Last-Minute Hills

Gulick Road, Rocktown

17 December 2023

I came up with the route at 7:30 p.m. on Friday night and listed the ride immediately after. Jim, Rickety, Pete G, Heddy, and Our Jeff signed up. 

The goal was to visit the Lambertville Bakehouse using roads I hadn't been on in a while. One of those roads was Mine Road from Stony Brook. It's been closed for years, reopening only recently. There are bollards at the bottom, meaning that cars can't use the road as a shortcut to Route 31. It also means we can haul ourselves up the 10% grade without cars getting in the way. There's more hill on the other side of 31, but that felt like nothing compared to what we'd just done.

We crossed 31 again at Woodsville Road, and once more at Rocktown. Here, Jim incited a mutiny, refusing to ride directly across. Instead, we all followed Pete the wrong way up 31 to where Rocktown Hill Road comes out on the other side. There is a wide shoulder on the northbound side or 31, and the line of sight is better there. Still, I'm not sure how much safer it is, what with us riding against traffic and all. 

When we got to Gulick Road, there were cows.

Those who didn't stop for the cows were around the corner, where there's that gap between the trees at a long driveway and you can see the next set of hills beyond Lambertville.

Before stashing my camera, I zoomed in for photos of the edge of the cow pasture we'd already passed.

We spent a long time on Route 179. It presents itself as a busy road, but it's not, really. There's a wide shoulder almost all the way down to Lambertville. There's also a stealth hill between Mount Airy-Harbourton and Mill Road that I always forget about.

And, in the middle of nowhere, there's a new Dollar General. What a strange place for a store like that.

We turned off on York Road and wound our way to the Lambertville Bakehouse. 

I like cookies and muffins. But I'm a fat woman trying to pass as normal. I have food issues. At a rest stop, I don't allow myself more than 200 calories, which is an energy bar from home, or the top of a muffin, or half a cookie. Those calories come out of my lunch allotment. This is why I buy muffins and cookies to take home. I can eat them later, after dinner, half at a time, if I plan things right. I've had this arm's-length reationship with food ever since I starved myself in high school. I was fat-shamed before that and have been fat-shamed since. It's especially difficult as a member of a bike club, where being lightweight is everything, and where I'm among skinny folks who have always been able to eat whaterver they want whenever they want. 

So when I saw the label on the first row of cookies in the case, I had a problem. "Bikini Killer," it said. I knew it was supposed to be funny, and, for anyone who doesn't have a body like mine, or is a man, I suppose it is. When it was my turn to order, I politely explained why the name of the cookie is problematic. The woman behind the counter said she'd let the owner know. 

Everyone in our group was happy with the baked goods. The coffee, from Homestead Coffee Roasters, could probably stand to be brewed a little stronger. It's a cozy place, but we were the only ones hanging out at the time. We'll come back. 

By our count, there are now four places to get coffee and baked goods in Lambertville: Luminary, Union, Bakehouse, and LTC. I should point out that Lambertville isn't big. 

We climbed out of the valley the usual way, up Rocktown and Dinosaur Hill. We cut over on Rock and spent some time on Route 579, all the way to Woosamonsa. 579 can be busy sometimes. I never feel that it's unsafe, even when the shoulder disappears, but I heard a complaint later. It's really no worse than some of the roads we frequent on the other side of Route 1.

If I'd stayed off of that road, we'd have had even more hills to contend with, in less distance. As it was, we were over my usual 50 feet per mile pattern. There was some patter in the parking lot at the end about whether or not I was starting our spring training early. Nah, I'm simply an asshole who waits until the last minute to come up with a route that isn't the same old thing. There's a reason we do the same old thing, of course: the same old thing has all the good roads.

Fog and Fixes

 

Harbourton-Woodsville Road

12/10/23

"Patchy fog, my ass!" I said to Racer Pete as I rolled into Twin Pines at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday.

I'd listed the ride late. Most of my regulars had better things to do. Heddy, Our Jeff, Racer Pete, Glenn F, and Andrew A were willing to follow me. The route was sort of Our Jeff's idea. He'd suggested Titusville so we could roll along the river for a while. I liked the idea because it would take me off of my usual roads.

