Everywhere and Nowhere

Etra Lake

23 April 2016

Exercise addition for me dictates that riding with a chance of getting wet is better than staying home and doing nothing, or scrambling for a bike in a crowded Saturday morning spin class.

When Tom canceled his ride today, I had every intention of hitting the road. I perused the ride list and landed on Chris and Ron's Tri-County Cruise.  Ron said he was canceling.  Chris asked, "Are you willing to ride wet?"

"Always," I wrote back.

It was another sad Saturday for Freewheelers on Facebook, but not for me. I left the house under a slight drizzle at 8:45. A strong tailwind pushed me to Allentown. I got there early and took shelter under the eaves at Reed Recreation Park.

Chris didn't see me there at first; he went all the way to Gordon Road before doubling back. We were the only two to show up for the ride.

Bands of drizzle were passing through from the northeast. Chris headed that way, retracing my steps.

We went everywhere and nowhere, talking about everything and nothing. Politics. The Freewheel. Money. Land use. The gas mileage of short-haul trucks.

We didn't get wet.

We stopped at a tiny Wawa in East Windsor. We turned onto Route 33 for a quarter mile and stopped in at the Bicycle Rack, where I talked to the owner about my Colnago and Waterford. He attempted to impress us with what he thought was an old bike in for repair: a ten year old Coppi. Aluminum, though, with tube welds that looked like used chewing gum. Pah. Chris and I spent some time looking at chain rings, then headed towards Etra Park to use the bathrooms.

True to a Chris ride, we hopped onto the little bike path on the east side of the lake, followed it until it ended, then doubled back onto the road towards the park.

I checked the radar again. "We're in between bands," I said, and plotted a route that would get both of us closer to home at once.

We took the bike path past the lake towards Etra Road. We stopped to chat with a woman who was fishing off of the little bridge at the foot of the lake. "You meet the best people out here," she said. I looked out at the lake, glassy, a kayaker in the distance, and understood why fishing like this could be so peaceful. Still, I don't have that kind of patience. And I don't eat fish. We moved on.

By the time we got to Windsor Road, Chris had devised a plan to cut a hole in my dining room floor for a trap-door wine cellar, freeing up room for all of my bikes. He went left and I went right, both of us into a drizzle.

At Mercer County Park, I faced a headwind and blue sky. I had nearly 52 miles when I got home. Not bad for a rainy Saturday.

Here's the route, as close as I can remember. It's so Chris.