Hardcore Weekend

 

Kermit at Brendan Byrne State Forest Headquarters

28 July 2024

For the first time since April, Kermit had a chance to run. Before Janice showed up, Kermit took on all the rides east of Route 1, from winter 35-milers to that one double metric century all those years ago.

When Tom listed his annual almost-metric from Mansfield, Kermit got the job. I was a little worried about my choice. In all honesty, Janice is an easier, smoother ride than Kermit is, even though Kermit is steel. It was nice, though, to be able simply to pump up the tires and not to worry about battery charge. 

I decided to bring my camera too.

Arriving early, I had time to do some extra back stretches. I was worried about how my janky spine would hold up over 60 miles of constant pedaling. I'm not used to that. I have figured out, though, that the best thing for my back is sleep. I've been making sure to get at least 7.5 hours the night before a ride. With early starts in the high summer, I end up in bed with eye shades and earplugs so that Jack can read in bed while I try to sleep. It seems to be working.

Tom was running late, stuck in traffic after encountering a closed road. We did not fail to see the irony in that situation.

Heddy wandered over to the swingset. I joined her for a bit. Jim got a picture of the two of us. It's on his blog. I still hate my face, so I'm not posting it here.

I took a picture of Jim taking a picture of Heddy on a swing.

I snapped one of Kermit, proof that he still sees some action.

Rickety had Barney ready.

There was a softball tournament going on. By the time Tom arrived, almost all the parking spaces had been taken. 

There were seven of us, all Insane Bike Posse regulars: me, Tom, Jim, Rickety, JackH, Heddy, and Martin.

We set out with what might have been a lilting tailwind. I positioned myself in the back. I didn't want to burn myself up today because I was signed up for a hilly training ride on Sunday. I was also worried that I might not be able to keep up on Kermit, now that I've been riding Janice almost exclusively. As has been the pattern lately, I found myself in the middle.

Our first break was at the Brendan Byrne State Forest Headquarters. I took my traditional portrait of Kermit against the wooden shed.

I was surpised how well my back was holding up. I recently changed my body position when I'm in the big ring. I'd been trying to hold myself up as straight as possible to save my back as my hamstrings pull on my spine, but that turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to do. Leaning into the bars, riding the bike as it was meant to be ridden, turns out to be much easier on my back and easier to go faster. 

We reached Nixon's in Tabernacle a dozen miles later. Heddy and I both had to take a picture of the pork roll sign in the vestibule. 

"Pork roll, egg, and cheese on a hard roll. Only NJ.

Because only Jersey understands Jersey"

We set off again. I hadn't been paying attention to our pace. When JackH said to Jim, "I hate to break it to you, but we're going faster now than we were on the way out," I checked. Yikes! 

Which is to say, this would have been typical, or even slow, a handful of years ago. Also, this route was about as flat as possible for around here.

Of course, Heddy, Martin, Rickety, and I had to add enough miles at the end to make the ride a metric century. This was the first I'd done all season. Normally by now I'd have lost track of the metric count and would have had at least one real century under my belt. I don't know if I'll even get one in this season.

In the end, I averaged at the very top of the B range. I'm glad I can still pull that off once in a while. And my back didn't even hurt. I did feel a cramp trying to come on in the last ten miles, though. Cramping on long rides seems to be a thing with me now that I'm getting close to 60 years old. 

The parking lot was emptying out when we returned. Martin offered us cans of cold sparkling water from a cooler filled with ice. I sat under the open hatch of my car. I didn't much feel like moving.

When I got home, I did an extra round of PT, made sure Janice was prepped, laid out my clothes, and went to bed early.

I was surprisingly not sore when I woke up. I packed a collapsible water bottle full of cold brew because the rest stop Dave S had planned was a farm market.

Overnight, the list of registrants for his ride doubled. I'd been assuming I'd be towards the back, since everyone on the list at that point was a Nova Scotia Premed. Now there were others in the mix and I had no idea how the pace was going to go.

Starting from Skillman Park, we had a flat warmup of a few miles before the first hill. I put myself in the middle of the pack. I had no idea what my legs were going to do today. 