Although I'd seen fog in the forecast, I wasn't thinking about it when I created the route. I feared for our lives when we got to the flashing light at the intersection of Route 31 and Ingleside. The fog hadn't let up. Fortunately, there's a clear line of sight at that crossing. We all made it. I said, "Good thing Jim isn't here. He'd be cursing me out," and made a mental note to go a different way next time.

As we waited at the light at Washington Crossing and Scotch, I said to Andrew, "This is almost rain." We made the left, and as we climbed toward Nursery Road, I saw that my jacket was wet. I seriously considered turning the group around.

The closer to the river we got, the drier it got. There was still enough fog at Washington Crossing to make for decent pictures. There was a fellow with a tripod and a real camera down by the water.

While we were there, we decided to make the stop a bathroom break. That's when Our Jeff noticed that his saddle was loose. He'd had the bike pretty well worked over and halfway renovated. This was his first ride since getting it back. 

How many Freewheelers does it take to find an Allen wrench that will fit under a saddle? Four, and that included taking the seat post out to better get at the bolt. Heddy's nifty ratchet tool got the seat post bolt loosened. My Allen wrench, the one L-shaped of its kind that I carry (the rest being the straight kind in a folding tool), turned out to be the right fit for the job. 

We left the valley via Church Road, which is a long, shallow grind with varying degrees of incline. "My Garmin doesn't count this as a hill!" Heddy said. We all know her Garmin is a liar.

To add to the climbing, I took us up Harbourton-Woodsville Road. The fog had lifted enough to expose some blue sky. I took a handful of pictures of the farm field at the intersection with Marshalls Corner-Woodsville Road.  

From there it was mostly downhill to Hopewell, where we were met by two other groups of cyclists. EZ was there with Gina and Stacey, doing Marty's route (he had to cancel). Linda M had come up to lead a Philadelphia Bike Club ride out of Yardley; she had a few people in tow.

Boro Bean is the old Seargeantsville General Store of Mercer County.

I was wearing my jacket with the ginormous rear pocket. Two muffins went in with room to spare. 

From Boro Bean to Pennington directly is less than ten miles. To make our round trip 40 miles, I'd come up with a creatively roundabout way to get back to Twin Pines. I could have made it worse, although I did put in Province Line southbound from Route 518. 

Every so often, I stop at the southern end to get a picture of the road with the Sourland Mountain in the background. 

We zigged and zagged some more, crossing paths with Linda's group at one point. 

As we climbed on Carter from ETS to Rosedale, Heddy said, "Garmin calls this a hill! It's barely 3 percent!" Best we could figure, a hill is only a hill if the grade stays constant over some mysterious distance.

When we reached Lawrenceville-Pennington Road at Blackwell Road, I deputized Our Jeff to lead the group the mile or so back to the start. I went the other way, towards Hart's.

I was there to pick up Kermit; poor, neglected Kermit, now with a new stem to make my back happy.

Janice, with nearly 2400 miles on her, could use a once-over and whatever firmware upgrades are out there. The tires are worn, too. The rear one is already flat at the contact patch. I had previously told Ross that Janice's new stem worked well enough, but that my back still hurt when I went to hammer in the big ring. With Kermit, he took that into consideration. 

Ross showed me what he'd done for Kermit and wrote down the new measurements. My task was to hammer home on Kermit, now that my back was already a little sore, and let him know if the new configuration worked. If it did, he'd change Janice's stem again.

He handed me Janice's light battery, which I dropped into my rear pocket between the muffins. Then Heddy walked in with a holiday present for me*. I slid that into my pocket too. 

The three of us stood around for a while, mostly talking about cats.

Then it was time to ride home in the big ring. Kermit and I have almost 47000 miles together, but the last time I had him out was September, and before that, the July ride that got me 14 miles in before my back started screaming. 

This time, I was expecting to feel at least a little sore, because that's how I felt rolling into the bike shop on Janice. But no. Over the 7 mile trip home, which is mostly big-ring territory, I didn't feel the slightest twinge. The only thing I felt was how much harsher the ride is on aluminum wheels, even though Kermit is steel. 

When Janice is ready, it's Beaker's turn, then Miss Piggy's. I might even do Fozzie eventually. Rowlf, stuck on the trainer, will have to wait until spring. For now, I'm good for 40 minutes out of 45 of hard indoor climbing. 

This winter, I plan to take Kermit and Beaker out on Plain Jim's flatter Sunday rides. I have a lot of saddle time to make up to those two. 

