Hill Slug Chronicles

Random Pictures

2012-02-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

Cows on Gulick Road, Amwell, in January

4 February 2011

Lately, Plain Jim has been describing our Hill Slug rides pretty well, which sort of gets me off the hook.

He's not taking pictures, though, so I owe you that much.

In the week between Christmas and New Years, I went on a couple of the weekday "Old Guys" rides. On the first one I got my ass kicked. On the second one, a few of us split off half way. Might(y) Mike, Tom, and I wound up at Woody's in Allentown. As I was propping Kermit against the side wall, I noticed the reflection of the sky in Woody's side window. It's tough to tell what's what in the picture.

Today I took a circuitous route to get the Slugs to Sergeantsville. I hadn't been on some of the roads in a long time, so I was riding ahead in order not to miss a turn. That didn't work out so well; I missed one anyway and sent us all a mile or so towards Flemington before I realized I'd put and "R" where I ought to have put an "L" on my cue sheet. Oh well. It was pretty anyway.

I did see a great blue heron catch a fish in a stream by one of the back roads east of Sergeantsville. That was pretty cool.

On our way home I took the group down Pine Hill. It's one of those roads where the bottom just drops out of sight. We're gonna have fun climbing it one of these days.

This is a view from Yard Road on our way to Sergeantsville:

This is Burnaby in the sun:

He could also, should he choose, get quite a tan from Gonzo's new, 3000 lumen, headlight.

The battery alone weighs almost two pounds. I installed the battery holder in the front water bottle cage. The top light isn't as bright, but it's more than enough for oncoming cars to see me. The blinding headlamp is so that I can see the road.

The days are getting longer. It's just dusk at 5:30. Soon I'll be biking to work again.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 4 February 2012

2012-02-02T12:57:00.000-08:00

2 February 2012

Two things: We haven't been to Sergeantsville in a while; and I'm getting tired of the same old routes.

So, I've come up with a 43-miler that gets us where we want to be using roads we haven't seen in a while and ones we usually travel in the other direction.

Let's meet at the usual spot: the Hopewell YMCA/Administration Building parking lot on Main Street in Pennington, across from Ingleside Avenue. The ride will start at 9:30 a.m.

Another Off-The-Books Hill Slug Ride, Saturday, 28 January

2012-01-26T19:37:00.000-08:00

26 January 2012

I haven't figured out a destination, let alone a route, but let's meet at the usual spot, the YMCA parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside, in Pennington, at 9:00 on Saturday morning. Forty-ish miles, maybe?

January Miscellany

2012-01-24T19:27:00.000-08:00

24 January 2012

While I've been waiting for the weather to become more bike-friendly (and trying not to be too jealous of the snow bikers I can't join), I've been taking a lot of pictures with my cell phone.

Two Thursdays ago, our plumbers were here, again, to diagnose, finally, why our main sewer line keeps backing up into the laundry room wash basin, more and more frequently, costing us about $200 each time. With my urging to diagnose rather than treat the problem, they sent a camera down. About ten feet from the wash basin they found tree roots. This is under the house, mind you. They're (the roots and the plumbers) gone now, but they'll be back.

Moxie is turning into a real ham. He and Mojo are ten months old today. Here's Moxie hanging out in the bedroom, waiting for his midnight snack: dental treats.

Mojo is still smaller than Moxie. Here he is, doing battle with his perch, while he waits for his midnight snack. The off-camera lump is Burnaby, waiting for his midnight snack.

Last week I came home with three catnip toys (as if they need more toys) along with a few bags of groceries. In one of these bags was a twist-tie. To hell with the catnip. This twist-tie was the bees knees. Carting it around the next morning, Moxie deposited it in the bedroom trash can. Jack fished it out for him (the can was otherwise empty), but half an hour later, Moxie was back in, minus his toy.

Here's Mojo after a bout of tabby wrestling.

Burnaby enjoys the cat perch during the day, when he can patrol for squirrels in the back yard and sun himself in peace. Here he is right after the weekend snowfall.

Moxie hams it up in his sleep.

Yet another box for Moxie. Jack says it looks like the kitten is emerging from another dimension.

Mojo got boxy too.

Not to be outdone by his brother, Moxie attempted a triple-boxing after I'd gathered everything together for recycling.

Save for the fact that he trapped himself in the end, the move was well executed. I'm sure he'd have found his way out eventually, but I had to assist, if for no other reason than the chance to get another other-dimensional picture.

Yesterday temperatures rose, and by evening a thick fog had blanketed campus. I forgot to turn the flash off for this first picture, but I like the way the camera captured the misty rain.

Turning the flash off didn't work too well either. Reality was somewhere between the two.

Whitman Hall glowed nicely.

This evening we had an orange sunset over campus. This is the same view, more or less, as the first two fog pictures.

While snow was falling, I decided to clean out the pantry to make room for the new crock pot. In doing so I filled a standard kitchen garbage bag with expired soup mixes, pastas, and other random powders that had been hiding way in the back of the long closet. That's gonna be some interesting eating on the compost pile. I hope our backyard possum (hoc possum!) enjoys falafel mix and old noodles.

Speaking of falafel mix, the expiration date on those five boxes was December 1999. Not only, then, did these boxes evade our 2005 kitchen renovation; they also very likely moved in with us in October 1999.

Dale, in a triple-box maneuver all her own, has informed me that, in her move this fall from California to Princeton Junction, she inadvertently carried along a jar of spices that expired in 1988.

In other news, I got an out-of-the-blue email from Mark Shmitt, the erstwhile FreeWheeler, now in Wisconsin, who gave me the name "Our Lady of Perpetual Headwinds" almost a decade ago. Welcome back to the world of the Hill Slugs, Mark, and thanks for the moniker!

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 21 January, Postponed to Sunday, Maybe

2012-01-19T05:34:00.000-08:00

21 January 2012

Sunday? Go ride in the woods with Chris. I'm not allowed.

19 January 2012

Saturday looks a right mess. If the roads are clear on Sunday we'll go then. Watch this space for details as we get closer to Sunday.

Another Doodle in Latin

2012-01-17T15:20:00.000-08:00

17 January 2012

This one is Jim's fault too.

"I Can Do This"

And questions from the rest of the people in the lab start in 3...2...1...

Friendship Before Speed

2012-01-09T18:16:00.000-08:00

9 January 2011

The Hill Slugs have a new motto: amicitia quam celeritate. It means "friendship before speed."

What you see up there is just a preliminary doodle I made late last night when Plain Jim suggested I needed a picture to go with the motto (which he and Jack translated into Latin for me).

I can't use a slug on a bicycle. That's already been taken by Sugoi and Team Estrogen. Sadly, it seems the jersey is no longer available. I've already got one. You can still get the socks, though.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 7 January 2012

2012-01-05T07:41:00.000-08:00

5 January 2012

Hey! It'll be warm enough to start at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday, so let's do that. I'm getting kind of burnt out on Lambertville. I have something else in mind.

Meet at the Hopewell YMCA/Administration Building on Main Street in Pennington, across from Ingleside Avenue. We'll do 40-ish miles because it'll be warm enough.

I know it's only January, but I'm already starting to think about some long routes for the summer. Like the Double Reservoir Ride, only in reverse. I want to try to get up towards Easton, PA, and go through Coffeetown just so we can say we've been there. Morris and Warren Counties are still terra incognita (is that correct, Jim?) for me. Let's get our legs ready for some exploring...

New Year's Eve at Dale and Sean's

2012-01-02T18:28:00.000-08:00

2 January 2012

Who knew you could peel a clementine orange, fill the rind with olive oil, and use the center pulp as a wick? It only catches fire sometimes...

Sean's Got Another One

2011-12-27T20:28:00.000-08:00

27 December 2011

This is why we ride.

December

2011-12-27T13:20:00.000-08:00

Etra Lake

27 December 2011

I've started riding in Cranbury again. It'd been a year, which is far too long to go without teasing Larry about rest stops at Le Chateau de Ptomaine.

December 4 was my second day back on the bike after two weeks away from it. We had a good group. In Allentown we stopped to collect everyone. Larry, for some reason, was taken by a store's sign and wondered why I wasn't pulling out my camera.

"Booooo-ring!" I said.

"Oh, so it's not Spain. Well la-dee-da!"

"Fuck you, Goldsmith," I said, and took a couple of pictures.

The haze clears away this time of year. Sunlight is white in the mid-morning. If the air smells like anything at all, it's burning firewood. I stopped for a magestic tree along of one of the two roads that cut through the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area. Up ahead, Plain Jim, the sweep, waited patiently. I didn't see him there until I looked at the pictures at home. The pop-up sun visor on the camera long ago fell apart in several places; in bright light I can't see what I'm doing anymore. I was just grateful that the battery door stayed closed.

So, Larry, these are for you.

We've taken Sean into the hills a couple of times. I'd been talking up the flatlands to him. On Christmas Eve I didn't have a ride in the book, but I put out a call for a flat ride. Tom suggested New Egypt; he'd read my mind. We wound up with eleven people. I should not be in the book more often.

Part of the attraction, I think, was that I promised I'd be wearing antlers. That got Ron to say yes, anyway. Cheryl said she'd bring hers. I got to the park early enough to help her put them on. When I rolled in, Mike M was trying valiantly to attach them. I took over and managed to secure them in no time. Backwards, it turns out, but none of us noticed until well into the ride.

Sean hammered in at some record-breaking speed, accompanied by a text message from Dale that he was on his way. "We're waiting for Tom and Herb," I told him.

"You mean I'm not the last one? All right!"

Those two were running late, after having to fix a flat. Mary (rockin' the new PT Assistant degree and position) and Steve K (where has he been?) were there too.

Plain Jim was struggling with a knit cap that we eventually fitted over his helmet. Chris had one of his many not-black leggings on. "I need a picture," Steve said. "Take one for me too?" I asked him.

Two reindeer, a skinny Santa, and an over-sized elf. We're ready to ride. I need a new set of antlers. The left one keeps falling down.

This was the perfect ride. It was one of those days when everyone is going at the same speed, cracking wise, and just having a good time. It was one of those rides where I didn't even notice how far we'd gone when we stopped in New Egypt.

The plan was to grab a snack at Scott's. There's a parking lot that separates the general store from Max's, a new-ish bike shop, and the bike shop has a bike rack. As we were settling in, a woman from Max's popped her head out of the door and said, "I've got free coffee and water here!"

Most of us went inside. Quite a spread: Christmas candy, homemade eggnog bread, and a blasted Keurig single-serve coffee machine. I refuse on environmental grounds ever to drink from a K-cup. I went across to Scott's instead.

Tom and Herb wanted to get a move on. I had a bit of a tough time prying people out of the store. Sean hung a candy cane from his saddle bag.

