Beaker's Day in the Sourlands

Beaker in Sergeantsville

5 July 2015

Miss Piggy has behaved herself for six whole rides now.  That's a record.  Still, I felt the need for steel for today's ride into the Sourlands, and Beaker never gets to see her chain in the small ring.  I unhooked her lights and heart rate monitor and started off from home at 7:25 a.m. to meet Tom's Insane Bike Posse in Rocky Hill.

Jim and I were early.  Then Blake arrived, followed by Tom, Cheryl, and Ed. And Ed's socks, which had featured prominently on Tom's ride on Friday, when a lagging rider was told, "Let my socks be a beacon unto you."

Mine were crazy today too, but I had to go shoeless to show them off:

Beaker is a mushy ride, the perfect antidote to a weekend of carbon harshness.  She climbs well enough, too, well enough that I entertain the notion of putting a triple on her someday, once Miss Piggy's frame cracks, shatters, or gets thrown into the Raritan.  (Jim predicted I'd come around to this someday.)

The view from Grandview:

Cheryl is re-acclimating to hills.  This picture is for her to show her fellow Florida Flatlanders.

We took one of the easier routes into Sergeantsville by approaching from Dunkard Church and Lambert Roads.  Tom remembered that there had been cows in the water the last time he'd looked.

"I only take pictures of cows," I told Jim, "because you say I take pictures of cows."  If this logic sounds less than sound, hang on for a few more paragraphs.  It gets worse.

Cheryl hasn't been to the Sergeantsville General Store since Sun sold it last summer.  The coffee, she agrees, is definitely better.  She bought mine, which was groovy of her. I usually get the squash-cherry-nut bread, but adhering to tradition is more important.  I ate the top of a fresh blueberry muffin and pushed the rest towards Cheryl and Jim.

Because my Sergeantsville rides start from Pennington, we more often than not pass through Mount Airy from the south.  This puts us on the farm side, where we are met by cows when we gather at the top.

Today, though, Tom took us up from the opposite side.

"There are no cows in this direction," I declared.

See? Proof!

On our way down the hill I explained to Jim and Tom my idea for a retroactive drug -- one that works before you take it.  (I came up with this idea in my senior year of high school. Why hasn't this been invented yet?)  I don't think they heard me, which is just as well.

With about five miles to go, Ed and I started to conspire about stopping at Main Street in Kingston after the ride.  We've done this before, at about the same distance from the end, when we start to get hungry.  He was jonesing for gazpacho. Ick. I was thinking about ride pudding.

I arrived after Ed did.  He was surrounded by the Major Taylor fastboys, including Vern and Howard, neither of whom I've seen in a long, long time.

We all used to be in spin class together -- me, Vern, his wife, and Howard -- but when the gym opened a branch in Plainsboro, closer to where they live, they started spinning there instead. Vern can spin so fast that the spin bike's computer can't keep up; it goes blank somewhere above 120 rpm. Envious, I used to try to get my console to go blank.  I did it a couple of times, Vern laughing on the bike next to mine, but I could barely hold that cadence.  On the road, I only see Vern when he's flying past me.  Howard used to come out on some of Michael H's hilly rides, but he's such a strong climber that I rarely had the chance to talk to him.

The guys admired Beaker's steel and her mountain bike gearing.  I trembled at the sight of  their serious-speed equipment (one with a solid rear wheel and no rear brake -- yikes!) and at Vern's single-speed (in the Sourlands!). Vern said I should ride with them sometime.  "Sure," I said.  "I'll last about five minutes before you drop me."

"We wait for everybody," Vern assured me.

"I don't want to piss people off by making them wait for me."  One of the other guys said, "Come out with us."

Yeah, right.

After they left, while I was waiting at an outside table for Ed, I emailed Vern anyway.  "I'll never be able to keep up with you," I wrote, "but it might be fun to try it once." On my way home (two rice puddings in my jersey pocket), I pondered which bike I'd bring, and how far into the route I'd last before sending them all off ahead.

I'm more of an endurance gal.  I finished with 75 miles.