(*Muppet socks! Dr Teeth and the Electric Mayhem on one pair, Bunsen and Beaker on the other! I'm wearing Bunsen and Beaker now. Comfy!)

Pie Crust

 

Van Kirk Road

2 December 2023

I wanted to lead a ride from Cafe du Pain in the Lawrence Shopping Center for two reasons: the bakery serves Haitian food on Fridays and Saturdays; and a route from there wouldn't be the same old thing.

Except that it sort of was. 

Minutes before I was about to coast downhill for a mile and a half to the starting point, Jim texted that he was going home because he'd forgotten his helmet. Nonsense. I have spares. He rode his bike up to my house. I gave him an old mountain biking helmet to wear. It sat on his head the way the top snowball sits on a snowman, but at least it was something. We coasted down to the shopping center together.

We were joined by Heddy, Pete G, Andrew A, Racer Pete, and Tony G.

We went north, winding through neighborhoods until we got to the Pole Farm. The day had started off damp and clammy. When we got to the farmlands, there was dense fog in the fields. I had to stop on Van Kirk and dig out my cell phone because I left my real camera at  home.

My iPhone 12 has digital zoom. Here are pixellated cows behind a pixellated fence in a pixellated field in pixallated fog.

When I'd mapped the route, I got about 1700 feet of elevation gain over 40 miles. This is less than my usual 50 feet per mile. So far, we'd had a few bumps, but no real climbs.

That changed when we took Province Line over the Stony Brook and then Pretty Brook and Cleveland. None of these hills are steep, but when one has been lulled into slightly rolling terrain, one gets annoyed. 

Then there's the stealth hill up Carter to Cherry Valley. And Province Line the easy way. Still, nothing really daunting.

Racer Pete got a flat on Camp Meeting, which was convenient. It gave us a break before we went up Belle Mead-Blawenburg Road to the Blawenburg Bistro. Again, a little hill. Plain Jim said I'd lost my right to complain about the annoying hills on his route. I said that this wasn't as bad as Oppossum. Same ridge, smoother pavement.

My toes were cold. I was glad that most of us decided to eat inside. Pete G was served a hunk of bread pudding half the size of a cinder block. Heddy and I each had pumpkin ube scones once we found out that ube is the Japanese sweet potato. Jim had a cupcake with icing that sat on top the way his helmet fit. 

The route went east from there, then south on Cherry Hill. I hadn't been on this road in years and years. On a slight incline, Pete G zipped past us. "It's the bread pudding," I explained to Andrew. 

"Did he eat the whole thing?"

"Near enough as not to make a difference."

There was a real hill on Cherry Hill once we got across Cherry Valley. Then we rode the ridge through more highest-end real estate. We looped through a neighborhood off of Province Line that had hills for no reason (neither geological nor mine), then made our way back towards Pennington. 

By this point, Andrew and both Petes had peeled off for home. I promised only one more hill, a small one, as we approached Princeton Pike. "Then it really is all downhill."

"I don't believe you," Tony said. "Promises are like pie crust: meant to be broken."

Then the sun came out.

I told Jim to keep the helmet in his car, and traded it for a string backpack so I could carry two kinds of Haitian beans and rice back to my house. I added some pastries, because why not. Heddy got the last of the plantains. 

I had to wipe Janice down before I brought her inside. We have more than 2300 miles together now. That's more than half my total for the year. This feels wrong.

Both Kermit and Beaker need new stems so that my back won't hurt. In any other year, I'd have taken care of this six months ago. But it's so easy to grab Janice and go. When I got the new bike, I promised I'd still ride the others. Pie crust.

Also, when I uploaded the ride, it came out to 2000 feet of elevation gain. So much for something different.

Autumn Miscellany

 

Herman Black Rd

26 November 2023

We've finally had some decent weekend weather recently. Here's a handful of snapshots from a few bike rides.

This is Canal Road, somewhere north of the Griggstown firehouse, I think. It's that wet spot on the northbound side. I was riding up to meet Plain Jim's group. It was the morning of the Princeton Half-Marathon, and the roads through town had been closed. I deliberately left home late enough to avoid the runners. I gave myself extra time in case I had to detour; I didn't have to. I got farther along on Canal Road than I'd thought I would, so I stopped for some pictures.