Tom was leading. On our way south we'd had the opportunity to show Sean the biggest Jersey Berm around: the one behind the Arsenic Mall (a.k.a. Hamilton Marketplace). We went through the rural part of Hamilton, too, the section that a hearty group of souls is working to preserve.

We took Sean up Hill Road, too. On the way back, we passed by the Matrix warehouse complex and its "preserved woodlands -- do not mow" Jersey Berm. When we turned onto Gordon Road, dead-on into the wind, Sean said he missed the berm. He pondered it some more and decided that perhaps he should go into the berm business. "Berms R Us," he suggested. I said that NJ's builder's lobby would love him for it.

Sean had his helmet camera on again. He's produced a three-minute video of our trip.

Now I want a helmet camera too.

The little bells on my antlers were just about driving me nuts by the time we were nearly finished the ride. I kept them on, though, all the way home. They're in the bedroom closet now. By the sound of it, I think the kittens have found them.

Speaking of kittens, they've denuded our Christmas tree's lower half of ornaments (we went with plastic with this very possibility in mind). I've decided against re-hanging any that I've found on the floor or bobbing in the tree's water. I'm not sure I've found all that have fallen, but, so far, the little guys have made themselves an impressive collection of shiny toys:

Here's Moxie, up on his perch, contemplating ornaments in the upper reaches. See that red one just above his shoulder? He was going for that one this morning.

So, anyway, there's this thrice-weekly morning ride in the flatlands that's been called the "Old Guys Ride." Cheryl has said, "Don't let 'em fool ya. They're fast." Plain Jim concurs. Being a nine-to-five (in theory) grunt, I've never made it out to this ride. But its popularity has grown so much that there are sometimes twenty people out there.

Yesterday I finally had the chance to try it out. It was my fourth day in a row having exercised. I was deliberately un-caffeinated, because drying out a few days each week guarantees that I'll never build up too much of a tolerance. The wind was out of the northwest at sixteen miles per hour, minimum. As I drove over, I knew I'd be in for a tough time.

And a tough time I had. Fifteen of us (four Hill Slugs -- me, Cheryl, Joe, and Ron) let the tailwind push us to Jackson. I was already feeling every pedal stroke. Heading home, I'm usually one of the stronger ones because I'm built for endurance, not for speed. Not this time. I couldn't hold a pull for three minutes. I couldn't even close the gap with three riders in front of me. I was stomping in my big ring when I ought to have been spinning in the small one, all of my energy focused on keeping my back straight instead of hunching down into the headwind.

Just north of the Chateau, I said to Joe and Cheryl, slowing so I could ride beside them, "I get it now. This ride is a C+ on the way out and a B on the way back." Joe said something and took the lead, latching onto the group I'd just fallen from. We were on a tiny hill. I couldn't close the gap. The group pulled away, Joe with them.

When I'm tired, the first thing to go is my posture. Now that I'm one of those people with a bad back, I do everything I can to keep it from getting cranky. If that means slowing down, so be it. I'd rather battle the wind on my own and still be able to tie my shoes.

I watched the lead group for the rest of the ride, never too distant, but too far away to chase. It was perfect. I deserved to be dropped by Joe for at least as many miles as I'd dropped him in September. He didn't mean to drop us today; I didn't mean to drop him then. But this was beautiful and perfect anyway. Cheryl and I plodded along on our own almost all the way back to Etra Park. Two people caught us from behind then and shared the pull for the last few miles. I jumped out in front for the last of it; I wanted to burn my legs out, and I did.

Off my bike and next to Joe, I said, "You need to drop me more often. It makes me work harder." He said, "I was just barely hanging on." To Cheryl, I said, "If you talk to Andy before tomorrow, tell him I'll be in class in spirit, but my legs won't."

I did go to Andy's spin class this morning. Just my luck it was a strength class, for which he had us climbing an increasingly steep hill for forty minutes. My heart rate was ten to twenty beats below where it ought to have been.

I'm taking tomorrow off.

Etra Lake

Saturday Ride from Mercer County Park

2011-12-23T15:04:00.000-08:00

23 December 2011

If you're interested in a 40-ish-mile ride from Mercer County Park to New Egypt and back, meet at the East Picnic Area of Mercer County Park at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday, 24 December. Antlers are welcome; pace-pushers are not.

Saturday Ride, Anyone?

2011-12-22T12:04:00.000-08:00

22 December 2011

Anyone out there wanna do a ride on Saturday? Maybe the flatlands for a change? Gimme a shout if you're interested. My email address is in the book, or you can comment here. If it's a go I'll post something tomorrow.

Hill Slugs: The Movie, Apparently

2011-12-18T09:23:00.000-08:00

18 December 2011

Last Saturday I got a small group together for a late-morning ride. The goal was to show Sean that there are better places than Cherry Valley and the Great Road to explore if one is going to play around the Sourland Mountain. The pressure was on to show him some challenging climbs and decent descents. That meant Poor Farm, of course, and Harbourton-Woodsville. Despite an oil-and-chip washout that made the downhill more interesting than fun, Sean had his helmet camera on. He was filming again when we sent him all the way down Rileyville.

What he did with the recording makes us look seriously bad-ass. Take a look: http://contour.com/stories/more-roads-for-sean--2

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 17 December 2011

2011-12-15T08:10:00.000-08:00

15 December 2011

Looks like a repeat of last weekend. Let's start at 10:00 a.m. for 40-ish miles.

Cheryl tells me that she heard, second-hand, that the Lambertville Baker's Treat will be closing. I know we went there last time I led, but let's go again, with big pockets (*), so we can support the store (all proceeds go to charity) while it's still there.

Meet at the Hopewell YMCA/Administration Building parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington.

(*Eat something there, take something home. It all looks so good.)

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc: Saturday, 3 December 2011

2011-12-01T06:39:00.001-08:00

1 December 2011

Saturday's ride will be short and sweet. Well, short for a Hill Slug, anyhow. In 35-40 miles we'll wind our way to Lambertville for some sugar and caffeine. Meet at the Hopewell Administration Building/YMCA parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside Road, in Pennington, at 9:00 a.m.

Extra-milers can meet me at my house at 8:30 a.m.

No Es Carne!

2011-11-26T09:53:00.001-08:00

probably the best photo from this trip

26 November 2011

Jack has taken on the job of being master of the map and guide book, which is fine with me. I can navigate through the country roads of New Jersey, but put me in a city and I get all turned around. Unlike Barcelona and Cordoba, and despite what we've been told, finding decent food around here isn't easy.

Yesterday Jack sleuthed out a restaurant outside of the main tourist area. We took the Metro, and when we surfaced, we were face to face with the most glorious candy store window ever.

Because I've been buying lots of candy all along (Spain has candy shops all over), and because everything in this store had to be asked for and wasn't labeled and I don't know my way around the Spanish candy vocabulary, I didn't buy anything here. This place was overloaded with marshmallowy thingies anyway, and I'm not fond of marshmallows.

Aside from three locals at the bar, we were the only ones in the restaurant. 2:00 p.m. is early for lunch in Madrid. On the wall, next to a wine rack that stretched to the ceiling for the length of the bar, hung a row of dried meat. We weren't sure if any of it was real until the bartender sliced some of it and put it on Jack's tapas.

The plan was to go to another museum. We headed in the wrong direction by accident and wound up overlooking the western side of the city again, this time south of the palace. The camera's battery door, taped shut, was holding. As you can see, the pictures are much better. This one didn't wash out as it would have on the other camera (no matter the settings).

More grand architecture:

We eventually found the right way to the museum, the Collecciones Thyssen-Bornemisza, which I blogged about yesterday. After that, we stopped at a street cafe for something Spain is famous for: chocolate. Not the candy kind. The liquid kind. Think dark chocolate pudding before it sets, so thick that we began eating it with a spoon, so thick that, if left for just a minute, it starts to congeal. One of the guide books points out that the optimal time to drink one of these is at 8:00 a.m., after one has been out partying all night, before going home for a shower and heading off to work. Jack and I have been preferring ours around 5:00 p.m. so that we can hold off on dinner til after 9:00 (some restaurants don't even open until 8:30).

I told you this camera was better.

Our evening plans were to meet one of Jack's former grad students, Dianha, who is in Madrid teaching English. Spain's high unemployment rate is pushing people to learn English so that they can flee the country for jobs elsewhere.

The Spanish custom of dining at midnight and partying til dawn can't be helping much either. We'd read about this, been told about this, and even witnessed some of it in Barcelona, where even on a Sunday night the streets filled up around 9 p.m.

But what we witnessed last night takes it to a whole new level. The plan was to meet Dianha at 9:30 p.m. in the Puerto del Sol, a plaza in the center of the city from which all the main roads radiate. It had been plenty crowded there the night before, like Leicester Square in London on a Saturday night. We decided to walk from the hotel, which we figured would take us about 20 minutes. We also figured that, it being a Friday night, we'd encounter crowds. But we weren't prepared for this.

These people weren't walking. They were strolling, three abreast, arm-in-arm. If they'd been cars they'd have been cruising. And they were all headed in the same direction, towards the plaza. This was worse than Penn Station, NYC, at rush hour. Already not terribly fond of this city, I became annoyed. There are too many people on this planet, and half of them are on the Gran Via in Madrid. I found an opening in the crowd and, despite the traffic jam I might be causing (or even because I might cause one), I held my camera over my head and snapped a picture.

I found some relief when, closer in to the center, in a spot where the crowd was thinner, where street vendors laid out blankets with shady-looking goods, we spotted a woman selling ashtrays. Beside her was a black kitten, maybe nine weeks old. We crouched down to get a good dose of kitty, the first we've had since we left home.

Dianha found us in the crowd as we waited by a statue of a bear rearing up to a tree (a symbol we've seen elsewhere in the city, and if I weren't feeling lazy I'd do some research about). We found a noisy tapas bar.

Spain has been a challenge for me when it comes to food. Not only am I vegetarian, but I also have a high-protein, low-fat diet. Since arriving here I've had little choice for protein but scrambled eggs or cheese. That's more fat than I'm used to, and my stomach has been somewhat upset by it. In Barcelona, John led us to a tapas bar that made a vegetarian fava bean stew. It was a welcome change. In this Madrid tapas bar we saw a fava bean stew on the menu. When we ordered, Jack made sure to ask, "Sin carne?" (Without meat?)

"Si," said the waiter.

So we were a little surprised when it arrived with lumps of sausage floating in it. "No carne," I told the waiter.

"No es carne," he said.

"Es carne!" I shot back.

"No es carne. Es chorizo!"

"Es carne!"

He took it away. The three of us burst out laughing. Moments later the waiter came back with the dish, having scooped out the sausages. I stuck my fork in and let the sauce drain out as much as possible before eating it. My guts being in turmoil already, I figured that I'd either not get any worse or start throwing up in five hours. I hedged my bets and ate only a few drained forks full. I didn't get sick.

