Wertsville Road near Rileyville Road
5 September 2015
Last weekend, when Tom promised slow and flat, he got a big crowd. Today, when I promised no nasty hills, I got a big crowd. Who knew that there are people who don't want to beat themselves up every weekend?
There were eleven of us today: Marc (who rode from my house with me), Cheryl, Al L (back on the bike after the Belmar crash), Blake, Pete, Mark, Len, Jeff S, Might(y) Mike, and another Laura (a transplant from Nevada who ~shudder~ likes to climb).
I had a destination, Sergeantsville, but not a route, so, as we neared Stony Brook Road, when Cheryl asked if we'd wait for her while she looked at a sofa, I told her we'd hang out at the top of the hill.
The logical place to turn off of Stony Brook is Snydertown if one is headed to Sergeantsville, and most of us did wait there. Blake, however, had gone ahead to the true top of the hill, where the road turns to dirt and intersects with Mountain Church. That's in the opposite direction from Sergeantsville, but I figured I could wing it well enough to get us there in 20-something miles.
"But wait," you might be thinking. "Sofa?"
Yes, sofa. Because an empty house costs loads more to insure than an occupied one, Cheryl has moved back into her Lawrenceville house until she can sell it. At the moment, she's sleeping on an air mattress. Her real estate agent wants her to furnish it, at least a little, so that it'll sell better. That's why she wanted to look at a sofa that she'd seen advertised for sale for not a lot of money.
While we waited, Len said that he had a set of counter stools he was trying to sell.
We didn't have to wait long, maybe five minutes, before she and Marc reached us. We headed up towards Blake. He was on the opposite side of the road, pointing gleefully at the edge of a driveway, next to which sat a wicker table, a wicker chair, and a wicker sofa (no cushions). Each was marked with blue tape, "FREE." We moved on. I didn't think to take a picture.
I ought to have, though, because, after I dragged the group down Rileyville, across Wertsville,
Last weekend, when Tom promised slow and flat, he got a big crowd. Today, when I promised no nasty hills, I got a big crowd. Who knew that there are people who don't want to beat themselves up every weekend?
There were eleven of us today: Marc (who rode from my house with me), Cheryl, Al L (back on the bike after the Belmar crash), Blake, Pete, Mark, Len, Jeff S, Might(y) Mike, and another Laura (a transplant from Nevada who ~shudder~ likes to climb).
I had a destination, Sergeantsville, but not a route, so, as we neared Stony Brook Road, when Cheryl asked if we'd wait for her while she looked at a sofa, I told her we'd hang out at the top of the hill.
The logical place to turn off of Stony Brook is Snydertown if one is headed to Sergeantsville, and most of us did wait there. Blake, however, had gone ahead to the true top of the hill, where the road turns to dirt and intersects with Mountain Church. That's in the opposite direction from Sergeantsville, but I figured I could wing it well enough to get us there in 20-something miles.
"But wait," you might be thinking. "Sofa?"
Yes, sofa. Because an empty house costs loads more to insure than an occupied one, Cheryl has moved back into her Lawrenceville house until she can sell it. At the moment, she's sleeping on an air mattress. Her real estate agent wants her to furnish it, at least a little, so that it'll sell better. That's why she wanted to look at a sofa that she'd seen advertised for sale for not a lot of money.
Cherryl sent me this photo later. Her real estate agent did not approve.
While we waited, Len said that he had a set of counter stools he was trying to sell.
She didn't take these either.
We didn't have to wait long, maybe five minutes, before she and Marc reached us. We headed up towards Blake. He was on the opposite side of the road, pointing gleefully at the edge of a driveway, next to which sat a wicker table, a wicker chair, and a wicker sofa (no cushions). Each was marked with blue tape, "FREE." We moved on. I didn't think to take a picture.
I ought to have, though, because, after I dragged the group down Rileyville, across Wertsville,
up Van Lieus, over Back Brook, up Dutch, a requested bathroom break at Dunkin' Donuts, across 202, over Larison, down 579, up Boss, and to Sergeantsville, we headed south on 523, where Cheryl saw a table, chair, and TV for sale by the side of the road. I missed those, but I did see the overstuffed paisley chair across from the Sandy Ridge church. Had I taken a picture of that I might have cracked the lens it was so ugly.
Pete, riffing on the theme of my banning a rider last month, was having a good old time conjuring up ways I could potentially throw more riders off. "He's wearing a blue jersey! I hate blue jerseys!" "She has a Napoleon complex!" (to which, naturally, I responded by shoving my hand into my jersey). What Pete did here was permanently secure himself a spot as a Hill Slug by dint of superlative wise-assery. Well done!
There was a bit of disarray at the end of the ride, when I waited for stragglers at a light on 31 at Tree Farm Road. The rest of the group went ahead. They didn't wait on the other side, and by the time we got the green, they were gone.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I chided the few people still hanging around for ditching the leader. That's when I found out that only half the group had come back. Al, who had been towards the front, got himself a little lost and stopped for directions. A few others knew where to go. But two were still missing.
"You ride ahead, you're on your own," I said. Several times. This is how I know I'm a seasoned, if not jaded, leader. Had this happened ten years ago, I would have gone out looking for them. Now that we all have smartphones, I'm not as worried. At least I'm not asshole enough to have gone straight home; I waited until they showed up.
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