Dave S asked, "How was the ride yesterday."

"It was a hammerfest."

"I was hoping it would take some of the spring out of your step."

"What? Dude, I'm behind you on every climb!"  I appreciated the compliment though.

The route had us going up Fairview to Grandview and up Pin Oak. Heddy took the lead, naturally. My legs felt surprisingly good on the first climb. 

We continued up Long Hill, then went south on Lindbergh (gotta get those two annoying humps in) to Ridge.

After that, the route did a big fuck you: we went down Rileyville to Saddle Shop, then back up Runyon Mill. It's been a long time since I've been up Runyon Mill. I found myself thinking, "The road has to end at some point." The surface was taking that literally; I'm pretty sure it hasn't been paved since the last time I was up here.

We regrouped on Mountain Road (where we could have stayed instead of going down to come back up again, but this was a training ride, where abuse is more important than expediency).

We went back down the mountain on Linvale, then turned on Rocktown and Losey to reach Wertsville. We were at 16-ish miles when we passed by the Carousel deli in Ringoes, and at 18 when we turned into the farm market with the cumbersome name, "Schaffernoth Flowers & Garden Center." I've passed by this place numerous times without paying much attention to it. I bought a peach and some water, and sat in the shade across the parking lot, with Janice propped up against a tree behind me.

The inside of the market was vast and labyrinthine. I feared I'd get lost trying to find my way back from the bathroom.

The floppy flask of coffee was now empty and folded. The caffeine kicked in somewhere on Cider Mill. I stopped at the top for a picture. The air was thick with haze. 

We still had Rainbow Hill and Long Hill to get over. We'd already been on Rainbow Hill a few weeks ago, so I knew exactly what was coming. I plugged James Brown into my mental stereo and spun up, still refusing to use my biggest rear cog. I'm saving that for the Nova Scotia Mountain Day from Hell. 

Heddy's Garmin says that Rainbow Hill is not a hill. Heddy's Garmin is a liar. 

Around the corner, sort of, from that is Long Hill. I don't remember the last time I climbed Long Hill from Wertsville Road. I do rember the old Miss Piggy dropping her chain to the inside on Long Hill during the first Sourland Spectacular I'd participated in, which has to have been 2015 or earlier. I think I've been up once or twice since then. I was glad I'd brought that coffee along. It got me up the hill.

Heddy's Garmin calls Long Hill one climb, but it's a two-parter with a break in the middle. It's not a steady grind either. What makes it bad, especially under the trees in the second half, is the pavement, which is either potholes or badly-filled ones. 

We regrouped at the top of Spring Hill. I told Heddy and Glen, "If you can do this, you can do Cadillac."

Glen asked, "How high is it?"

With a flourish, I showed him the Cadillac Summit keychian I keep fastened to my bar-top bag. "One thousand five hundred thirty feet," I read off the wooden disc.

Heddy's Garmin said we had one more hill. As we approached a bend on Spring Hill, I said, "Rainbow Hill isn't a hill but this is?"

"Yep."

There was more around the curve. "Oh, okay, yeah."  This is where, finally, my legs felt tired.

We looped around to Hollow and then Camp Meeting. It was all flat from there. I got into the big ring and had just enough oomph left to be in the front of the pack for the last few miles.

"I can't believe I did the whole thing," I said as we rolled towards our cars. I said it like that old Alka Selzer commercial. 

"I'm worried we'll burn ourselves out before the trip," I said. "We might want to tone it down soon."

Across the lot, Doug R asked, "Anyone want to ride home with me?" He looked my way, knowing we live near each other. I mean, I was with my car, so, no? I shook my head. "I did a metric yesterday," I said.

"I did a century."

I blew a rasperry in his direction and continued packing up.

One person's hard core is another person's nougat.

Just Right

 

I didn't take a picture so I doodled instead.

21 July 2024

Tick. Tick. Tick. One month to go before the big trip. I emailed Tom and Dave S about my potentially leading a Saturday ride. Tom wrote back that if my route was as hilly as what Dave and I have been posting lately, no thanks. He had a much more reasonable 50-miler to Whitehouse Station in mind.

