Feels Like Summer

This is what summer looks like (Main Street, Kingston)

19 July 2015

Today was the first of what will be many days where the heat sucks away last night's sleep in the first five miles. It was one of those days that doesn't feel so bad while you're moving, but the instant you stop you couldn't be more wet if you'd been in a downpour.

Looking for a no-stress recovery ride, I pedaled the 18.5 miles from home to Six Mile Run State Park on the D&R Canal, where Jim was leading his monthly no-pace New Brunswick Bike Exchange ride. I saw cyclists of every shape, size, and color along Canal Road (take that, Bike Virginia!).  Every rider was coming from the other direction.  Once I got past Coppermine I knew why.

Canal Road is more pothole than pavement on the northbound side between Coppermine and Griggstown.  It was thoroughly unpleasant, and that was on Kermit, a steel frame. The southbound side is much better.  There's a sign up on the southbound side that says road work will begin tomorrow.  One can only hope.

Jim's ride was a mix of bikes and styles.  TEW and I were on our high-end equipment.  Jim had the Krakow Monster out.  Smolenyak* pulled in on a single speed with a massive trailer.  Two others were on mountain bikes.

We headed back to Kingston on the smoother side of Canal Road, then took Kingston-Rocky Hill Road. Jim requested stop at Rockingham for a group picture.

"Having flashbacks?" Smolenyak asked me.  He was referring to my first century, when it was just the two of us at mile 90-something.

"Nope."  I felt the need to explain.  "It was my first century.  My back hurt, my butt hurt, and my stomach hurt.  I learned not to eat a bagel with cream cheese on a ride."

Jim said, "That's my pre-ride breakfast."

"Females," Smolenyak said.

I narrowed my eyes at him.  "I can take you, Smolenyak."

He challenged me to a ride to Binghamton, NY.

I flexed my right arm.  "I can take you."

There's a fair amount of trash talk among us biking buddies, I explained to the new folks.  Being the only woman on the ride most of the time, I'm treated like one of the guys.

We hung out at Main Street for a while.  Main Street is the Sergeantsville of the flatlands: it's a cyclist mecca, and if you stay there long enough you'll probably run into somebody you know. Today it was Eoghan, who came out with the Slugs only rarely when he moved here a couple of years ago. Nowadays he's a full-on randonneur, and we never see him.

It was getting towards noon when I finally left for home. I went through two water bottles in 37.3 miles, and was thoroughly drenched when I walked into the house.

Next Saturday I'm scheduled to lead a ride.  If the weather is favorable, we'll do another metric-to-century in stages.

(*I avoid last names, but in this case, if I use his first name only, nobody will know who I'm talking about, and he wouldn't like that, would he?)