of FreeWheeler Board members, who broadened the recipient list to all of the B and B+ ride leaders. 26 messages later, the Etra ride was voluntarily reclassified and the Board agreed that leaders should be reminded to stick to their advertised pace.

All along, my message was simple, and I'll repeat it again here:  Ride how you want to ride. Lead how you want to lead.  Just be honest about it.

III

The weather gods made it rain yesterday.  Tom moved his 65-mile Sandy Hook ride to today. The route is mostly flat. Kermit's spoke was repaired, so I got him ready for the trip.

I haven't been to Sandy Hook in years.  When I have gone, it's always been hot. The first time I went I burned my feet on the hot sand.  I had blisters on my toes and the balls of my feet.  That wasn't going to happen this time because we weren't going to walk on the beach.  That, and summer is over:  we were wearing arm warmers.

From Monmouth Battlefield, we passed through Freehold.  There were nine of us at the start:  Tom, Dave C, Snakehead Ed, Jack H, Ed G, John B, Gary S, Bagel Hill Barry, and me. Jim was notably absent, having promised TEW the FreeWheeler's fall picnic and All-Paces ride at Mercer County Park. Dave C did his best to keep count in Jim's absence.

There are three big hills along Navesink River Road. We'd finished all of them, me and Dave bringing up the rear (Kermit is steel, remember) and were across the street from our rest stop, a QuickChek in Atlantic Highlands, when Dave C asked, "Where's Barry?"  Dave and I had assumed that we'd been dead last.  The last time Dave had seen Barry was somewhere on the second hill.

Tom sent us along to the QuickChek while he and Snakehead doubled back to search for Barry, who was the only one on the ride without a cell phone.  "This is why we need Jim," Dave and I agreed. "We can blame this on him," someone suggested. Eight miles later, Tom and Ed returned.  Barry was nowhere to be found, and the two of them had done the Navesink hills twice.

We proceeded on to Sandy Hook, where we followed the paved bike trail all the way to the end, stopping at Gunnison Beach.  We climbed the old gun turret for the view of the beach and the Manhattan skyline.

Part of Gunnison Beach is a nude beach, although no signs declare that.  It's on Google Maps as a nude beach, though.  Go figure.  We were too far away to see anything even if people had chosen to bare themselves on this chilly day.

The Manhattan skyline:

The beach entrance:

I had a flat, Tom's saddlebag fell off, we stopped again for food in Little Silver, and we never did see Barry again.  His car wasn't in the lot when we returned.  "Good!" Tom said, "That means he's alive to yell at me."