We are the 4th of July Parade

Old Meets New

4 July 2016

With fewer than 200 miles spread over several months, Rowlf and I don't know each other very well yet. If I were going to forget how Campy shifters work, I'd best forget in a small, spread out group. With that in mind, Rowlf and I pulled into a mob of Freewheelers at Mercer County Park this morning for the 4th of July All-Paces Ride. 

The B group was well over 30 people. I wandered over to the C+ group, hoping to find people I haven't seen in forever. There were a few, but the C+ group was as big as B. I went back to the B crowd and resigned myself to hanging in the back.

Then Larry announced he'd take some people south towards Arneytown. That area is one of my favorites. I was one of fourteen who went with him. That's the largest group I'd taken Rowlf into. I was a little worried, but that didn't last more than a few miles. Nobody was pushing the pace.

It would have been nice, at the bottom of Hill Road, if I'd been able to remember how to shift to the small ring without trying to move the brake lever inwards first. It's the thumb, stupid. Got it.  The left hand is way ahead of the right hand.

Outside of New Egypt, the B+ group overtook us in that silent way that fastboys do. We could hear them coming, the hummmmmmmmmmmmm and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip of their deep-rim carbon wheels on the road.

Then we were all stopped at the edge of town. A parade was about to begin. There was some negotiation at the head of the pack, after which we were gestured through. On both sides of the road, spectators cheered as we several dozen, brightly-colored, tricked out, sweaty cyclists coasted through. I'd never been part of a parade before.

If the parade was more than two ambulances, a fire truck, and a handful of flag-waving horseback riders, I missed it. One of our number suggested there were more people watching the parade than were in it. Hell, there were more of us than were in it.

At the Wawa, we had to double up our bikes against the wall. Rowlf ended up behind the most aero tri bike I'd seen outside of a museum. Even the handlebars, flat and wide enough to hold a mug of coffee, and the carbon saddle bag that also served as a wind foil, were designed for speed. Rowlf, who was also designed for speed, 30 years ago, could only lament that he is stuck with me, and I ain't racing, ever.

The wind (which I'm still not allowed to complain about) was in our favor on the way home. The pace picked up, as it always does in the flatlands with fastboys. 

"I'm'a draft me some tandem!" I called out on 539 near Walnford, pulling in behind Jeff and Tricia. They took us back to Allentown in what seemed like 30 seconds.

There were cold drinks and cookies when we got back. I made a point to talk to people I hadn't ridden with, and then it was down to John K, Chris, Ken G, and me, and then Ken and me, and then me, and I took Rowlf back home, a few miles shy of 200 but I wasn't going to do loops around the block.