We're Done With Climbing. Really, We Are. And We Have Mechanical Problems.

"I have my cover shot."  

Otterhole Road, Norvin Green State Park

14 October 2015

He said the hills wouldn't be any worse than what we climbed when we went to Clinton from Lambertville. He said he hadn't been on any of the roads on the Morris-Passaic-Bergen County high point route.  He said we're his Insane Bike Posse because we keep following him on his Stupid Rides.

I said I'd go because I'd never been up there on a bike before.  I said I'd go because the route skirted lakes and reservoirs.  I said I'd go because I've been on all the High Point rides but one.  I didn't really believe him about the hills anyway.

So, early Sunday morning, Marc loaded his bike into my car and the two of us drove to meet Tom, Jim, Snakehead, Jack, and John T at Pompton Lakes.  Somewhere on I-287, Tom passed us, so I sped up to follow him the rest of the way. 

We got to the school much earlier than we'd expected, so we got back into our cars in search of a bathroom.  The main drag in Pompton Lakes was closed for a car show, which we walked through until we found a diner.

Hey, Dave!  An MG!

By the time we got back to the school, the rest of the group was there.  

Although Tom had given us a link to his planned route, he told us that he'd made some changes.  The first adjustment got us off the busy road out of Pompton Lakes, but it also had two 17% grade hills on it.  

Straight away, two of our riders encountered mechanical problems.  John dropped his chain and fell over; and then Jim experienced the first of what would be many shifter-related SNAFUs that alternately bound one brake pad or the other to the wheel, compounded by an errant limit screw chucking his chain around.  I'd never seen Jim walk up a hill before, let alone two.  I'd have given the Yellow Maserati the day's Miss Piggy award, but Miss Piggy was slowly reverting to form after a four month remission.

Anyway, we got out of the steep hills and out of the traffic, and found ourselves on Otterhole Road, riding next to Norvin Green State Park.  If the rest of the ride was going to look like this, I could forget about the chain starting to rub on the front derailleur in the middle ring when I was on the outer cogs in the rear.

It wasn't like I was going to need the middle ring all that much, it turns out, because when we weren't flying downhill (big ring!), I was in the granny gear anyway.

The Morris County high point was in the middle of the Mahlon Dickerson Reserve, on Sparta Mountain Road.

Ed and Jack missed the high point, and Tom had to chase them down so that they could turn around.

I should mention, because I didn't take any pictures of it (Jim did), that Ed finally has his new toy.  If a college student's commuter mountain bike and a high-end steel road bike had a love child, it would be Ed's LoveBaum: Hammered steel fenders and a rear rack cover fat tubeless tires and disk brakes; the seat tube lug is carved with Ed's initials, some four inches long; the down tube paint fades into a snakeskin pattern (because he's Snakehead, of course); the head badge isn't a snake head but it kind of is; the bike weighs a metric ton, but it doesn't slow him down one bit; oh, and internal DI2 shifting. On more than one of his blistering descents, I worried that I'd have to be the one to call his wife.

We backtracked down the mountain, and that's roughly when the endless stream of traffic started. We passed a few places where I'd have hopped off my bike for pictures, but the roads were too busy and the shoulders too narrow (if they were there at all) for us to do anything but a get-us-the-hell-out-of-here style single file.

At the Clinton Reservoir, which we circled partway, I did find a spot to pull over.

As we got close to Greenwood Lake, we stopped at an intersection next to Mount Laurel Lake:

We were close to the Bergen County high point, although things looked relatively flat.  We found the Utopia Deli for a group photo, but our real second rest stop would be at a bagel shop farther along the road.

By now, even Tom was annoyed by the volume of traffic.  Even after we passed the trouble spot (a light at a busy intersection was on flash in both directions), the cars just kept coming.

We proceeded along Skyline Drive, which follows the edges of the Monksville and Wanaque Reservoirs.  We had good views of both, and enough of a view to see how low the water levels are, but there was no safe place to pull off, and there was too much traffic. I didn't mind so much, because the noise of the cars was drowning out the noise of my chain grinding against the front derailleur whenever I was in the middle ring.  No amount of barrel adjusting was going to help.  Like a New York wine, Miss Piggy had no middle.

The bagel shop seemed to have vanished, so we stopped instead at a combination bar and deli, at which Tom announced that from here on out, the final 15 miles, it would be mostly downhill, except for a little bump at the Passaic high point.

"I don't believe you," I said.

(We passed the bagel shop, eventually.)

Good thing I didn't.  It was Bike Virginia's Whitetop Mountain all over again, but with more traffic and less threat of rain. I turtled along in my granny gear at a whopping 4.5 mph, somehow passing a few people in the process.

Unlike Whitetop Mountain, the Passaic County high point has no view.  So here's a clump of asters on a rock instead:

After that, it really was all downhill, not that we could enjoy it or anything because of all the cars. Still, we did finish along Pompton Lake:

All in all, this really was a pretty ride.  We just need to do it on Thanksgiving or something.

As we packed up, Tom said, "Now I know why no one rides up here. North Jersey sucks."

Snakehead said, "Anyone up for my hilly Halloween ride, Merrill Creek Reservoir?"

I didn't waste any time saying, "No!"

Tom chimed in, "Let me know when it is. I'll make sure to be away."

"I'm so done with climbing," I said.

"Me, too," Tom replied.

So is Miss Piggy, it turns out.

I have her up on the work stand right now. The front derailleur is toed in again, just like it was the last time I was ready to throw her in  the Delaware river.  With nothing to lose, I loosened the bolt that holds the derailleur onto the frame, at which point the whole thing dropped towards the chain ring.

I was amused and unfazed at this point, because Jim told me that in learning how to fix a bike, I was going to break stuff along the way.  To re-position the derailleur (I have three other road bikes to guide me, remember, as well as a very good how-to manual by Howard Zinn, which, of course, I didn't consult), I knew I'd have to remove the cable.

That's when I noticed that the cable is badly frayed at the locking bolt.  Even if I could get everything positioned properly, there's no way I'd dare ride with the cable in this condition.  So, I now have the choice of attempting the job myself or hauling Miss Piggy back to her favorite vacation spot.  I think I'm going to try it myself, if for no other reason but that as long as this bike is out of commission, I'm staying out of the big hills.

On top of all this, Beaker's rear wheel suddenly went out of true last week, on my way to work, without any spokes appearing to be loose.  Of course, that's the wheel with the spokes that Mavic doesn't make anymore, the one that requires special tools to fix. Needless to say, I'm not riding on that wheel until Michael at Wheelfine takes a look at it.  If this wheel is going to be this fussy (aren't racing wheels meant to haul a fully-loaded commuter?), I ought to look into getting (making?) another one.

Having four bikes comes in handy: Even with two on the disabled list, I can still get out.  On the other hand, more bikes, more problems...