Today we headed west towards another museum, the Museo Cerralbo, the former home of aristocrats at the end of the nineteenth century. The goal of these people was to show off their wealth as much as possible, and boy did they. I liked their Venetian glass chandeliers. Boiled down to one word, the descriptor for this place would be "overwrought." But that's what wealthy Europeans were shooting for back then. Spanish Donald Trumps, maybe?

At lunch in a sidewalk cafe, I had the following conversation with the waiter when I told him, "Sin carne."

"No pescado?" (No fish?)

"No."

"No pollo?"

"No."

He was walking away when I said, "Si hay ojos, es carne." Bad grammar, but what I was trying to say was, "If there are eyes, it's meat." I'm pretty sure he didn't hear me anyway. As with the rest of this city, it was pretty noisy. For lunch I had roasted vegetables and bread.

We wandered about in two city parks. The first was just a little one, backing up to the palace.

Hooray! I can shoot into the sun!

In the second park, the Casa de Mores, a manicured garden with only one entrance, my tissue-and-tape solution to keeping the battery in its door shut gave out. I lost two pictures because the door popped open before the photos went onto the memory card. The worst of the three survived.

We took the metro to one more museum, the Reina Sofia, a former hospital that now houses, modern art, Dali, Miro, and Picasso's Guernica. Once again we got in for free because it was after 2:30 on a Saturday.

Below are my last two photos from Madrid, taken from inside the museum and looking out on the rooftops as the sun was low in the sky.

I was holding the battery door closed with one hand and controlling the shutter with the other.

We stopped for one last dose of liquid chocolate before taking the Metro back to the hotel. We're going to have our dinner downstairs soon. It's just about 8:30, when the restaurant opens, so we'll be the early birds.

Then I'll try to get my suitcase closed around all the chocolate and books, and take one more glass-doored-bathroom shower. If we can use the last of the shampoo I brought from home then there will be more room for everything else.

Tomorrow I'll purge myself of caffeine, sugar, and fat. After I find one last hot chocolate at the airport...

It Must Just be a Thing

2011-11-25T10:52:00.001-08:00

25 November 2011

We found out who the architect is: Alvaro Sans, who specializes in hotels. This whole glass-and-slab thing must be the new architectural black. Twenty years from now we'll be saying, "That's sooooo turn-of-the-century."

Meanwhile, we went to another museum today (Collecciones Thyssen-Bornemisza), which is from a private collection. There's a floor of modern art, a few rooms of Impressionists, and, yes, loads more of Jesus-and-Marys. Can I get a Flying Spaghetti Monster up in this joint?

Jack finally got his two bottles of Spanish wine to carry home. I bought a bunch of packets of high-end chocolates to use for Christmas presents.

We still think that, for the most part, Madrid's streets aren't that interesting. The best we could do was compare one or two of them to Islington, London.

I had some success with the old camera, but I don't want to pull the memory card out to upload just yet, for fear of never getting that tissue shoved back in quite the right way. I'll upload tomorrow night, as our trip comes to an end.

Madrid

2011-11-25T02:16:00.001-08:00

25 November 2011

The first thing I noticed in our hotel room was the pair of nightstands flanking the bed. Each glowed blue. A circular switch controlled the color. Yeah, it looks cool, but it's clearly useless, and far too bright in the dark.

It's all glass and wood in here, with light switches at waist level. There are switches all over, and they all seem to control everything, with the comic effect of the whole room going dark when one of us aims to turn on a light.

There's a sliding door in the closet that opens into the bathroom. I can get to my clothes from either side. That's pretty cool.

Then there's the bathroom. A glass door separates the two sinks from the rest of the plumbing. However, the glass is only opaque up to the middle of my nose, and the door doesn't lock.

Wait a minute. This all seems too familiar. I think I know who designed this building, or, at least, whose ideas have been taken.

Princeton University is putting up a new building for the neuroscientists and psychologists. The architect is one Rafael Moneo, an award-winning designer hailing from Madrid. He did the extension of the Prado, the art museum in the center of the city, as well as buildings at Harvard and Columbia. Princeton has this thing where they have to get big names to do their buildings, so, enter Moneo.

A few weeks ago I was sent to view the mock-ups. The faculty office will be done up in light-colored wood and glass, glass, glass. Each will have a round, glass-top table with wood and metal supports. The desk, three-sided, is done so that one of the wood slabs appears to be lying off-center on top of the others. "That's a design element," we are told. "It can't be changed." (The desk I'm typing from now, by the way, is a slab of glass that appears to be lying on top of a cube of wooden drawers, with glass fronts that match the doors. Just saying...) Someone else in the room asks about the waist-high light switches. We are told that it's part of the design but they'll see about moving them up. We're shown the doorways to the student offices. They're all glass and sliding. The opacity stops just below my eyes. I can stand on my toes and peer in. The doors do not lock. (In the hotel bathroom, I can stand in the tub and see clear to the outside windows. A super-hot shower steams up the glass and takes care of that problem.) In the mock-up lab, the drawers below the benches all have light wood fronts. I like how they look. We have a choice of three colors for wall cabinets, but I am told that the below-bench drawer style is "a design element and can't be changed." The gray floor, apparently, will be a choice of ugly or slightly lighter ugly, but that's it. Anyway, this hotel room is functional, so let's hope the labs are too. Meanwhile, I can't find any direct connection on the 'net to this place and Moneo. Maybe it's a Madrid thing, a Spanish thing. I'm going to ask the concierge later. This room doesn't do much to keep me from thinking about my job, but our vacation is over in two days anyway.

We went to the Palacio Real de Madrid, the Royal Palace. Here's a view from the plaza balcony. Inside we saw an exhibition of royal clocks (kinda cool, actually), an armory, and the royal pharmacy. There were rows and rows of shelves with porcelain jars, each labeled with herbs and tinctures. "Now this is organization," I said. So much for not thinking about work. In the area where medicines were made, Jack noticed the sink with glassware piled in it. He said something like, "Bad technician left glassware in the sink." I said the tech would have to get after whoever did this, and mentioned the name of the most likely perp where I work.

The streets of Madrid, while lined with imposing buildings, seem to be doing their best to look like somewhere else. The promenade that the guide books and concierge eagerly point us to is lined with chain stores one can find in London and Manhattan. Those that aren't chains are tacky souvenir shops selling the same sort of crap one can find in London or Barcelona, but with a different name stamp.

Spain seems to be fond of its licorice in a way that would make Americans proud. Each of these ropes is about two feet long.

We looked up bead shops and found a couple of places that sell all matter of craft materials. In the early evening this place was mobbed with people who couldn't possibly have been tourists. It was like trying to get served at a crowded deli. I bought some beads then took this picture on my way out, holding the camera above my head.

We went to the Prado museum, the city's collection of Grand Masters' artwork. We went in at 6:30; the museum is free from 6:00-8:00. We stayed until closing time. The highlight for me was seeing Heironymous Bosh's The Garden of Earthly Delights, a tryptich of surreality that predates Salvador Dali by 300 years. I was less enchanted by the overload of religious paintings. I can only take so many Jesus-and-Marys. I have zero tolerance for naked angels. Zero.

Today we're headed for more museums and maybe a walk in the city's park. I've ditched my camera for the older one, which I brought with me even though the battery door is broken. I've stuffed some tissue in it and taped it shut. Heavier and bigger, it takes better pictures.

Barcelona/Cordoba: Crazy-Ass Architecture and Other Adventures

2011-11-23T15:05:00.001-08:00

24-25 November 2011

On our second day in Barcelona, we went into the Frederic Mares museum. Mares was a rich dude with a penchant for collecting not one of anything, but everything of anything. The ground floor of the building he lived in is room after room of early Christian statuary. A row of nearly identical Mary-and-child statues. Walls full of crucified Jesuses that still have him looking Middle-Eastern. No Aryan Jesus-and-Marys up in this joint. I'd just about had enough, being a devout atheist, when we headed upstairs. There was even more of this stuff on the next floor. But the top two levels were something else. I forgot all about the Jesus overload. We entered rooms full of bell jars encasing bouquets of flowers made entirely of shells. Framed arrangements of cigar wrappers. Pipes with creepy heads on them. Walking sticks with creepy heads on them. Eyeglass cases. What-the-hell-are-these-things. Raffle tickets. A machine that prints raffle tickets. Very, very old bicycles (last night I dreamed Ross Hart lent me one of these to ride, which I did for a while, but I gave it back because nobody'd be able to help me if I had a breakdown).

Jack and I left the place shaking our heads. Crazy-ass.

The next day we went to visit some architecture. I could spend a few paragraphs explaining Antonio Gaudi's Sagrada Familia cathedral, but Wikipedia has already done the job.

This is one crazy-ass church.

We only walked around the outside; lines were long to get in and we'd been advised by John and Rosa that the wait wouldn't be worth it.

Speaking of John and Rosa, who we went out to dinner with on our last night in Barcelona, Rosa has the coolest job of anyone either Jack or I know: she's translating the first season of Scooby-Doo into Catalan.

Jack wanted to know what she's doing about "Zoinks!" Rosa said that they'd settled on "Iay!" As in "Eeeeee-eye!"

"What about 'ruh-roh'," Jack asked.

"We're leaving that to the actor."

Anyway, Gaudi:

The words are "sanctus" over and over again:

Um, bowl of fruit?

In the subway station, there's a vending machine for cell phone apparatus:

More Barcelona street scenes:

Wherever there's shopping, there are these wire patterns spanning the street. Usually it's car-free too.

Another shot of the round whatever that I took the day before, this time at night.

Quirky graffiti:

When shops close for the day, they pull down metal grates. Many of them are decorated. Kevin, maybe you'll need a special category for these.

If you look closely at the top third of this picture, you'll see what every group-riding cyclist sees:

We took the train from Barcelona to Cordoba. The speed was posted constantly on a screen on the inside of the car. We got up to about 175 mph. Taking good pictures out the window was pretty much out of the question. Most of the landscape looks like the desert southwest in the US. As we approached Cordoba things greened up a little.

Once again we wound up in a deeply-discounted hotel. For 80 euro, we got a 390 euro room.

The unfortunately-named Conquistador Hotel was across from what we came to see: La Mezquita mosque/cathedral. Here's Wikipedia's description. It's a mosque with a cathedral plunked into the middle.

As water passes up this fountain, it spins the wheel. Twice per revolution the little bell goes, "tink." It's very peaceful.

Paintings of Jesus and saints and things hang next to Moorish architecture.

The ceiling:

The view from the bathroom, of all places:

In the cathedral, someone was tuning the pipe organ. It sounded less like an organ than a sick moose or an MRI about to get going. By the time I remembered that I could use my phone to record this "blaaaaaaaaat," the tuning stopped. Oh well.