The total elevation gain would be something in the 50 feet per mile neighborhood, in other words, typical Hill Slug fare before the Cabot Trail panic set in. I noted that the route was full of rollers. He replied that the big climbs were before the break, adding "I think it is a 'Goldilocks' ride as there are some hills but not too many and none are that hard."

So that's what I called it when I copied the route to my Ridewithgps page. 

It only occurred to me after the ride had filled that the route would be going too close to Round Valley Reservoir for me to have named it that. We'd be at the bottom of the eastern side. On the western side, the ascent is a three-part hill, named by cyclists as the Three Bears. Oops. Too late now.

But, hey, if we're going to be that close to the reservoir, might as well climb the eastern side, take a peek and coast back down. I created an alternate route that I decided to keep quiet about until the day of the ride.

We started at the Griggstown Causeway at 8:30 a.m. By 8:15, the center lot was full and some riders had to park in the lot closer to River Road.

"Has anyone here not been to Round Valley?" I asked. Nobody raised their hand. The sky was completely overcast and the air was humid. The view wouldn't be great up there anyway. 

On the ten-person ride were four PFW Board members, five established ride leaders, and an incoming ride leader.

I like to keep my group together and breathing normally, so I wait at the tops of hills until everyone has, in Jim's words, "put their lungs back in." There wasn't much waiting.

On any ride Tom or I lead, there is likely to be a closed road, a bridge out, a dirt road, and perhaps some rain. 

We encountered what we thought would be our first closed road when we crossed Route 202 at River Road. It took me a few seconds to remember that we were well past July 10. 

Fortunately, the part of River Road that we were on was intact. We turned onto Rockafellows Mill, which has an unpaved section near the bridge over the Raritan River. The reason it is unpaved is that it floods, so much so that, off on one side of the road, is a giant flood gauge for all drivers to see. I wondered how useful that is: to verify that one is driving through several feet of water, one must be driving through several feet of water. 

We turned onto Pleasant Run, a pretty but narrow road that tends to get a fair amount of traffic. When we passed a collapsing barn with vultures on the roof, I knew it wouldn't be safe for me to stop, and I didn't want to make everyone wait at the intersection while I turned around and stood in traffic. So I didn't take the picture, and I've been regretting it ever since. I made a silly doodle instead.

When we crossed Route 523 at Pleasant Run, we encountered another closed road. This one looked permanent, with evenly-spaced bollards across the intersection. We rode between them, of course. The pavement was deteriorating and littered with fallen branches. At the other end, we went through a neighborhood that clearly belonged to the top fraction of a percent, the mansions bordered by a golf course that overlooked the eastern side of Cushetunk Mountain, behind which was the reservoir.

We rolled into Whitehouse Station for our rest stop at Jerry's Brooklin Grill. Sitting at an outdoor table were Mike V and Debbie, who, having been closed out of my 10-person ride, had set out from their house on the same route.

Janice at Jerry's

We joined them outside. Dave S peeked at his phone. "I want to see if anything's happening*." I knew what me meant. 

Mike and Debbie joined us for most of the return trip. Now there were five PFW Board members and seven ride leaders. This time of year, there are so many rides listed on any given day that bunching seven of them up doesn't even make a dent. 

When the ride was over, folks agreed that the route was just right. One person admitted to me that he'd never actually been to Round Valley. "I didn't want to be the only one raising their hand," he said. No problem. We'll go soon enough.

I had sufficient sleep and energy for Jim's Sunday ride. Rickety chided me for bringing Janice. "She was in the car already," I explained. "Poor Kermit."

Poor Jim, too. As we learned when we rolled up, another one of his favorite rest stops is closed on Sundays (Sweet Gourmet just for the summer, the sign says). That leaves him with his Boro Bean route and the Raritan bakery route. The bad-service bagel shop had good service today, though, so we were fine.  

Jim's rides are organized chaos. I don't know how he keeps his cool with so many people and such a big ability spread. Kudos to him. I'm sticking with my ten-person cap, pace-pushers not welcome.

