#45: Pop-Up Century

It seemed like a good idea at 40 miles.

2 July 2016

"I look forward to your blog post," Tom said as I pushed off from his house. 

"I dunno. I didn't take any pictures."

What does one say about a ride that was completely, mercifully, and unusually uneventful?

He'd invited the Insane Bike Posse on an off-the-books, 65-mile ride from his house and to a 4th of July party that was happening at his house anyway. I was the only one to take him up on the offer, and, packing a couple of PB&Js, I rode over from home.

We headed southwest, covering some of last year's Ride for McBride route. The wind was at our backs, more or less.

Still coming down off the Bar Harbor high, I mused that we get so used to the scenery here in central New Jersey that we don't realize how pretty it is. Tom agreed. "People don't know that the best biking is in New Jersey." He's right. Want mountains?  Got that. Beaches? Sure thing. Corn and cows? Any day of the week. Horses? You bet. Oh, and reservoirs. Don't forget the reservoirs.

We detoured into what's left of Wrightstown for a snack, finding a 7-11 amid a wasteland of shuttered buildings that emptied when the base did.

Then we doubled back and turned east, skirting the northwest end of Fort Dix at a military housing complex that looked so perfectly Hollywood suburban that, as Tom pointed out, it could only have been done with military precision. 

Somewhere in here I decided that I felt good enough to turn 85 miles into 100.

We Long Swamped it over to a crowded Emery's Blueberry Patch, then north again past St Vladimir's golden spire in Cassville, then east and north again somehow to Turkey Swamp. Now the wind was in our face. 

"This part's gonna suck," Tom said. 

"I'm not allowed to complain about the wind." Unless it whistles through my spokes again. 

One more stop in Millstone. Garlic knots and the rest of my PB&J.

At his house, Tom introduced me to his wife and the guests, with Frisket, freshly shaved down to nothing save for her fluffy terrier head, following him from room to room. 

I needed to stretch 11 miles into 20 to get 100 in. We figured out that I could probably get them all by detouring into Princeton on Alexander Road.

From there I took my usual commute route home, adding a short detour at the beginning and long loop around Franklin Corner and 206 at the end. Still, I pulled into my neighborhood two miles short. 

All I wanted was a tall glass of orange juice. I was out of energy. It seemed silly to stop to eat now. Instead, I did a few slow loops around the block until the odometer ticked over.