I tried, and tried, and tried, to hold my hands still enough to get a close-up of the mouths that were the pipe openings, high above my head. I hate my camera.

Outside, in the courtyard, and throughout the Medieval section of the city, stones are laid, often sideways, in patterns.

Oop! One more door for you, Kevin, at the mosque/cathedral entrance. Here, Muslim and Christian designs meet:

This is the view of the mosque from the outside of our hotel:

And down the street:

Clay bulls for sale:

A crack in a wall. Did I mention that I hate my camera?

We walked over the bridge that crosses the Guadalquivir river. It looks tidal, but when we searched the web trying to find out, we had no luck. Cordoba is pretty far from the coast. But there was a clear tide line, there were egrets, and there was an obviously wet shirt just above the water line on a bridge support far below us. I don't have a picture because I would have had to shoot into the sun, and the camera that I hate just sucks at shooting into the sun.

Looking from the bridge back into the Medieval part of town:

If this camera could zoom without being a fuzzy blur, you'd see egrets at the water's edge.

Oh, wait. I did zoom. See those white blobs on the shore? Egrets.

Here's the hotel's second floor landing.

And the stairwell:

A view from the lobby into the courtyard:

I know, I know, pictures of a hotel? Really? Yeah, because we never stay in places like this because we can't afford it. And if you think this is posh, wait until you see the pictures of the place we're in now, in Madrid, at some minuscule percentage of what the place usually charges. I'm trying to find out who the architect is. I have my suspicions. But you'll have to wait for that. It's almost 1 a.m. here and if I don't get in bed before Jack starts snoring, I'll never get to sleep.

London/Barcelona

2011-11-22T01:55:00.001-08:00

22 November 2011We're dealing with a super-slow, but free, WiFi connection here in our hotel in Barcelona, so I'm just going to shut up and let you see the pictures that took more than an hour to upload.

This is the view from our below-ground hotel window in Russell Square, Bloomsbury, London.

London is getting ready for the 2012 Olympics. Construction is everywhere. On our first morning in the city, workers severed a power line, sending our whole block into a blackout. We were just finishing breakfast in a cafe at the time. It felt just like being in NJ.

This is a shop in the Covent Garden area that sells panda paraphernalia. Competition for Hello Kitty, or just plain creepy?

London has started a bikeshare program. Here's a row of rental bikes at night:

The Brunswick Centre used to be low-income housing. Now renovated, the flats are just as expensive as anywhere else in London. Here's an acrobatic kitty prowling a wide ledge on one of the top floors.

Unlike any of the architecture around, the Brunswick Centre is imposing in its in-your-face concrete and glass. Still, I wouldn't mind having that much light coming into my house. In the plaza below was a street market where people were selling homemade baked goods, bread, sausages, and paella.

You're seeing correctly: a sunny day in London.

We usually stay in the cheapest hotels we can find. This time we tried one step up. In Barcelona, Jack found a five-star hotel for about 60 euro per night. The going rate, as we saw posted by the entrance, is 310 euro. Barcelona had a hotel boom a handful of years ago; now they can't fill the rooms. Their loss, our gain. The country is about to go under. We went through our English pounds like water; our Euros are lasting much, much longer here. Anyway, the hotel room (here I'm playing with my new iPhone 4S camera, which might be better than the little one I've been carrying around on rides.)

We had lunch in the lobby at 4 p.m. Withdrawal be damned, I'm consuming copious amounts of coffee, even late in the day. It seems like a good idea at the time, but I pay for it at night. I'll dry out on the flight back home, Aleve in hand.

This little iPhone camera captures tap sweat in detail:

The hallway on our floor is as orange as it looks.

Playing with the phone camera at the window:

We're going to try to see the chocolate museum today. In Catalan, the x is pronounced "ch."

Window shopping at night:

Graffiti:

Our friend Kevin collects pictures of doors. Here's the first of many for you, Kevin:

Yesterday, one of Jack's literature crowd buddies, who has been living in Barcelona for 20 years, gave us a walking tour of the city. More doors, ornate architecture, and a building by Gaudi:

Gaudi (we plan to see more today):

A fireplace inside a former mansion-apartment, now furniture store:

More of the Gaudi building:

Close-up of a column:

John took us to a farmer's market. Wild mushrooms:

The four buildings in this court were moved here, stone by stone. I forget why.

One of the many nicknames for one of our kittens, Moxie, is Moxo. The other kitten is Mojo. Since the x in Catalan is pronounced "ch," this plaque captures both of their names in one. I can't seem to work Burnaby into this one.

At the end of the walk, we were at the harbor. In the background, to the left, is a cathedral with, as John explained, a flying Virgin Mary on top.

One of the planters outside of the hotel has a bird of paradise flower. I've never seen one outside of a arboretum greenhouse.

So that's the trip in pictures so far. We leave Barcelona tomorrow. I hope we can get a faster WiFi connection in our Cordova and Madrid hotels, because if we don't it could be ages before I get around to uploading pictures again.

No MTB for Me

2011-11-09T06:03:00.000-08:00

9 November 2011

Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. But, considering it's been two winter seasons since I last spent a morning falling off my mountain bike in the ice and snow in the woods of one NJ park or another, I can't say that I'll miss it all that much.

Here's the deal: Sports medicine doctors know we like to run around being tough on our bodies. If we tell a sports medicine doctor, "It hurts when I do this," the doctor will figure out a way that we can "do this" without the hurt. So if even a sports medicine doctor says, "Then don't do this," we should listen.

Last December, when the doctor and the physical therapist were looking at the MRI of my L5-S1 herniation, the PT said, "Wow. I'm amazed at your mobility. Usually people with herniations this bad can't even walk." Today, when I asked the doctor about the possibility of mountain biking this winter, he spent about five minutes telling me, "No."

The D&R Canal towpath spans 70 miles. Hello, towpath. Bleah.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc Saturday, 5 November 2011

2011-11-03T20:12:00.000-07:00

3 November 2011

The forecast for Saturday looks good for a ride up the river (*). There won't be as much climbing as one usually finds on a Hill Slugs ride. We'll be up on the ridge, above Stockton and Frenchtown, laughing at weird road names. The planned rest stop is the Homestead General Store in Upper Black Eddy, PA. If we're feeling vertical, we can climb on our way home. If we're into hammering, well, Route 29 is right there. Count on 45-50 miles. Meet at 9:00 a.m. in the CVS parking lot off of Union Street in Lambertville.

(* The route is based on one of Big Joe's favorite rides. On Saturday it will be a year.)

Halloween in Lambertville

2011-10-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

30 October 2011

Going to Lambertville for dinner and to see the decorations on Union Street was Terry's idea. He came up with it towards the end of last week, before there was even a possibility of snow in the forecast.

Dale and Sean picked us up late in the afternoon. Our plan was to give Dale and Jack a used book store fix before dinner. I guided them through my usual route to Lambertville, one that avoids Route 29. Traffic was light on Route 31. Sean and Dale gaped at the snow-covered farm fields that line the hills of 518.

We were almost there, just about to make the descent into the city, when the barricade stopped us. Switching into biker mode, I turned us around and directed Sean back to Mount Airy-Harbourton Road. "I can show you Dinosaur Hill," I said.

But we didn't get that far. Just past Rock Road we encountered another barricade. So I directed us left onto Rock, figuring we'd take 518 still further east and try again.

But we didn't get that far. Halfway down the road we met with another barricade.

We turned around, crossed 518, and headed down 579. We turned right onto Pleasant Valley-Harbourton. The road was loaded with gravel. As pebbles pinged off of the wheel wells, Sean professed a sudden craving for popcorn.

We turned onto Valley. I almost took us up Goat Hill but I had second thoughts. We turned onto 29 instead, arriving in Lambertville with 20 minutes to spare before meeting the rest of the group.

So, instead of looking at books, we looked at ducks and geese along the towpath.

The lead duck is going as a punk for Halloween.

The spillway near the sewage treatment plant:

Lawn chairs next to the plant:

Our fashion-forward duck again:

Snow on posts at the edge of the towpath:

Carved pumpkins on the patio of the Inn of the Hawke:

Now this is a carving!

We were too late to see the high-heeled drag race in New Hope, so we wandered over to Union Street to look at the decorated houses. Last year, Terry told us, the neighborhood was lit up on Halloween.

We were here a day early. Most of the block was dark. Terry, Dale, Sean, and Jack stopped walking. Terry, Cheryl, and I went on one more block. The yard we were looking for was in darkness, but the flash on my camera provided all the light we'd need to show the others what they'd missed:

This little guy is my favorite:

Now, I know all you out there have seen the next picture, but for the six of us left on the planet who still don't do Facebook, here, for your viewing pleasure, is the barfing pumpkin. We did not see this in Lambertville:

Back Yards

2011-10-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

29 October 2011

One last post for the day before I declare myself all caught up. Phyllis and I had an email exchange this morning. Lamenting the early snow, one thing led to another and she ended up describing her yard. With her permission, here it is:

Of course, the deer ate most of the flowers and are here now, foraging beneath the snow for all of the fallen apples that have come off of the 60+ year old apple trees that still exist here on my property.

Between my neighbor and I, we allow no hunting on our 14 acres, and the deer lie down beneath the white pines I planted 20 years ago. Lots of wildlife, from foxes to hawks, hang out here. Have yet to see a bear, though!

It is rutting season for the deer, so I enjoy seeing the bucks in the early morning and early evening. I know they are not long for this earth as the hunting season approaches, so enjoy them while I can. Last year I had visits from an eight-pointer and a six-pointer but not any of that age yet this year.

Meanwhile, Dale is enamored with all that is New Jersey, including this freakishly early snowfall. I asked for a picture of her back yard.

Ours, in the middle of an extreme makeover, looks like this, through the screen porch because I had no shoes on:

OK. I'm finished blogging. I'm all caught up. It's 4:30. I'm going to exercise now. Really.

Commuting Adventures

2011-10-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

Princeton Pike with No Cars, 29 August 2011

29 October 2011

Now that I finally work close to home, I can ride my bike into work. Over the winter I fitted Gonzo with a rack, a pack, puncture-resistant tires, rain gear, and a handful of lights.   The goal was modest: ride to work once or twice each week as long as the weather and daylight allowed it.

I started in April and went until a few weeks ago. Most weeks I was able to ride to work twice. The route is almost a straight line: up Princeton Pike, past Princeton Battlefield, and onto the back roads through the Princeton Theological Seminary to Princeton University's campus. It's 6.8 miles each way, mostly uphill going into work and mostly downhill coming back.