This Thanksgiving weekend, I got out three days in a row. On Friday, a small group of us rode one of Tom's Allentown to New Egypt routes. This photo was taken on Herman Black Road near the Sykesville Road intersection.

Leaving New Egypt, Tom's route avoids nearly all of Hawkin Road by winding through several miles of hilly real estate. I'd only gone this way once or twice before. I had no idea where we were or which way we were pointing until we came out on the northern side.

What made that ride extra fun was that, somehow, I'd disconnected my GPS from my Di2 shifting system. It's not a big deal. I don't need them to be talking to each other; it's merely convenient. I was befuddled until I got home and found that the sensor had somehow been renamed "Llllllllleeeeeemmmiiii." I'd seen that on my screen, figured I was picking up someone else's system, and disconnected it.  I blame the kitten, who was on my lap when I was downloading the weekend's routes. When I deleted the nonsense and entered "Janice," the GPS found my bike.

Yesterday was cold. We'd been planning a ride on the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail. Late Friday afternoon, I decided to list the ride. Both new takers ended up canceling, so I wound up with the same folks I'd have been with had I not made the event official. 

The only time I stopped for photos was on the Province Line Road bridge over the Stony Brook.

Ridewithgps says the climb out of the valley is an 8% grade. I think that's an underestimate. 

Today I went on Plain Jim's ride. There was rain in the forecast for early afternoon. While it wasn't as cold as yesterday, the clouds made things gloomy. I was out late the night before, so I drove to the ride instead of meeting the group somewhere on Canal Road. I'm glad I did, because the rain started half a mile from the end of the ride. In the summer, I don't mind getting wet on my way home. When it's this cold, though, I'd spend the rest of the day shivering. Since I had the car, I took the long way home, stopping at Boro Bean for a big ol' box of muffins. 

Sleep is Everything

 

Mount Airy

5 November 2023

When it comes to my being able to ride my bike without falling apart, sleep is everything. 

Duh.

Despite knowing this, more often than not, I enter the weekend sleep-deprived. Lately, I've made a point to break this habit. This means sometimes going to bed ridiculously early, so early that I sequester myself in a small, dark room, on a sofa bed, until Jack is ready to sleep (because reasons), at which point I stumble into the bedroom. It's not ideal. The sofa bed isn't as comfortable, and walking around an hour and a half into what should be sleep is disruptive, but it's better than 7 hours or less.

That, and a lot of extra PT for my back.

Saturday was the second rain-free Saturday in a row. I had to be home early, and so did Heddy, so I led a relatively short* ride with 7 other people to Sergeantsville.

Our destination was the Covered Bridge Market. This is a new cafe where the Bagel Barn used to be. There'd been some talk about it on the PFW's Facebook presence and I wanted to test their coffee game. 

The first thing we noticed was that there are two, count them, two, bike racks. They even have indented slats at the base to keep wheels from rolling. 

They redid the entrance well. I do miss the ceramic pig though,

Inside is spacious. The food selection is eclectic. They focus on coffee. Heddy's measure is whether or not a place can make a good cortado. These folks did well. There's a smattering of carbs, some lunchmeats, and a bit of prepared food off to the sides. 

The group liked the market. I've always felt like a traitor when I've gone past the Sergeantsville General Store. Not so much lately. When Sun retired and the new owners took over, there were some repairs to the place. Recently, though, it's fallen back into decrepitude. Sun made the decay charming. These new folks, not so much, 

The Covered Bridge Market has only been open since Labor Day. It might take a while for them to find their footing. It strikes me as the sort of place one would see in Lambertville or New Hope, not up in the hills of red-hat Hunterdon County. I wish them well. 

Our way back was more direct. I stopped for the cows at the top of Mount Airy. One rider, new to the group, wasn't aware of our (well, my) tradition and continued along the road without us.

I took the camera out again as we collected ourselves at the corner of Pennington-Harbourton and Bear Tavern.

After the ride, Heddy showed us the rough ideas for the 2023 ride leader jerseys. I don't normally take pictures of people, but the combination of Jim's dapper hat and his day-glow orange jacket over green suspenders was worth the shot.

Too bad you can't see the suspenders.

I don't normally do two hilly rides in a row either. In anticipation of having to do four or five hilly days in a row in nine months (I know, I know), I signed up for Dave S's Sunday Sourlands ride to Lambertville. It was listed as a C+ ride with the same elevation gain as mine over a few more miles. 