(*It happened this afternoon. Burn it all down and start over. Why not? It's all about entertainment now anyway.)

Hardcore Nincompoops

 

Janice finds some shade

14 July 2024

I'm having stress dreams about Nova Scotia. The trip is a month away. Today I passed up Jim's ride. I passed up Tom's ride. I signed up for the hilly ride led by Dave S, and decided to start pedaling from home. That would give me the chance to warm up, cool down, and finally get a 50-something mile ride in. 

Yesterday's forecast promised morning rain that never arrived. The afternoon was sweltering. I chose to climb some hills indoors on Rouvy. Rowlf is getting more saddle time now than he ever did when I let him outdoors. Way back when, which means last year, I'd stop indoor workouts when we changed our clocks. Evening daylight allowed me to start commuting to work by bike several days each week.

This summer had barely started when the first heat wave hit. We saw temperatures in the 90s with heat indexes pushing into the low hundreds. Sure, we used to get the occasional day like this, but now? We're in what, our third heat wave? I've already lost track and it hasn't even been a month. If this is the new normal, it's going to change the way I ride.

I'm trying to acclimate without destroying myself. It's not going well. I figured today would be another chance. Worst case, I'd bail somewhere in the Sourlands and head for home.

When I woke up at 6:15 a.m. today, I checked two things: the ride list (we were down to four); and the heat index (up to the high 90s by the end of the ride). 

When I rolled up to the ride start under the solar panels at Hopewell Valley High School, I was already soaked with sweat. I'd only gone 7.4 miles. 

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea," Dave said as he got ready. "We should have started four hours ago." It was 8:30 a.m.

Dave was grimacing at his collapsible water bottle. "I put it in the freezer last night," he said, "and the bottom split." He shoved it into his jersey pocket anyway, the block of ice inside slowly melting into a trickle off his back. It didn't occur to any of us to stash it bottom-up until Dave figured it out as we were ready to leave.

The four of us were Dave, Heddy, Pete G, and me. I took my place off the back. I wasn't going to try to keep up with these people today.

Some folks take to the special brand of heat and humidity that the East Coast offers. I am not one of those folks. I find it hard to breathe. I find it harder to pedal. My brain gets foggy.

We were at the western end of Woosamonsa Road, starting up again after catching our breaths on what is normally not a breath-catching corner, when a rider in front of me stopped short without warning.

I had neither the time nor the momentum to go around nor clip out. It was either crash into their bike or fall on my left side. I chose to fall, protecting my bike with my body. Janice was fine. My knee was skinned. 

Blood trickled down in three streams, following the runnels of sweat that were already there. It looked far worse than it was. I waited to clean up until we were at the intersection of Harbourton-Mount Airy and Route 518. Heddy had an alcohol wipe. It had dried out, which was perfect, because it absorbed the mess instead. I carry bandaids, both in my wallet (because I'm a glassblower) and in my bike pack (because I'm a ride leader). I slapped one onto my knee before things got sweaty again. "That bandaid looks like it came from antiquity," Pete said. It has been in my bag for a while, yes. Somehow, the bandage stayed on for the rest of the ride. I mostly forgot about it.

The adrenaline rush from the crash wore off as we reached Sandy Ridge. I started to feel woozy. I was hoping Dave would reroute us straight to the Covered Bridge Cafe instead of going the long way around, through the real covered bridge, up Reading, and back down into Sergeantsville. He chose not to do that. We didn't exactly go straight there either. We took Sandy Ridge to Rittenhouse and came in from the east. I was grateful for the diversion.

As I was taking my helmet off at the bike rack of the Covered Bridge Cafe, I found a little emerald jumping spider. I didn't try to get a picture to add to my iNaturalist collection; all I had with me was my phone, which wouldn't work on something so small. I let the spider investigate my finger. Finding it boring, the critter moved on and I went inside.

Cyclists made up most of the patrons at the cafe when we arrived. I wonder how many cyclists the general store gets now that the cafe is here. 

We sat inside, comfortably air-conditioned, probably for a bit too long.