I brought a washcloth, a towel, some soap, deodorant, a comb, and a few other things to keep in my drawer at work. The rest I took with me: a change of clothes, my wallet, keys, phone, and lunch. The pack already contained rain gear, a heavy cable lock that I've had since 1983, and the usual collection of tubes and tools that a cyclist carries.

I started off the year packing as little as possible. I'd find the lightest clothes and buy lunch at work. By mid-summer I'd said to hell with the weight and started packing a no-spill mug of coffee along with a bulky lunch and whatever clothes were on top in the drawer. Semi-loaded, Gonzo was a tank already; what was another pound?

I figured out when to leave in the morning so that I'd miss most of the traffic. Getting started at a traffic light was a bit of work, like starting an 18-wheeler, but once I was moving, I'd hammer.   Except for the climb up the battlefield hill, I'd stay in the big ring. I'd leave work after rush hour so that I'd have the battlefield hill to myself. Then I'd drop it into 53/11 and "let the horses run," as Mark "Mad Dog" says.

Stomping on the big gears with all the bike's weight, I think, made me stronger on weekends.   All I know is that I'd hop on Kermit or Miss Piggy and feel as if I were riding on air.

I learned pretty quickly how to maneuver in what passes for traffic around here. There's a wide shoulder and a bike lane for almost the entire Princeton Pike trip, so I feel safe. When traffic stacks up at Province Line, though, people like to veer into the bike lane to get a good look at what's ahead and to go around people making a left turn at Fackler Road. I'm always very alert and looking ten cars ahead, so when some yobbo decides to cut into my space, I'm ready for it. Twice I've stopped and politely told drivers that they were in the bike lane. Once I wasn't so polite. On the Stony Brook bridge, most drivers stay behind me, giving me a clear path all the way over. Only twice have people passed me on the bridge, unable to wait the ten seconds for me to get over first. I don't fancy taking a dip in the river on my way to work. I don't pack shampoo.

On my second day of bike commuting, I played chicken with the weather and lost. Cheryl had been emailing me all afternoon, insisting that she give me a ride home. I finally gave in. This was wise.

Later in the summer I decided that I should test my rain gear. The rain was coming down so hard that I took the bike path across from the battlefield rather than take the road. I stayed on the path until it ended at the bike lane. I made it home safely, the rain gear having kept me clean. But not dry: I was soaked in my own sweat instead. And, I forgot to remove my cycle computer, which drowned along the way. I got caught in rain twice after that, neither as bad as the first. My spare light, at least a decade old and hardly used, didn't survive the season. My bright, expensive, rechargeable light did. I'm going to get another one, even brighter, so that I'll have one to alert drivers and one to light the road. My rear light, bright and blinky, outlasted the weather, as did the bar-end blinkers.

There aren't many of us on bikes on the Pike, but I did see a few regulars going in the opposite direction. One was a woman who never seemed to notice me. The others were men who would wave. One looked to be a serious cyclist. He'd always raise his hand in greeting, and I'd do the same. On driving days I'd see him biking to work. On rainy days he'd be out there. I saw him just yesterday, riding with a headlight that would fit a motorcycle (that's what I need). He puts me to shame.

When I get a light that big and bright I'll be able to see the road at dusk. Then maybe I'll be brave enough to extend my commuting season.

Meanwhile, here are some pictures from my commute:

I get a lot of vegetables from my half-share at Cherry Grove Organic Farm. I started bringing the unwanted ones to work -- eggplants, mostly. Sometimes I'd have extra basil...

...so I'd load it onto Gonzo.

In September we had a few foggy mornings. I biked in on one of them, stopping on the battlefield hill for pictures of the Mercer Oak's progeny (the original having fallen, to much mourning from people who mourn these things, a handful of years ago).

Here's Gonzo in his parking space, in the breezeway of our building, that only serious commuters know about. I used to lock Gonzo farther in, but there's an electrical manhole, just out of sight in this picture, that would send my new, wireless, cyclecomputer haywire all day long. On this day my pack is as full as I'd ever had it. Denim jeans take up a lot of space. I probably had a container of roasted potatoes in there, too.

The pack comes off the rack. Here it is, in the corner on my desk. I'm lucky enough to have space to hang my washcloth and towel to dry. Under my desk is a wire rack for hanging folders. I use it for hanging clothes instead. Readers of this blog will notice two things on the bulletin board that have been mentioned in these pages this summer (click to zoom in).

I have a few tales from commutes that I emailed people about as soon as they happened. Here they are, in chronological order.

8 June: Best. Commute. Ever.

It was nearly 100 degrees today, so I decided to leave work late and avoid the heat. By 7 pm the air didn't feel like an oven any more.

I was tired and taking my time on Princeton Pike north of Province Line when a black SUV slowed down beside me. Theresa was hanging her head out of the passenger window, making sure I saw her. Pretty cool, but it gets better.

After I crossed Franklin Corner, I saw two riders climbing the little hill. They looked like serious riders, but they, too, were in no hurry.

I was in my big ring and planning to pass when I realized who it was I was about to go by.

"That isn't MATT!"

"Hellooooooo!"

"You gotta stop 'cause I gotta hug you!"

Yep, Matt, who last month was paralyzed for two days after his front wheel found a sinkhole, who had surgery on his cervical spine, is back on his bike, under Heike's supervision.

"I'm OKAY!" he declared, and,"I've got NINE people looking after me!" I suggested an ankle monitor.

Four weeks out of surgery, there's no visible scar, just the inability to move his neck to the right, for now.

Matt's back on his bike.... All's right with the world.

10 June: Well, THAT Was Interesting

The heat wave broke last night, in a strong cold front that I beat home by seconds. I could feel the temperature dropping as I turned off of Princeton Pike. I had just enough time to take out the garbage and compost before the rain started.

A phone call at 6:17 a.m. woke me up. A robotic voice said, "This. is. an. emergency. alert. from. Princeton. University. Princeton. Pike. and Route. Two. Hundred. Six..." You get the idea. Here's part of what was in my email inbox:

"The Department of Public Safety is advising that the thunderstorms that traversed the Princeton area last night impacted road conditions in and around Princeton University.

In response to these road closures the University is having adelayed opening for non critical, non essential staff members until 10am this morning. All critical and essential staff should report as usual.

Currently at 06:00 am the following roadways are closed, and blocked, due to power lines and trees down in the roadway:

Route 206 between Province Line Road and Lovers Lane

Route 206 between Herrontown road and Ewing Street

Mercer street/Princeton Pike between Province Line Road and Quaker road

Cherry Valley road is also closed in several areas.

There may be also several secondary roads in the area affected by downed trees and power lines. Estimating when the roads will open is difficult to determine.

Many area residents are still without power, including Millstone apartment residents. We have no estimate on the time it will take to restore power or to clear the roadways.

Travelling to campus will result in a slow commute. Washington road and Harrison street are open and accessible from route one. Alexander remains closed due to the current ongoing construction.

The dinky is operating but the gate control was damaged causing the train to stop completely before crossing faculty road and putting the gates up and down by hand. This will further impact traffic. NJ transit reports they must dispatch a computer technician to the unit to replace computer parts to put the gate back in operation. It is not known how long this will take to effect repairs."

I'd planned to bike in anyway, and I did. I was passing traffic on Princeton Pike. We all had to turn onto Province Line, where, for the eastern section, there is no shoulder. I was part of the traffic jam there, one foot in the pedal, one foot on the ground, in the long line of cars, snaking past them on the right when there was enough space to move.

Rosedale Road was no different. I started to wonder if I'd have to walk up the hill between cars. Fortunately the road gets wider on the hill, and I had more than enough room to haul Gonzo to the top before the shoulder disappeared and traffic jammed again. I snaked into town on the back roads and made it to the lab in 48 minutes. It usually takes 25-30, depending on traffic.

I bet a lot of those drivers wished they had a bike!

23 June: This Morning's Commute

I had an appointment with Dr. Levandowski this morning for a follow-up on my back. He gives me an "adjustment," which, from what I can figure out, is a bunch of things in my spine that go "pop!" when he pulls on them.

Anyway, I was on my commuter bike (Gonzo), weighted down with my day's lunch, clothes, cable lock, and, of course, my mug of coffee. As I was pulling out of the parking lot I saw another fully-loaded bike commuter pass by, going my way. By the time traffic cleared, he was already on top of the I-95 overpass. I didn't figure I could catch him, but I wanted to. He's the first one I've seen commuting my way; the two other regulars always wave to me from across Princeton Pike.

But, despite the fact that I'd be a sweatball by the time I got to work, I decided to catch him. I hammered. I thought I'd get him at the Province Line light, but it turned green for him. I'd gained on him a little by this point, but it wasn't enough. By the time I got to the Stony Brook bridge, he was just going over it. Next was the Princeton Battlefield hill. No way. Not on this tank of a bike.

Then I started gaining on him. By the time I was within talking distance, I recognized his bike as one of the handful that I see locked in the breezeway outside of my building. Now I was feeling all fast and shit. Not only did I catch this guy; I also caught him on a hill. That's when I noticed his gearing. I rode along side him and said, "Single speed up the hill! Awesome!" So much for my mad skillz.

We talked the rest of the way. True to form, I've already forgotten his name.

Other People's Misadventures

2011-10-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

29 October 2011

These little stories come, with permission, from emails sent by the guilty parties. Read on.

First, from Norene Barish:

Had a biking incident over the weekend which sent me flying over my handle bars onto the tow path with some nasty road rash as a souvenir.

Big deep scrapes & several bruises but otherwise I am fine with no broken bones to speak of.

Bob was out painting on Sat so when Terry Masters called to see if I wanted to ride along the river towns I jumped at the chance as I haven't done it since last year. We rode ten miles out & stopped for a rest to slurp down a fruit popsicle at the tow path cafe in Stockton.

When I hopped on my bike for the return trip I rode several feet & noticed that it was not quite right & felt funky. (This part of the story has nothing to do with the accident but pretty funny in itself). I noticed my handlebars were pointing downward instead of in an up & outward position. I got off the bike & Terry thought I had picked up someone else's. We were pushing buttons that weren't even buttons to see if we could turn the handlebars in an upright position.

Just then two very handsome guys with their wives stopped to see if we needed help. They assessed the situation & we told them how we think someone tampered with my bike, yada yada. Just then one of the guys turned the front wheel around in the right direction..so simple.

We had such a good laugh & the men said that they would have a good story to tell on the way back when they caught up with their wives.

I was so embarrassed to think that I have been riding all these years & have never done anything so stupid as this.

We headed back to Lambertville where the path takes a sudden jog & you have to navigate thru those pain in the neck stanchions. Just then I was telling Terry that this was the very same spot where Hank made that legendary ride right into the canal. Just as I turned I had a panic attack judging the small space & flew over my handlebars. I felt my body go into shock waves & slight pain with some bleeding & was concerned that I broke a bone or two or three.