We got an extra hour to sleep last night. That helped. The ride was designed to be relaxed, and it was. The group was so large that some of us split off and went to Luminary Coffee while the rest crammed themselves into Lambertville Trading Company. It came down to which one did the better cortado (I don't know the answer). 

On our way back, I was at the front and turned onto Alexauken Creek Road from Route 29. I could swear that's what my GPS told me to do. A few hundred yards in, though, my GPS was telling me I was off course. Our Jeff was with me. The rest were close behind us. Dave S pulled up. He had planned the route when Alexauken Creek Road was still closed. We were supposed to have turned on Lambertville Headquarters. 

I apologized for leading the group astray. "I like this road better though," I added. "So do I," he said. We picked up the planned route at the other end, cutting off a couple of miles that nobody seemed to miss. 

Our last climb was the most difficult, up Rileyville from Saddle Shop. Before we started, I told Bolong, "The good thing about this hill is that you can see what's coming. The bad thing is that you can see what's coming." I think starting from Saddle Shop rather than Wertsville eases the agony a little; even though Rileyville is flat at Saddle Shop, there's enough of an ascent before it to take some oomph out of your legs. Anyway, we all made it up. 

There was that little bump at the top of Lindbergh, but we'll let that slide. The rest was downhill.

My legs are less sore now than they were after yesterday's ride. Sleep is everything.

(*Anything under 40 miles is short. This one came in at 39, although, with my ride in from home, I stretched it to 46 miles, which counts as a real ride.)

Between Rainy Saturdays, Century #68

 

                               Moxie Shenanigans, 3/24/11-10/11/23                                                                              Etra Lake 10/18/23

3 November 2023

I realize it's been over a month since I've written a blog post. 

A lot has been going on, plus, I'd been spending so much time at my computer at work that I wasn't interested in sitting in front of it at home too.

I: Rainy 77

Let's rewind to September 30, the last time it was not supposed to rain on a Saturday. I had eyes on Mike V's Sprague Memorial Century scheduled for the following week. With that in mind, I led a metric out of Mercer County Park and added to it by riding in from home. After so many rainy weekends, I'd lost any distance training I'd had.

The forecast was right on that line between dry and wet. Only Plain Jim, Rickety, and Pete G were willing to join me. We rode in and out of something more than fog and less than mist. A few miles before our 20-mile rest stop at Roy's, we rode through actual rain.

At the break, I asked them if they wanted to go on or go home. "Let's keep going," Rickety said. Jim and I agreed. Pete said, "Majority rules."

I got a photo of the sky to the west. We were headed south.

Only later, when I took a longer look at this photo, did I realize how wet the roads were.

We got drizzled on again before we reached New Egypt. We were dry by the time we stopped at Charleston Coffee.

Our route back was more direct, but uphill into the wind on Province Line Road. That's when we got rained on for real. 

Naturally, the sun came out as soon as I coasted into my driveway. I gave Janice a bath and cleaned her chain. I was grimy, but at least I got some training in before the century...

...which ended up being canceled due to rain...

II: RIP Moxie

...which ended up being a good thing, because Moxie needed my attention. I'd noticed a change in his behavior. He was around us a lot more, and licking more surfaces than was usual for him. In May, he'd lost his half-brother. We expected things to change between him and Glooskap, and sometimes it can take months for that to settle into a pattern. I was a little worried, though, because Burnaby had died suddenly at 13 and Moxie was now 12.5. Glooskap was scheduled for a checkup, so I added Moxie to the appointment.

The day before the rainy New Egypt ride, Moxie had a bout of messy diarrhea and then a forceful vomit. I packed him up and took him to the vet. He had a fever. The vet felt a thickening in his digestive tract, which could have been as benign as an infection with inflammation, or as malignant as lymphoma. We scheduled an ultrasound for the next available day, the following Tuesday. They hydrated him, took blood and urine, and sent me home with antibiotics and an appetite stimulant.

He ate voraciously when we got home, and seemed to be more himself. That lasted for a few hours. By the next morning, the day I would have been on the century ride, I was force-feeding him, trying to stimulate his appetite. In the afternoon, we were back at the vet for more hydration. He wasn't in dire enough condition to warrant hospitalization, so I took him home again. The hydration helped. He ate a little, and even got a bit goofy when I spent a while petting him. 

