New Spring Fling

Morning fog at Tall Cedars Picnic Grove 

28 April 2018

Some Freewheelers were apparently griping about the traffic and hills around our traditional Spring Fling location, so we PFW Board members put our heads together and came up with Tall Cedars at the southeastern edge of Hamilton instead.

Tall Cedars was the starting point for Ride for McBride. The McBride family has scattered across the country, so we're not holding the ride this year. Instead, Ira let me beg for donations ahead of time and gave me permission to do more begging at the picnic.

As I drove towards Tall Cedars the morning fog got thicker and thicker. I wondered if anyone would show up Oh, sorry. I got distracted by Ken G. He posted a thing about a big Warren County hill* on the Freewheeler's Facebook and I got all map geeky. and was glad I'd grabbed a spare set of lights before I left the house.

Fog makes for good pictures. From where we were parked on the grass we could barely see the pavilion at the other end of the field, a few hundred yards away.

Ten people signed in for my ride, which was good, because with me that made 11 and I wanted to cap it at 12. There were a few regulars (Jack H, Ricky, and Chris), a few strangers, and a handful of people I only see when the going gets fast (Dave H, Phyllis G, and Bob W).

Jim, who had generously volunteered to lead a C ride so that he could spend some quality time with TEW, was looking nervous. TEW had called out sick, and Jim didn't know if he'd have anyone at all to lead.

My plan was to follow the 2016 Ride for McBride 50-mile route. I'd loaded it into my GPS but, in all the pre-ride chaos, I forgot to start the gadget. I'd written a paper cue sheet, though, and most of the J arrows from 2016 were still visible, if barely.

Eight miles in the fog was still thick. I let the group get ahead of me on Burlington Path so that I could take a few pictures.

At ten miles we turned south and the fog dissipated. At fourteen miles we had a collective strip break.

I wasn't paying much attention to our speed, just glancing down now and then. We had a slight headwind from the south. It wasn't enough to get in our way. The air was at that sweet spot between warm and cool. The ride felt fast.

When we got to New Egypt Dave asked Chris to take a picture of his GPS. His showed our average as being slightly above the maximum B limit, at 17.2 mph. A B ride isn't supposed to go over 16.9. I looked at my computer. "16.8," I said, "I'm the leader so it's mine that counts."

Jim and his crew of four or five pulled in.

Now we're geeking out on road names. The store across the parking lot from Scott's was once a bike shop. That lasted about half an hour. It was a yoga studio for about ten minutes. Now it might be something else. Or not. Anyway, about a dozen decrepit wooden doors were leaning against the place.

After I ate my cappucino peanut butter sandwich (yes, this is a thing, I took some pictures.

Dave and Chris ribbed me some more about our speed. "We'll be slower on the way back," I said. "There'll be a few hills."

And a tailwind.

I missed a turn. I zigged when I should have zagged. I didn't realize I'd missed it until we wound up back where Province Line meets 528. We'd already been there once today. We turned around and I got us back to where I'd wanted to be, which was Hill Road northbound.

During the climb out of the Walnford Mill valley some of the people who had been hanging in the back all day suddenly bounced up to the front. I had been leading; now I was chasing a third of the group.

As we passed a planned turn I called it out then said "Never mind!" We flew on into Chesterfield, over to Old York, and east on Sawmill. With one mile to go I was pushing harder than I'd planned to. "When did this become a race?" I asked Phyllis. She and I had been yo-yo-ing around each other for a few miles. Jack H and Prem were off the front.

I found out why when we turned into the gravel driveway at Tall Cedars. "I was trying to get my average up to 17," Jack explained. He didn't make it.

I looked down at my computer. "16.9. Still a B."

So that was it, my good day for the year.

After a quick de-griming I made my way down to the pavilion to stuff my face. Ira started announcing the annual listing of ride leaders and the handing out of leader jerseys. I usually get 15-17 leads in each year; 10 earns a jersey. Last year, because of our new calendar system, I listed 20.

Somehow that made me the top B ride leader. Something is wrong with the universe. I used the chance to beg for McBride scholarship donations.

There's always something amiss with the leader jerseys. Sometimes they're defective. Sometimes they don't arrive on time. Sometimes the sizes run small. And then there was today.

Carol came up to me and said she'd set aside another in case this one was too small. I'd asked for a large one because I like room to stuff stuff in the pockets. I held the jersey in front of me. It was ridiculously small. Child size small. I tried to pull it over my head; I couldn't even fit my arm in the sleeve.  Carol scurried off and came back with two more. I went into the bathroom to try them on.

Now, frequent readers of this blog will know that I have some serious body image issues. Trying on an extra large jersey and finding it too small did not help one bit. The XXL size was slightly better in that I could have gotten away with wearing it in public.  I folded and re-bagged both of them.

It's not a big deal. I have a closet full of jerseys. Carol said she'd find me the right size. I wasn't the only one. Ira had tried the sample large. It was too small. So the company sent an extra large. It was even smaller.

I'm fond of Business Bistro's Harvest Salad. I was happy enough to go home with the entire salad tray, barely touched.

When I stepped out of the car at home, I was knee-deep in tulips. They had all bloomed while we were riding.

As is customary, Moxie plopped himself down on my discarded leggings and sleeves.

Tomorrow I'm going to drive up to Cranbury. Surfing through the ride choices, I found Winter Larry hiding in the C+ category. Perfect.





(*About that hill:

.)