5/21/11
I had more people this time. I tweaked the route a little, too, because there were a few roads on the ridge that I needed to ride on because of their names.
The first was Stone Signpost. The southern end of this road is in the woods, a tiny lane off of a tiny lane north of Sergeantsville. There was no modern street sign, just a stone post in the grass. The road makes a sharp right turn, still in the woods. And there was another stone signpost, hiding next to a tree:
At the end of the road, where it met 579, was another stone signpost.
Next was Harmony School. We were going east, which ended up being the right choice. In the other direction we'd have been too busy griping about the never-ending incline to admire the wooded scenery.
Finally, we reached Bonetown. There's no reason to ride on Bonetown other than to say you've been there. It's close to Flemington, residential, and, if you're coming from the south, a bitch of a hill. Still, at least I can now say I've been there:
It was right around then that Jeff F. and I admitted to each other that our legs were still tired from last week's century.
We found our way out of the Flemington exurbs and headed down from the ridge towards Clinton. I took the group down Spring Hill. About a third of the way down there's a break in the trees and a great view of the valley. I didn't stop for pictures this time.
At the bottom is the (surprise!) Raritan River. Here's a farm on the corner:
We followed the river for a few miles. I was too busy taking it all in to consider stopping for photos. I don't think my camera would have captured it, though. Next time, I guess.
I overshot a turn and doubled back onto a road that was closed to cars but open to bikes and pedestrians. On a little bridge we stopped to watch two fisherman downstream of a water processing plant:
In Clinton, someone suggested I get a picture of our bikes lined up along the fence by the river:
At this point I should probably mention that there were two new riders in the group: Daniel, a transplant from Tennessee by way of Oklahoma, and Holly, whose cycling experience involved Manhattan traffic. They were hanging in pretty well, Daniel up front and Holly towards the back.
We hauled ourselves up Baptist Church, the biggest and longest climb of the day. We went to Rick Road, where I instructed everyone to turn at Schoolhouse (we could coast all the way there).
It was on Schoolhouse that things fell apart. I was at the front of the group, around a bend, with most of the riders, so I didn't witness Holly's slow-motion tip onto the grass as she ran out of gears to shift into. Daniel rode back to find out what was going on. She wasn't hurt, but her rear derailleur was. Bent inwards, and not budging, it prevented her from using the two biggest gears, the ones she needed the most right now.
She called a cab. We at the front waited under a tree and directed the cab driver when, 20 minutes later, he slowed as he saw us. I didn't get a good look at him, but, according to those back with Holly, he was pierced up the wazoo. I was hoping for a picture, but, oh well.
While we waited, we watched two parachuters drop into a distant field as a small plane circled. I stretched my back, scraped something that I hope was a stewed tomato off the undercarriage of Miss Piggy, and took a bunch of pictures.
Bob, Joe, and I pondered the maps and decided that the fastest way home would be to stay on 519 all the way to Stockton. My planned zig-zag would have to wait for another day.
With 40 miles under us and almost 20 to go, someone at the front decided to drop the hammer, and we all followed. We didn't let up until we reached Lambertville. Joe later told me he thought that was the best part of the ride.
I never did hear from Holly, so, Holly, if you're reading this and you did get a picture of the Tattooed Hero, send it along.
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