But when I got back from the PFW Fall Picnic, where I led a ride, Moxie had again stationed himself in the one carpeted room we have left, moving from one spot to another, watching the world and not eating. I took him back to the vet on Monday morning. The supportive care I was administering at home wasn't enough. They admitted him for an overnight stay, since his ultrasound was scheduled for the next day anyway.

In the hospital, he improved. He ate voraciously. "Clinically, he's doing great," the vet said. They gave him a dose of gabapentin for his utrasound, which would calm him down while they scanned his digestive tract.

They found two obstructive masses and a thickening in between. It was advanced lymphoma. The only course of action was to try steroids, which work well in cats with less advanced lymphoma than his to reduce inflammation and hold tumor growth at bay. 

I took him home. He seemed more like himself than he had been in days. I went off to glassblowing class. Jack texted me pictures of Moxie eating, hanging out on the washing machine (one of his favorite spots), and being investigated by Glooskap.

When I got home at 10:00, Moxie was still on the sofa. I brought down his meds. He didn't resist at all when I opened his mouth to pill him. All the energy had gone out of him. The gabapentin had worn off.

At midnight, as I was dropping something off in the kitchen, he wandered in. "Well hello!" I said. "Can I interest you in some food?" He walked over to it, sniffed it, and walked out, back downstairs to his carpeted corner. His eyes looked sunken.

The next morning, he was still in his corner, lethargic, with brown discharge under his nose, last night's food regurgitated through his nostrils. I sat on the stairs in my pajamas and called the vet. "I can't do this to him anymore." At 8:40 a.m., we euthanized Moxie Shenanigans Bananigans Benanabrain Mox MoxMox MoxOx MoxOxOx Moxford Moxpox Moxinpox Moxwox Moxinfay Lord Mox Moxington Moxo Pinknose Nosepink FirstUpTheStairs Fourthkitten.

III: Hello, Clementine

Glooskap needed a friend. On Saturday afternoon, we drove up to SAVE to enquire about adopting a young cat or bonded pair. I filled out an application. Visits are by appointment only; without a specific animal in mind, we were told to check the website. The receptionist said she'd call us if they found a match.

We hadn't been home more than a few hours when SAVE called back. Abbot and Costello, a pair of black and white brothers, six months old, were available. We could visit them the next day at 3:00. I checked their bios. They were described as skittish. I wasn't sure if Glooskap would bond with a pair of scaredy-cats. After all, Mojo and Moxie were that way too. 

I wondered what Glooskap would think if we brought these two home. Would he think he was seeing double? I looked at their profiles some more, and by the end of the evening I had picked out their names: Reginald and Bertie. As in Jeeves and Wooster. How original. 

When we met them the next day, they were more interested in playing on the floor than they were in meeting us. Abbot interacted a little. Costello kept his distance. 

I heard a little meow from another cage. Inside was a golden-eyed calico kitten crying for attention. "What's her backstory?" I asked. The volunteers weren't sure. "Can we see her?"

They handed her to me, and she melted into my arms, purring. Her shelter name was Acorn. "We'll take her," I said. 

I named her Clementine because she has little oranges. 

The next day had already been scheduled for Glooskap's annual checkup. We added Clementine to the visit. She and Glooskap met between bars of their carrying cages. 

She lived in the bathroom for a handful of days.

Next, we put her in Jack's office with Glooskap. He was wary at first, then curious. Clementine, used to being around strange cats, explored the room, climbed and swatted at things, and sniffed Glooskap as just another object in the room. Glooskap inched closer. He put himself at the top of the cat tower, where he could maintain dominance.

A few days later we gave her run of the house. 

Clementine is the eigth kitten Jack and I have brought in. She's the first directly from a shelter, the rest having been home fosters. We don't know how long she was in a cage, but when we let her loose, she zoomed around the house at such speed I was worried I wouldn't be able to catch her for her next vet visit in two weeks. 

When she finally figured out the place, she settled into a pattern of following Glooskap everywhere. She'd charge at him, just another toy, and he'd give her a tentative swat back. By the end of the week, they were following each other around. It didn't take much time after that for the two of them to play together, wrestling and tumbling across the floor for the better part of an hour at at a time. If I wasn't sure where Clementine was, all I needed to do was see which way Glooskap was pointing.