Out of nowhere arrives another hunk of a young man with an ice pack & first aid goodies. He bandaged me up to stop the bleeding & I ambled back down the path on my bike. This young man was just getting into his car in an adjacent parking lot when he saw me take a spill. Such nice people (bike angels) willing to help..and hunks at that.

We were laughing about our misadventures saying that despite it all we were having the best time. I then mentioned to Terry that I had hoped we wouldn't bump into the first two guys who turned my wheel around as I didn't want them to see me looking like a bike victim with my bandages. Of course there they were having just fixed a flat for someone else on the path & then they couldn't believe I showed up with those bandages.

What a day out..20 miles with scrapes & cuts to show for it. You should have seen us loading the bikes onto the car, pumping the tires, assembling the bike packs & hooking up the brakes. Terry at one time was an emergency room nurse so it was good to have her along for medical advice only we need to take a course in bike mechanics otherwise we will be labeled "Laverne & Shirley of the Towpath."

Second is a tale from Mighty Mike about an incident that happened shorty before Norene showed the world her mechanical prowess. I seem to have deleted the email, so I'm going to have to reconstruct it from memory.

Mike was riding his mountain bike with his wife along the towpath near Alexander Road in Princeton. "I was wearing flip-flops," he wrote, admitting it wasn't the smartest thing to do, "when a bug flew under my foot." Distracted, he shook his foot, lost control, and flew over the top of his handle bars.

Unhurt, but shaken, he sat on the grass near the bridge over the canal. Alexander Road was closed for repairs at the time. Down by the barricades were two cops. One of them approached Mike.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Cause I can't do anything to help you."

"I'm okay," Mike assured him.

"You, uh, didn't hurt your package, did you?"

Months later, at the rest stop for the Ride for McBride, Mike showed us a text from his brother, wishing him well on the ride. "Take care of your package," the message said.

October's Adventures

2011-10-29T11:40:00.000-07:00

Sunrise over Thompson County Park, 2 October 2011

29 October 2011

It's 11:43 a.m., I'm drinking coffee, it's snowing, the heater we had installed yesterday stopped working in the wee hours of the morning, we're waiting for the repairman, and I still haven't gotten to the gym. Perfect excuse for blogging.

12:10, the heater's been fixed, and snow is sticking to the street. Looks like a home workout sometime today.

But first:

Joe, Plain Jim, and I rode together on this year's Pumpkin Patch Pedal century. It was cold enough that, unlike previous years, I kept my arm warmers and leggings on.

I generally don't take pictures during centuries. We don't want to stop between food breaks.

Mist rose over the lake before we headed out.

Plain Jim, the latest and greatest addition to the Hill Slugs posse, is a lot of fun to ride with. Stronger than we are, he never grows impatient. Instead, I hear "On your left!" as he hurtles himself up each hill, always waiting for the rest of us at the top. He also has a bell on his handlebars, which is mighty useful on big rides like this one.

I could use something like this on my commuter bike as I ride across campus. For the road, I'd need an air horn (more on bicycle commuting in a later post.)

Somewhere between the first rest stop (Plumsted, again, three organized rides this year) and the second (the Burger King somewhere in the Pines), the best thing happened: Matt and Heike blew past us. I'm so happy to see him riding again (more on that later, too).

The third rest stop, at Clayton Park, is always the most done-up. I'm fond of anything with googly-eyes, even if they're just Styrofoam balls with pipe-cleaner legs.

I had some post-production fun with these guys:

Right. Anyway, Matt let me take a picture of him (I've only managed this once before):

When I'm on a century, I always hit a wall around 70 miles. Over the years I've learned how to get past it, make it shorter, and distract myself ("Pedal, pedal, pedal," as Matt says; eat something at 65 miles, hungry or not; and look at the scenery.) This year it was the sky that did the distracting. All day the clouds hung gray and heavy just in the distance. It never did rain, but it did keep us motivated.

It's much better in person, with polarized sunglasses.

As for the ride itself, it was the easiest I've had it on the PPP in years. Last year, Mike B. and I ended up battling a fierce headwind on our own. Two years ago, I was jetlagged and nauseated for the second 40 miles. This year there wasn't much wind. Our pace was slower than it has been, but we've been slow all year. Our usual engines haven't been riding much, and I think Big Joe had a lot to do with getting a good group together. My plan for early spring is to recruit and return our crew. Jim, Mighty Mike, Steve K. and Steve B., I'm looking at you.

Now, one of the best things about the Pumpkin Patch Pedal is the long-sleeve t-shirt we get for doing the ride. My favorite designs have been the thin-line drawings of cyclists and ghouls. Others have featured wheels and pumpkins in clever combinations.

This year's, however, was, well, you decide. Jim's reaction is one of the milder ones. I've taken great joy in showing innocent people a photograph of the shirt and watching their mouths form a perfect o.

Put it this way: In the morning, as I was getting my bike ready for the ride, a woman near me in the parking lot said, "It looks like a man giving birth to a pumpkin!"

I took a look and told her, "Let's hope that's all he's doing."

We can now add "pumpkinfucker" to our library of curses.

Kudos to Plain Jim for noticing that the bottom spokes are missing. Here's his reaction to the design; you can read his PPP blog entry here:

For a while I couldn't decide if the shirt was the best thing or the worst thing about this year's ride. It took a few days, but I figured out that the shirt is getting more mileage than anything else.

A week later I led a hilly metric from Hillsborough to Clinton and Oldwick. I hadn't been up there all year, which is just wrong.

We're not having a good fall (did I mention it's snowing?). The leaves have gone from green to off without much in between. Still, the view from Fox Hill Road north of Oldwick did not disappoint.

My camera still overexposes. I've been too lazy to fix the problem and all of the pictures.

Horse butt across the street from the valley view:

Every year since I started riding, I've been asked, "Are you doing Covered Bridges?" Every year I've said, with no regret, "Nope. I'll be in Boston." Every year I go up there to visit my college roommate and go to an annual bead show with her. This year, though, the Covered Bridges ride date was moved to a week earlier. I had no excuse.

It's the Central Bucks bicycle club that hosts this ride. PA's hills are relentless. I've always been afraid. Now that I have Miss Piggy and a handful of years with only minimal hill fear, I figured I could handle it.

The ride starts in a park across the river from Frenchtown, a 45-minute drive when there's no traffic. I was guided into the park, into a thick fog, onto a field. I couldn't see more than a few yards in any direction, let alone anyone I knew. I scrambled in the morning chill to get my gear together and started walking in the direction that everyone else was walking. There seemed to be hundreds and hundreds of people. The ride hadn't even started yet and I was already in a bad mood.

A row of trees faded into view. I tried to memorize the pattern so that I'd be able to find my way back to the car. "I'm not doing this again," I thought.

Fog and trees:

It was just by dumb luck that I found Joe and Jim. Joe had with him a neighbor, Dave, who proved to be quite entertaining, and quite the trooper, having just spent six months recovering from a serious lung infection.

Early in the ride we found ourselves on a descent overlooking a ridge. Someone flew past me calling out, "Yeeeee-HAAAAAAAAAA!" On our way up the next hill, I found him and said, "That was brilliant. I'm going to put it in my blog." He laughed.

At the first rest stop he said, "You're not going to blog about me sucking wind on that next hill, are you?" I said something like, "I didn't see that."

Jack H. found us then. "I'll ride with you," he said. If by "with you" he meant for five minutes before disappearing off the front, then yeah, he rode "with" us. We didn't see him again.

Soon after, we came to a covered bridge with wooden slats laid in the same direction as the road. This is bad news for cyclists: Unless we can line ourselves up with a slat, in the sudden darkness of a covered bridge, we can easily find that one of our wheels has lodged between slats, throwing us over and our bike into the repair shop. At the entrance to this bridge, though, the bike club had the presence of mind to station two sentries who commanded us to dismount. Off to one side was Yee-Ha, with a serious dent in his rear rim. I heard him say into his phone, "I'm finished."

My memory becomes muddled after that. Climb, descend, climb, descend. We had a big one that stands out, though. It was called High Point Road. As we re-grouped at the top, Jim pointed behind me and I turned around.

What struck me was the layer of brown haze over what looked like a city. Where the hell were we, and what were we looking at?

I didn't think to pull out my phone, which has a compass on it. I just took pictures and made a mental note that we were facing west-ish.

More hills, more valleys, streams, bridges, maybe we're near Perkasie?, another rest stop. Everything was starting to look the same.

When we came upon this strange little place, it seemed perfectly believable that none of us was really awake anyway. "This reminds me of the book, 'The Secret Garden,' for some reason," I said. Someone else agreed. There must have been a picture on the front cover.

Perhaps this is a better interpretation of how I was seeing things at that point:

It wasn't because I ate this funky mushroom in my front yard. I didn't. Honest.

OK, that wraps up another episode of blogging. The snow has changed to rain and I still have not worked out. But now there's a cat on my lap. I'm stuck here.

By the way, I think we were looking at the outskirts of Bethlehem, PA.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 29 October

2011-10-27T19:58:00.000-07:00

27 October 2011

Didja see the forecast? Bleah! So much for Saturday.

If anyone is interested in riding on Sunday -- the first c-c-c-cold day of the fall -- contact me by email or leave a comment here.

Meanwhile, have some cats.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 22 October 2011

2011-10-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

19 October 2011

Saturday looks purty! I have to be back home at a reasonable hour, so we'll start nearby at 9:00 a.m. Meet at the Hopewell YMCA parking lot adjacent to the Hopewell Administration Building on Main Street in Pennington, across from Ingleside.

Where we go will depend on what roads are still closed. I'm thinking 45 miles or so.

Lake Nockamixon, Irene Remnants, Road Arrows, So Long to Roy's, and other Miscellaneous Snapshots

2011-10-06T20:13:00.000-07:00

The only advantage to the NJ Turnpike widening project

6 October 2011

Yeesh!I have pictures that are more than a month old that have been sitting here in an unpublished post. Time to clear this crap out. Just about every photograph is overexposed, but if I take the time to fix them they'll never see the light of day.

*****

1) Lake Nockamixon

The week after Irene, Tom took me, Cheryl, and Jeff (Plain Jim has named him the Derailleur Nailer) on a ride around Lake Nockamixon in Pennsylvania.

We started in Peace Valley Park.

As we left the park, Tom managed to ride through a spider web. For at least a mile, he trailed a tiny white blob of something that bobbed along about two feet above the ground and three feet behind his wheel. At the next intersection I tried to pick up the blob; it disintegrated in my fingers.

Later we passed a backyard burn, the likes of which I haven't seen since I was a kid, when nobody cared about air pollution.

Lake Nockamixon reminds me of Spruce Run Reservoir.

We searched for a snack bar and found one by the public pool. We were two Cannondale Synapses, one Cannondale Six, and a Serotta.

