Aquetong Road
6 August 2017
This ride is a week old. I needed a few days to figure out what I wanted to write, and before I knew it, the Event was upon us.
Blake's rides always scare me. He leads in Pennsylvania. The farther north we go the worse the hills get. He's a strong climber and I'm not. I never know what's coming, and, despite having been on these roads dozens of times, I never have a clue where I am. The walls in my upstairs hallway are plastered with county maps of New Jersey. There is no room for Bucks County. Pennsylvania remains terra incognita.
I went with Blake, Cheryl, and Nevada last Saturday. I figured it would be the only time I'd see Cheryl on the road before she'd decamp to Florida at the end of the summer. Cheryl and Nevada were coming off of some crazy-ass, month-long, Strava-based (fuck Strava) hill-climbing competition. My day job being what it is, the last thing I want on weekends is competition. It's enough to keep me from attempting B+ rides in the flatlands, where, the last time I tested the waters, the only conversation was about Strava (fuck Strava).
Knowing I was riding with foot-counters set me on edge. In the parking lot while we waited for Blake, I know I said "I don't give a shit how many feet I climb. I just go." I don't remember what sparked me to say that.
Merciful Blake didn't torture us, it turns out, and I had fun.
We started in Yardley and the farthest north we got was Carversville.
Flowers at Carversville Inn
Fleecydale Road was closed again, but we saw bikers coming up from it who told us the road was passable. Cheryl and I begged Blake to change the route. It's one of our favorite roads. I might get up there once in a year.
When we came upon the heavy machinery, Cheryl said, "We'll never get across!"
Oh, ye of little faith. Has he been away from the antics of me and Tom for that long?
The detour spared us some hills. We rode along the river to New Hope and climbed out on Stoney Hill. I'm sure I'd never been on this road before. I would have remembered it. From New Hope it follows above a single set of railroad tracks and turns off into the woods, with a steep slope up on one side of the road and down on the other side.
At the end is the foundation of an old stone house. We'd passed it earlier in the morning from the other side. The light would have been better from down there. I did my best to capture it from where we were standing, up the hill, in the shade. I didn't do a good job with it, and my edits later didn't help much.
I did better with the lighting on the cornfield.
Blake had only one big hill in store for us on the return trip. It's on the same ridge as Eagle Road, but Thompson Mill is much easier.
At the end of the road, Nevada asked me, "How much does your bike weigh?"
I haven't got the slightest clue. Again, I heard myself say, "I don't give a shit" before I could stop myself. Cheryl said, "You don't know how much your bike weighs?"
Too late now for decorum. "I haven't got a fucking clue. Put it this way: compared to what I weigh, my bike is rounding error." Safe bet I weigh more than Cheryl, Nevada, and both of their bikes combined.
I really need to take a chill pill and be like Moxie:
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