In her quieter moments, Clementine is definitely a lap cat. She enjoys the bed, what with so many toes to pounce on. For the past couple of nights, she's taken to sleeping in the crook of my neck, between me and Jack.

If Glooskap is tired enough, he'll even cuddle with Clementine.

There are times, though, that she gets on his last nerve. She doesn't care. He deserves it, for all the times he badgered Moxie after Mojo died.

IV: Getting Ready for the Century

I was way behind in distance training. I hadn't done anything more than 40-something miles in a month.

The day we brought Clementine home, I rode into Plain Jim's Hopewell ride and took the long way home with Pete and Jack H. It still didn't even reach 40 miles, and, to make things worse, I got another flat 3 miles from home. I spent what felt like half an hour fixing it because it took so long to get the tire on and off the rim. When I got home, I asked Plain Jim for advice on a portable lever that works with tough bead-rim combinations. He recommended the Tire Monkey. Fortunately, I haven't had the chance to test it out.

One Saturday later, it rained.

When Plain Jim listed a Sunday ride to Montgomery the next day, I decided to ride in from home and leave the group after the rest stop so that I could head to Hopewell for muffins and somehow stretch his 37-mile ride into a metric. Needing two pockets for muffins, I didn't bring my camera.

Luis was good enough to send me a couple of photos he took from the corner of East Mountain and the Great Road.

I squeezed 62 miles out of that ride. I felt a little better about the upcoming Sprague Memorial Century, although by this point I assumed it would rain again.

As October 28 approached, the forecast for good weather held. 

I decided to burn up a vacation day on October 25. I have so many now that soon I won't accrue any more. Tom led a ride from Allentown that would cover some of the same roads as the century would. Pete and Rickety were there too. 

Pete chided me about not having the good life of a retired person.

During a detour into Etra Lake Park for a bathroom break, I got some photos of the lake. I think this day was our peak color day.

Somewhere near Rickety's stomping grounds is a farm, where "he grows corn so nobody can take pictures of his sunflowers." 

I found a break in the corn and, out of spite, snapped some photos of the pumpkin patch.

On our way back, we went through the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area.

Next to the Reed Recreation Area parking lot, a tree in full color popped out from behind a field of corn,

V: Finally, the Century

If I hadn't been determined to get my minimum of two 100-mile rides in each year, I wouldn't have signed up for this one. I've done my share of October centuries. The wind is always up, and the early morning starts are chilly. 

Originally scheduled for September, then rained out twice, it looked like this one would actually happen. It would start at 8:00 from Cranbury, half an hour's drive from home. I planned to try to go to sleep at 10:00, no easy feat considering that my bedtimes have been creeping later and later this year. I was brushing my teeth around 9:30 when a text came through from Mike V. Due to a family emergency, he couldn't lead and was looking for volunteers.

I volunteered.

I didn't want to fire up my computer so close to bedtime. I'd looked at the route to get a general sense of where the hills and rest stops were, but a fair chunk of the course was on roads unfamiliar to me.

I drove to Cranbury with the sun low in the sky. In the parking lot, I tasked Luis with taking the faster riders in our group. "We'll stick together for the first half," he said.

Thirteen-ish miles in, he got a flat. I took a picture of a farm field (on Iron Ore or Daum) while we waited. Someone timed him at 8.5 minutes. He said that was a record.

We had a gentle tailwind out of the west. At our first rest stop in Jackson, we picked up Tom, who planned to ride with us to Avon By the Sea.

I'm glad he was with us, because I missed the turn onto the Edgar Felix bike trail off of Atlantic Avenue. Sorry, not sorry. I've been on it before, also on a century. I remember it as bumpy. Tom got us back onto the trail farther down, where, lucky for us, there was fresh blacktop for part of it. I think we missed about half of the trail. It was crowded, which is a good thing. 

We reached the coast in Manasquan and rode north through Spring Lake to Belmar. Our planned stop, at not quite 50 miles, was the same spot I use, 16th Avenue. It never occurred to me that chains like Dunkin and Playa Bowls would close for the season, but closed they were. All that remained was a hollowed-out pizza place. Even the trailer of bathrooms on the boardwalk was gone for the winter. In its place were two porta-potties with no toilet paper. There was one bathroom in the pizza joint. It had no light bulb, and, by the time I took my turn, no toilet paper either. A sympathetic cook let us use the employee bathroom instead. 