The decision to cut out some more miles was an easy one. We followed the route until we reached Linvale Road. The original plan was to turn east halfway up, climb the rest of the way on Runyon Mill, head west, and pick up Linvale again at the top. Instead, we continued up Linvale in the shade. Dave put me in charge of leading, since we were in my winter turf. We crossed Route 31 and Route 518, hauling ourselves over the two hills to where Harbourton-Woodsville Road comes in.

My plan was to go straight down the other side, cross Route 31, and wind our way back to Pennington. I was on autopilot. Pete reminded me that we had to get to the high school, and that going up Harbourton-Woodsville and the back side of Poor Farm was the most direct way to do that. Dave vetoed Poor Farm. I said we could go straight down to the other end of Harbourton-Woodsville and left on Bear Tavern, avoiding Poor Farm. Heddy agreed. 

There's still some climbing to get to the top of Harbourton-Woodsville, but it's all in the shade, and simply knowing one is avoiding Poor Farm makes the whole thing seem easier.

At the bottom of the hill on the other side, we had the choice of Woosamonsa (hilly) or Pennington-Harbourton Road (not hilly). The decision was easy.

As we fought a headwind on the flat road, I said, "I have a title for the blog."

"What?" they asked.

"Hardcore Nincompoops!"

In the end, we only shaved off about three miles but held onto most of the elevation gain. So much for the easy way out.

Heddy, Pete G, and Dave S

I followed Pete back to Pennington, where he turned off and I went home. I didn't quite get my 50 miles. I had 49.4. I was in no mood to circle the neighborhood for the other 0.6. 

Heat Index

 

103 Degrees!

7 July 2024

"This is your fault," I said to Our Jeff as we sat our sweaty bottoms down onto the blacktop at the intersection of Ridge and Lindbergh Roads.

"I know," he sighed.

We were taking a snack break 20 miles into Dave S' 36-mile "Cabot Trail Training #1" ride, the first ride of the season to officially bill itself as preparation for the 5-day trip that's now a bit more than a month away. I've been training all year, though, so much so that some of my regulars have begged off my rides until sanity returns. 

The humidity wasn't as bad today as it was yesterday morning. I hadn't listed a Saturday ride because the forecast was threatening rain and a heat index over 100 degrees late in the morning. Pete G stepped in and suggested a flat (such as that is) route from Pennington at 8:30 on Saturday morning. The air was already thick when I set off on Janice at 8:10. I met Pete, Heddy, Martin, and Jack H at Twin Pines.

Pete is the master of cicruitous routes. He knows all the worthy neighborhood side streets and which curbs to jump to get onto hidden sidewalks or dirt paths that link two streets. 

When the sun was behind clouds (some of which looked like rain), the temperature was tolerable. When the clouds moved, we baked. I was finding it hard to breathe. 

Halfway into the ride, we stopped at Village Park in Lawrenceville, where there's a water fountain and indoor bathrooms. I knew I was dehydrated when the thought of eating made me feel woozy. I had plenty of water and electrolytes with me. There was even some left when I rolled into my driveway after 42 miles. 

After I showered, as I was cleaning out my water bottles, I felt intensely dizzy. I grabbed the drink I had on the counter and sat down. The room stopped spinning, and I started sweating. Then I began to shiver. I checked the weather record and saw that, as I was finishing the ride, the heat index was 103 degrees. I felt better after lunch.

I spent the rest of the day within arm's reach of something to drink. 

After yesterday, I was worried about being able to complete today's training ride. The heat index wasn't as bad. There had been some rain overnight, and the air was cooler at 8:30 a.m.

Dave had a big group, 8 of the 13 being Caboteers. The plan was to do a relatively short ride with some long climbs (Long Hill, Lindbergh), but he threw in a few little steepies (Rainbow Hill, VanDyke) as well. Heddy said his route was nastier than mine. "Is that a chalenge?" I asked.  "NO!" she replied.

I found myself off the back of the front on big climbs, which is my usual position on hilly C+ rides these days.

The distance was just enough. We finished the ride before the heat index got into the 90s. I dropped Janice off at Hart's so they can do all the things to have her ready for Nova Scotia.