Working for our Muffins

Mill Road, Readington, NJ

27 October 2018

I'm a week behind on blogging because I'm being run ragged at my day job and I finagled extra glassblowing time today, after which there were pictures to upload, blah blah blah.

So anyway, I'd promised the Slugs a hilly ride from Hillsborough to Califon. The total elevation gain, about 3500 feet over 54 miles, wasn't so bad overall. However, nearly half of that would be in the middle 16 miles, including 2 nasty ascents before the rest stop and one after. I didn't put any of this in the online ride description, of course, first because I'm a bitch that way, and second because there's not enough room for that much text. I did mention the three climbs as the motive to earn our muffins.

We had rain overnight, and I drove through drizzle on the south side of the Princeton Ridge on the way to Hillsborough. Jim, Ricky, and Andrew signed in. Jim took a picture of the parking lot puddles so that he could razz me later if need be. I decided to copy his idea so that I could razz myself later if need be.

The forecast called for clearing skies and for a strong wind to move in out of the west. I hoped we could get most of the way to Califon before the wind happened. We were on Readington Road when we saw the first of the blue sky.

"What's that up ahead?" Jim asked, staring at the sky with mock bewilderment.

"That, my friend, is the wind."

Under the clouds were Cushetunk and Round Mountains. Round Valley Reservoir is behind them.

The Readington Farm dairy plant, with all of its shiny towers, is the dividing line between the suburban Route 22 corridor and the rural hills to the north.

Beyond the dairy is Mill Road, one of my favorites.

I told Ricky that I was contemplating leading a recovery ride tomorrow, since Jim wouldn't be able to and the only other B in the calendar was a fastboy ride.

Sometimes there are cows in the water by the bridge. Not today. The herd was resting in the field. Jim noticed the color in the trees. I stopped for pictures. The guys rode ahead.

A driver slowed as she approached, and stopped to talk to me. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I live up the road," she said, gesturing behind her. "Last week the river was so high it flooded. You know how the cows like to be in the water?"

"Yeah. I've taken pictures of them."

"They were stranded. The water was so fast they couldn't get out. They were afraid to walk on the blacktop. They'd never seen it." Eventually, with some human aid and encouragement, the cows made it back to the pasture.

The route I'd chosen was one I hadn't done for years. We turned onto Halls Mill Road. At the end I asked, "Do any of you know Deer Hill?"

None did.

"You will after this," I said, and gave them fair warning. I took a picture of the field we were next to before we set off again.

There's no real reason to climb Deer Hill other than to remember that there's no reason to climb Deer Hill. There's more incline after it, on Bissell, before turning off onto Still Hollow.

There is a reason to descend Still Hollow: the view from the top is worth the brake-grabbing on the steep descent to Rockaway Road.

In Mountainville somebody has decorated the bridge with little pumpkins.

After Rockaway, Philhower.

I decided to count the ascents, dividing them into separate efforts. I counted eleven over two miles, the seventh being the longest and steepest, and the final two happening after the intersection with Sutton.

Our break at the Califon General Store was well-deserved. Andrew had chicken soup. The rest of us had muffins or cookies. Andrew was the only smart one; we were all a little chilly.

We had to climb out of Califon one way or another. I chose the short, sharp shock of Main Street and then the left onto Academy, still climbing. When we reached Guinea Hollow we coasted.

I was enjoying the zen of the yellowing tree canopy, Rockaway Creek, and the six-mile coast through Mountainville and down Rockaway Road; I didn't stop for pictures. I wish I had.

We went a different way back through Readington. I'd warned everyone that all the little rollers were going to feel like giant hills. The rollers were taking their toll, as predicted. We got a little spread out when we reached Neshanic Station.

We waited next to the old Buick dealer. Ricky looked inside. He said he saw an old [somethingsomething] and a [whoseawhatsit] in there.

One more little hill on Clawson, then the overpass on South Branch, and we were finished.

"Are you going to lead that recovery ride tomorrow?" Ricky asked.

"Lemme check the wind," I said. "I don't know if I'll have the legs."

I checked when I got home. The forecast was for 25-mph gusts all day long. I thought about it. I thought some more as my legs turned to cement by dinner time. I started an e-mail to Ricky to ask him what his thoughts were, and then I deleted it.

Despite my nickname and my reputation, Sunday morning I slept in and lifted weights at the gym.