Janice in Belmar

I took some pictures of the beach. There were so many people there that I had to zoom in to crop them out.

I found an empty stretch, cordoned off by fences.

By this point, we'd already spent far too much time stopped. I motioned to the group that we needed to hit the road. Not everyone had made their entire way through their gargantuan pizza slices, but they were far enough along to pack up. 

We were missing Henry, Martin, and Mark. "Henry's body surfing," someone said. Mark was on the boardwalk, guarding Henry's clothes. Martin was on the shore, taking video of Henry's plunge.

Nope. Not waiting. I told Mark, "You guys signed up with Luis. My group is leaving."

We made it up to the Shark River inlet drawbridge before we had to stop again. It was a solid five minutes at least before the deck returned to horizontal, by which time Luis' group had caught up to us.

People watched the inlet while they waited.

In a crosswind, we tried to hold a steady pace while avoiding pedestrians and cars that were backing out of parking spaces.

Tom led us off-course to the convention center at Asbury Park for a group photo. I put Janice in the picture but kept myself out of it.

Tom left us there, directing us around the building. We eventually got back on course, on a busy road a block from the water. 

For much of our trek up the coast, we hadn't been able to see the water. The beach is often behind high sea walls. It was sometimes easier to see the shore when we were farther from it, when gaps between the gargantuan mansions of Deal let us look to the east.

If I'd ever been through Deal, I have no memory of it. I was gawping at the mansions, pointing out to Mark the more outrageous ones (think Borg starship, but with glass-lined balconies). "Hurricane food," I said. It was weird to see such opulence with basketball hoops in the driveways. 

We turned towards the shore at Long Branch, where the view of the beach was unobstructed. Then we were stuck in traffic again as cars backed up for several blocks where the bridge over the Shrewsbury River took us off of the coastline. 

I'd pulled the group up the coast. Now I was pulling them through Rumson. I got tired. I asked Mark and Len to take a pull. They got in front of me and dropped me right away. So there I was, pulling again.

We were relieved to find the Wawa in Red Bank, where we could get real food and use the bathrooms. Jason doused himself with what was left of a gallon of water. It was 80 degrees now.

The rolling hills started near Holmdel. I was in the middle of my 70-mile wall and started to fall towards the back of the pack. When we regrouped at a light, I was finished being polite.

"I pulled y'all up the coast and halfway through Rumson, and now that I'm tired you drop me. Thanks."

Heddy added, "Dial it down. Let's all finish together." Three cheers for Heddy!

At one point I could feel cramps coming on. I told the group they could go ahead, but they waited for me as I lay on my stomach in the grass at an intersection, stretching my back and digging through my bag for salt tablets. I found them quickly. It took as long for us to find a break in the traffic for the left turn as it had taken me to find and swallow the pills, but I was glad for the extra time. 

At another light, a few of the faster folks left the rest of us behind.

Ten miles from the end, Luis got another flat. I took the opportunity to stretch my back in the grass again. Rama took his shoes off and lay on his back. Kamaljit sat down next to him. Heddy and Martin checked their phones and took photos of Luis and company fixing his flat. This repair went faster that the first one. 

We made it back to the parking lot around 5:00, a full hour and a half after the stated return time in the ride description. 

So that was lifetime century number 68, during which I broke 2000 miles on Janice. My back, while still sore at times, fared much better than it had in July. I felt better all around this time. I came in at the pace I figured we'd reach, given the hills, wind, and meandering along the shore. The elevation gain for this century was about the same as my century route to the shore. There's no escaping the sand dunes of the Outer Coastal Plain when one rides to the beach from the western edge of the Inner Coastal Plain.

Now that my season's second century is out of the way, I can relax for a while. It won't be long before I have to start training for Nova Scotia, a mere nine months away.

VI: Another Thing

The day that Moxie was admitted to the hospital, I found out that our glassblowing classes are being canceled for the spring semester. We're apparently the most expensive class on campus. The Dean's office was not prepared for the outcry from 18 greedy glassblowers. With nearly 30 years of activism under my belt, I've became the spokesperson for the class. We don't know the full story. The bean counters have not heard the last from us. This will be the subject of a Hot Mess post, whenever it resolves, if it ever does.