It's not a Tom Hammell ride if we don't have to cross at least one bridge that is closed. This one went over Haycock Creek.

Tom is researching rides for his next book. He'd scouted the area. We were looking for a real rest stop, something with caffeine (for Cheryl, I swear). "There's a place called 'Oh Wow Cow' near here," Tom said. With a name like that...

Good coffee, and they even let me use their bathroom. I have a knack for getting in where others fail. I must look pretty desperate. Or harmless.

A ride that's still in draft mode can have its problems. This one put us on a treacherous gravel road that went on far too long. At the end I looked at the road name. This explains everything:

We weren't too far from the end of the ride when we came upon the dam on Tohickon Creek that made Lake Nockamixon possible. I looked it up later. It was a WPA project.

Soon after we found a funky church:

PA has its share of goofy road names:

Tom took us through Perkasie, PA. I'd noticed that we'd been on Market Street for quite some time. We turned off on Fifth. The next cross street was Chestnut.

Wait a second.

"Hey, Tom. I bet the next one will be Walnut."

Sure enough. You can take the people out of Philly...

We turned, but I could see Spruce Street in the distance.

*****

2) Irene Remnants

Cheryl led a ride a week later. So many roads near Route 29 along the Delaware River were still closed that we wound up riding to the Wawa on Route 202 north of Flemington instead.

I went to the edge of the parking lot, to a small tree, where I reached up and hung from a branch to stretch my back. That's when I noticed the farm stand across the highway.

On the way home, at the top of the Sourland Mountain, power lines were still down. This is Lindbergh Road near Long Hill Road. I could have reached over and touched these wires, but my hair is frizzy enough already.

*****

3) Road Arrows

Anyone who cycles in central NJ, especially in the flats around Burlington County, has seen scores of arrows painted on the roads.

There's the PE arrow, ours, for the Princeton Free Wheelers annual event. There's the Rotary Club's R, the Project Freedom wheelchair, the Pumpkin Patch Pedal pumpkin. In the hills, the West Jersey Wheelmen have left their mark, and the Tour de Cure has its share there too.

Even after 11 years of riding these roads, some arrows remain a mystery. Who paints those mysterious A arrows in the flatlands? What about those right angle arrows? Once in a while there's a circle with an arrow on it.

Now we can add our Ride for McBride J arrows, both backwards and forwards.

The intersection of Sawmill and Extonville Roads at the southern edge of Hamilton Township has the highest arrow density around. Here's Plain Jim waiting patiently for me to take a picture of the intersection:

Now, there are arrows and there are arrows.

Allow me to explain.This year's Princeton Event had a rest stop in Millstone Township, Ocean County. Shortly before the Event, volunteers dutifully painted century and metric arrows on Schoolhouse Road. The day of the Event, a Schoolhouse Road resident -- we'll call him a meathead, because that's what Chris Cook called him -- took it upon himself to cover the arrows with black paint. This happens every so often. Chris, as he always does, served as the Event's SAG wagon. When it came to the organizers' attention that these arrows had been blacked out, Chris was dispatched with two cans of paint. He did not, however, have a PE arrow stencil.Not a problem.As we rounded the corner on Millstone that day, 25 miles into our century, we came upon him as he set about to fix the problem.

"I figured that if whoever blacked out those arrows was going to do it again," he later told me, "he'd have a hell of a lot of work to do. By then the Event would be over."Because I didn't get pictures at the time, Chris and I rode over two weeks ago so that I could capture his artwork. Not that I needed to. Those arrows will be on Schoolhouse Road until the end of time.

*****

4) Other Miscellaneous Snapshots

Another Cheryl-led ride took us up the Gulick Road hill near 179. (There are two Gulicks. The other is outside of Oldwick.) I'd never been up it before.

A lone tree asked me to get all artsy and shit. If I had the patience for messing with my photographs, these would be more art and less shit:

This is the intersection of Schoolhouse and Millstone Roads, facing away from Chris' arrows.

On our way home from the art exhibit, we had to wind our way around roads that were closed because of the NJ Turnpike widening project. The plan is to broaden the highway from two lanes to six in each direction from Exit 6 to 8A. It's a sea of orange mud out there. Every overpass has to be widened as well. Some are being done off to the side. Others are completely closed. Nothing has taught me my way around the flatlands better than having to plan around road closures. Gone are the days when we could just more or less point our bikes in the direction we wanted to go; not that I could ever even do that well.Back when the project was a mere twinkle in the NJTP Authority's eye, I read the Environmental Impact Statement, all thousand or so pages of it. Never did they justify the twelve lanes. Like a sports car going from zero to sixty, the plan went from four to twelve with barely a passing paragraph on what might happen if they stopped at, say, eight lanes, or ten. We enviros knew then that we weren't going to stop the project, but we put up a good fight anyway.So, here Chris and I were, stopped at the one good thing I've found in this whole mess: a port-a-potty.And now, some snapshots of the Garden State as Turnpike drivers see it:

*****

5) So Long to Roy's

I don't know what it is with the Cranbury flatlander crowd, but they all seem to love the Clarksburg Deli. Cheryl has a different name for it: "Le Chateau." Chris embellished it to "Le Chateau de Ptomaine."

A couple of miles away, on Millstone Road, not too far from Chris' artwork, is Roy's Deli. Unlike Clarksburg, this place has clean bathrooms, potable water, and snacks that haven't passed their expiration dates. Outside are two picnic tables. Behind the store is a farm field.

Back in the day (I can say that now), Biker Bob used to stop here. I still remember getting a flat, or dropping my chain, on my 1983 Raleigh Grand Prix,as we pulled into Roy's during my first summer as a Free Wheeler. I didn't know how to fix anything, so Bob volunteered. He reached for the bike and, as he moved it, declared, "This thing weighs a TON!" Well, yeah, Bluestreak was a hefty gal, but she was the first bike I'd paid for with my own money. $250 brand new, and worth every penny.

Anyway, I digress.

As of September 30, and 15 years of serving the community, Roy's was to be no more. "We lost our lease," the woman behind the counter told me. "I have two children. I don't know what I'm going to do."

A week later I subbed for Larry and led a dozen Free Wheelers to Roy's for our Fall Picnic all-paces ride.

Last Sunday, October 2, we passed by on the Pumpkin Patch Pedal. It was still early in the morning. There was one truck in the driveway. The neon sign in the window said, "open."

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 24 September

2011-09-22T10:59:00.000-07:00

22 September 2011I had grand ideas for this weekend: a metric to Oldwick, perhaps, or a ride up the river to Milford.The weather has other ideas.If we ride at all, we'll have to take what Tom calls the "inland route" and stick close to home.If the roads are dry, let's start at 9 a.m. from the YMCA parking lot at the Hopewell administration building on Main Street across from Ingleside Avenue in Pennington. We'll leave it up to the sky to determine how far we go.Sunday is the Free Wheelers' fall picnic. It starts from the East Picnic Area of Mercer County Park this time. I've been conscripted to lead a B ride if the group gets too big. Plan to get lost if you follow me...

Scenes from the Ride for McBride

2011-09-18T14:54:00.000-07:00

18 September 2011

I really should plan these things better. When I posted here that we'd start from Mercer County Park at 6:45 a.m., I really wasn't thinking about how dark it is in early September at 6 a.m.

At 6:15 I stood at the front window, dressed in a used, too-big, red, DeRosa jersey that Joe had handed me down last year ("I can't wear this," I'd whined. "It's got a heart on it!"). I had one hand on Burnaby and the other around a mug of coffee. "What do you think?" I asked the cat. "I think I should try it." It was only going to get lighter, after all. Burnaby would have rathered I stay home with my hand sunk into his fur all day, but I had a ride to lead and a charity event to take part in.

At 6:20 I lit out in the big ring, knowing full well that a) it would take me all or more of the 25 minutes I'd given myself to get to the park's East Picnic Area entrance; and b) that, on a 90-plus-mile ride, one should not start at a sprint.

Mist hung over the fields on Baker's Basin Road but I didn't stop. I had to, though, at the park entrance on Hughes Drive.

I really should think these things through. First, we'd had a wet summer. Then we had Irene. Less than a week later, bits of Lee dumped more water on us. Nevertheless, I chose to take the shortcut, the macadam path through the woods to the East Picnic Area.

All was fine and well until the path dipped down by the arching wooden bridge over the Assunpink. Between me and the bridge, a good hundred feet or so, lay a puddle that extended well to the sides of the path. Going around wasn't an option.

Fine, I thought. I'll just wade through it. I didn't have time to go back onto the road. So I dismounted and began to walk. The water was cool around my toes, ankles, calves, um, is that a milepost up there, barely showing above the water? Right. This ain't happening. I turned around, but not before dropping my rear-view mirror into the water.

Two shoes, two socks, and one glove soaked, I sloshed back out of the puddle, shoved the mirror in my pocket, and sprinted back up the path. I cut across the grass to the road, more than five minutes late already.

As I turned into the park, Ron and Plain Jim were heading towards me. "I'm sorry," I began, but Ron cut in.

"Did you go through the woods?"

"I tried. Did you?"

"Yeah. I turned around." He got about as far as I did.

While Ron and Plain Jim signed in, I documented more of Lee:

This is a field, not a pond.

Despite our late, soggy beginning, we got to Tall Cedars well before the Ride for McBride began. We'd only planned for about 80 riders, figuring that, with about 40 pre-registered, we'd get that many more this day. I'm not a good judge of these things, but there seemed to be a lot of cars parked already.

We found Mike B and Theresa, who had planned to go on their own. We found Cheryl, who was waiting to leave with Ira's group until I told her that he wasn't setting out for another half hour. We found some more Hill Slugs and other Free Wheelers. Cheryl talked Mike into riding with her. Theresa decided to go with us.

When we left the park, we were twenty strong, Cheryl's people and mine and other Free Wheelers mixed in. More than half of us were wearing red, Joe's favorite color.

When Irene came through, the day after two of the three routes' arrows had been painted, she left us with a handful of closed roads and two bridges out. We tried not to panic; we let things dry out instead. By mid-week, only one bridge remained closed. It was an at-grade stream crossing on Old York Road, blocked only by barrels and concrete barriers. The road itself was safe, and we could get through.

In the middle of the pack, heading east on 526, I marveled at the number of Free Wheelers who had come out to remember Joe. A wave of sadness hit me. Then I thought, "Joe hated riding in big groups." If he'd agreed to do this at all, he'd have jumped off the front or left on his own, maybe taking a select few of us with him.

Joe didn't like hills either, so, when I put the 25- and 50-mile routes together, I made sure to include Hill Road as a big "fuck you" to the master himself.

It's only fitting, then, that my rear tire started to go soft after the second of the seven hills of Hill Road. I squished my way up four more before the rim hit the road. Everyone had passed me. Plain Jim circled back to help. Anyone who rides with me knows I'm allergic to rubber. If I don't have to touch the stuff I won't. At home I'll fix a flat and slather my hands with cortisone; on the road, I get help.

Mike B came up from behind. Chris materialized. Little Joe and a stranger gathered around. "Cheryl dropped me," Mike said as he pried the tire from the rim without the aid of a lever. I don't know how he does that. It takes me two levers and a bloody knuckle to change a flat.

We found a half-inch slit in the tire, but that wasn't the source of the slow leak. I patched it with duct tape. Mike found the offending piece of gravel elsewhere on the tire and pried it out. I handled the CO2 cartridge and wrestled the wheel back onto the frame. It wasn't the fastest flat-fix in history, but we didn't take long either.

Chris said, "They didn't wait. They said they'd meet you at the rest stop." How sporting of them. On the other hand, Joe used to do that sometimes too. If he had a head of steam on, he'd just keep going.

As we rolled into the rest stop, I called out, "I just want to give a hearty 'fuck you' to all those people who ditched me back there when I had a flat!"

Everyone laughed, including riders I'd never before laid eyes upon. Of course. Everyone here knew Joe. Mighty Mike and a few others apologized, but when I emerged from the bathroom, they were all gone.

Mike B had left as well, to finish the ride at his own speed, unhurried, the way he'd wanted to ride all along.

Little Joe got a call from the manager of the recreation park, so we waited for him to relay the closing instructions to the rest stop volunteers. Now there were just six of us: Chris, Plain Jim, me, Theresa, Little Joe, and another Chris.

When we turned onto the road leading through Fort Dix, we dropped the hammer. It's hard not to on that road in any case; now I had vengeance on my mind. Browns Mills-Cookstown Road has traffic lights, it's flat, it has a wide shoulder, and there's really not much to see but miles and miles of Pinelands forest interrupted every now and then by signs for bivouacs or shooting ranges.

At this pace, I figured, we'd catch up to those who had dropped us not once, but twice now.

Along Mirror Lake in Browns Mills we saw Mike B. He'd stopped for a snack. "You all right?" I asked as I passed by.

"Yeah," he said. I saw Theresa say something to him, but she didn't stop either.

Still hammering, we turned back up the road we'd come in on. Little Joe and the other Chris were falling behind.

Approaching Cookstown, I saw riders ahead. "That's got to be the rest of them," I said, and kept the pace. We decided that if we caught them we should blow right by them.

At the next turn we were close behind. They were only three now: Cheryl, George, and Newell. I sped up.

Cheryl looked over. "Heyyyyy!" she called out.

"Paybacks are a bitch!" I hollered and kept on going. Plain Jim passed me. I was tired. "I can't keep this up," I said. We slowed down, the four of us ahead of Cheryl's group. Behind us I counted more than three helmets. Little Joe and the other Chris must have caught up to them.

We only had a few more miles to go.

On Iron Bridge the drizzle started. As we walked our bikes into the shelter of the picnic pavilion, it was really raining.

Everyone was back not too long after that, and the rain had stopped.

Little Joe was annoyed. We'd dropped him. "I thought you were with Cheryl!" I said.

"I never saw her."

Oh, shit. What a horrible thing to do, and on this ride especially. I couldn't apologize enough.

The pavilion was a sea of red Ride for McBride and blue Penn t-shirts. The McBride family army worked the grill, doling out hamburgers and veggie burgers. We milled about until Jared, Joe's son, started talking.

He thanked all the riders and the volunteers. Then he started to talk about his father and halted. Hold it together, man, I thought. The pavilion fell silent. Judy, Joe's widow, came over and, arm in arm, Jared continued.

I don't remember everything he said, but Jared talked about how Joe, a bereavement counselor, always spoke of the strength of community in helping to heal a loss. Jared also told us that Joe often said, "He who laughs, lasts."

We hung around a while longer, Little Joe and I plotting next year's route. "We should leave it the same next year and change it after that," he said. Mike B grumbled that we'd run out of burgers. Someone said that we'd had a hundred riders. I thanked Jared for keeping all of us organized.

Mike B wanted some extra miles, so he headed home the traffic-y way on his bike while Theresa drove by herself.

Jim and I went back by ourselves. I pedaled home through the park, on the road this time, keeping my eye on a threatening sky that never did rain.

When I got home, I sent this to Little Joe:

I,[OLPH], hereby proclaim

that[Little Joe] has

ONEFREE PASS

DROPMY ASS

Tobe used at Joe’s discretion

atany time.

You can still donate, and get one of these groovy t-shirts designed by Jenna, Joe's daughter, by going to Ride for McBride.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, 10 September 2011: Ride to the Ride for McBride

2011-09-07T19:56:00.000-07:00

We know some are backwards.

(photo: Mighty Mike Moorman)

7 September 2011

Joe loved long, flat rides, so we're going to add to the 50-mile Ride for McBride route.

We'll have two starting points. The first will be the East Picnic Area of Mercer County Park, on Edinburg Road in West Windsor. It's 12.5 miles from the park to Tall Cedars Picnic Grove in Crosswicks. A round-trip will give us 75 miles. There will be breakfast food at the picnic grove in the morning and lunch in the afternoon. Meet at Mercer County Park at 6:45 a.m. This will give anyone who hasn't registered plenty of time to do so at Tall Cedars.

The second starting point is at Tall Cedars (245 Sawmill Road, Crosswicks). We'll gather for an 8:00 a.m. departure.

Joe's favorite cycling color was red. If you've got a red jersey, wear it.

If anyone has any questions or wants another 14 miles on top of the 75, email me at perpetualheadwinds at gmail for the starting time from my house.

See you on Saturday!

P.S. A prize or something goes to the first person who can tell me why we chose this arrow pattern.

Tropical Storm Irene

2011-08-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

Tropical Storm Irene (source: Wikipedia)

28 August 2011

Tuesday's little earthquake was entertaining enough. Hurricane Irene promised more excitement. By the time she reached us, she was a mere tropical storm.

On Friday evening, Mike M. and I were painting bike route arrows on country roads between Crosswicks and New Egypt. The sky looked, well, wrong. Black clouds were pushing in over a pink sky. Saturday morning's forecast had the rain holding off until around noon. Cheryl, via email, coaxed me out of bed and onto my bike. She led eight of us over the Sourland Mountain. Every so often we got drizzled on; I cajoled her into keeping the route short.

We got home well before the rain came down, and boy, did it come down. Our back yard became a pond, our street a river. A current of water made its way slowly across our back porch, never quite reaching our door. I checked in on the spider that's been living for weeks between the glass and the screen in one of our front windows. She was curled into a ball. Once in a while the lights would flicker. I knew that soon enough they would go out; they always do when we have a storm.

Given what anyone living near the Raritan, Assunpink, Delaware, Passaic, or any other NJ river, is experiencing right now, we got off easy. Our power went out for a few hours around four in the morning, but it was back on in time for Jack's breakfast tea. I spent the day in front of the computer, first working on the Ride for McBride routes, and then doing work for my day job (which, I assure you, was far worse an experience than watching the rain blow sideways during last night's tornado warning).

While I was engaged in the self-torture known as data analysis, Mike B. and Theresa, having no power in their house, hopped into their car and headed towards Belmar in search of flood damage. Crazy and a little bit stupid, yes, but I was jealous anyway and insisted on pictures.

Theresa couldn't have known that the pictures she sent were of Big Joe's favorite rest stop spot in Belmar, nor that I'd been texting Belmar-fond Rebecca in Jersey City all day long; she was almost a refugee at our house but decided to hunker down instead.

Here's Mike in front of the Dunkin' Donuts. He's standing next to where we often lean our bikes. I think we sat at that table the last time we were there.

Here's a bit of gallows humor from a pizzeria:

Honestly, I think the beach looks much more interesting in this shot than any other time I've wandered across the street to take a look:

Theresa told me that Route 1 was flooded at Franklin Corner Road. That's about two miles from my house and maybe a mile from where Mike and Theresa live. She took the picture on the return trip, from the I-95 bridge. The barrier in the center is approximately three feet high.

A few minutes later, she sent me another one. Here, Mike is wading across the parking lot at Michael's Diner on Route 1 at Franklin Corner.

Every so often I checked Princeton University's home page. Usually a slight breeze will send trees toppling around there, so I wasn't surprised to read that every major road between home and the lab was closed. Power was out in some university buildings. The administration, still deciding what do do with us "nonessential personnel" on Monday, told us to check back at 7 p.m.

By 7 p.m. my brain was fried, so I headed outside to clean up the yard. The air was cool and dry, with a pleasant breeze. Crickets were chirping. The sky was turning blue again.

Here, after a few minutes in the yard, is the pile of damage wrought by Irene. Save for the leaves, it could be the pile of branches I drag to the curb at the end of each winter.

I went inside to open the windows. That's when I saw the branch on the garage roof outside of our bedroom window. I thought I'd heard a dull thud last night. It was too dark now to try to drag the branch down.

The phone rang. Jack answered and then called up to me: "Princeton's closed tomorrow."

I guess I'll have plenty of time to talk this branch off the roof.

My Life, Explained

2011-08-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

21 August 2011

All you need to do is look at this picture and you'll know all you need to know about my life during working hours. For the record, I'm a technician with a PhD. It's all pretty much true, except for the holding the baby part.

If this is too small to read, go to the original source: http://sotak.info/sci.jpg

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Sunday, 14 August CANCELED

2011-08-13T21:03:00.001-07:00

Go to the gym.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Sunday, August 14

2011-08-11T14:04:00.000-07:00

11 August 2011

From here, Sunday's forecast is looking 60% sucky. But, if it's not raining, let's meet at 8:30 a.m. at the Hopewell Administration Building/YMCA parking lot on Main Street, across from Ingleside, in Pennington. We'll aim for 45-50 miles but tailor it according to what the sky's plans are.

Stay tuned. I'll make the official call by 7:00 a.m. on Sunday.

Our land line is f'd, so email me with questions. If you have my cell number, that works, too.

Donations for Shannon Powers

2011-08-08T07:51:00.000-07:00

8 August 2011

Last night I spoke with John and Carolyn Powers about donations to charity
in their daughter's name. Although Shannon was not a cyclist, the idea we
came up with is something that she would have liked.

Free Wheelers who would like to help John and Carolyn honor Shannon can send
donations in her honor to Ride for McBride.

Ride for McBride, started by late Free Wheeler Joe McBride's family and
friends, is creating a scholarship at the University of Pennsylvania, where
Joe taught for many years.

Donations can be sent to Ride for McBride,2161 Pennington Rd, Ewing, NJ,
08638. More details about Ride for McBride can be found at rideformcbride.com.