The Art of Urination?

30 June 2012

As I was driving to the Hamilton YMCA this morning for Chris' B+ ride, I found myself preoccupied with the possibility of being dropped.

The last time that being dropped was a possibility was the last time I attempted a B+ ride.  That was years ago.  Kermit was still green.  I had conventional gearing.  I wasn't having any fun staring at the wheel in front of me.  I stopped doing it and went off into the hills instead, where I could conquer my insecurities on my own terms.

I wondered about that, too.  In May, when Tom became the subject of epic poetry, I wasn't afraid of failing.  I didn't worry, either, when Chris and John first dragged me into the snow and ice for mountain biking.  Why not?  Because I trusted those guys. 

Today, Chris is leading, but I don't know who else will show up.  Chris won't abandon me, but what if my back starts to hurt?  What if it's a bunch of fastboys I've never met? I'll tell Chris to go on with them.  I damned well ought to know my way around by now.

As soon as I parked my car on the grass next to everyone else, I realized I had nothing to worry about.  The people gathered for Chris' ride were all, at one point or another, in one form or another, Hill Slugs. 

Today, John, Jane, Jackie, Ron, Chris, and I were well-matched.  We didn't reach the average that the group did last week, but neither did we ever get separated until the end.  A few miles from the park, Chris had had enough.  The temperature was getting into the 90s at that point, with little shade and a hot wind.  "I just have no power," he said.  He tried to send us along on our own, but at each intersection we made sure he was with us until he peeled off for home.  We didn't quite know where we were, sure, but we didn't want to abandon him either.

A few miles before the halfway point, we stopped at a park to use the bathrooms.  When I came out, I said to Chris, "I'm not sure if I was supposed to sit or stand.  I didn't look at our average." 

As we were getting ready to leave, Jane asked me, "Isn't this the cutest porta-john you've ever seen?"

"Um."

"C'mon!  It's even got a half-moon on it!"

"I dunno.  'Cute' and 'porta-john' don't seem to belong in the same sentence."

"You should take a picture; put it on your blog."

"Um."  I pulled my phone out. 

"Ha!  She's gonna do it!"

"You need to be in the picture."

"I love this porta-john!"

"Show it!  Jane and her new John."

 Work that porta-john!

OK, it's been duly blogged. 

People who don't ride just aren't ever going to understand the stupid, silly stuff we say on the road.  Like when, as I faded to the back after a long pull, Jane said, "Laura, you have a huge penis."

Yeah, well, we'll see.  If I can average one mph faster without the luxury of stopping in the shade every few miles, then I'll allow myself to pee standing up.

Seeing the Reservoir

Logo by AlysaErin at fiverr.com, by way of Plain Jim

24 June 2012

Boy, was the snark flying today.  That's what happens, I guess, when 11 riders make it through the Route 12/523 traffic circle in Flemington at 8:30 on a Sunday morning.

We were one of three groups of Free Wheelers riding from the Hunterdon Land Trust farmers market today.  Michael H, on hand early, had orchestrated the event at the behest of the Land Trust people.

Our group was a strong one -- a bunch of B+ riders taking it easy on a Sunday.  Then there was me, having taken it easy on a flat ride yesterday and having my cock cut off by the wicked fast pace that four Slugs held onto on a different ride, one that I now have to go on in order to get my manhood back.  I made sure to announce this, small dick and all.

I offered these hunks of power two routes.  They picked the easier one.

Off we went, from Flemington to Round Valley Reservoir.  So relatively flat was the first half that, when we arrived at Whitehouse Station for our rest stop, John said, "Twenty miles already!"

Before we pushed off again I gathered the group.  "You might be wondering where the hills are,"  I said.  "They're all in the second half."  It's not like me to start with the easy stuff and save the big climbs for the end, but that's what I was doing.

I'd been messing with my helmet camera for the first few miles.  It was beeping at me strangely when I turned it on.  It was silent when I turned it off.  I'd been wanting to record the view of and from the reservoir, but in order to do that, one mustn't just shove one's helmet camera in one's backpack, where it is easily jostled and made to use up its power and memory on over one hour of lens-capped, backpacked darkness.  I was left with a useless head-squasher strapped to my helmet.  Oh well.  It's the sort of mistake one only makes once.  I kept it on my head anyway, hoping it would still have enough juice to record the view from the top.

As we began our ascent to the reservoir, Jim wondered aloud if he should switch to his small ring.  "I dunno," I said.  "Your penis is bigger than mine.  It's your decision."  This was not my last penis joke of the day.  Lucky for you, I don't remember the third one, but I do know that it caught John off guard.

"Shut up.  I hate you," he replied, and sped off in one ring or another.  This was not to be the last time I heard that from him today.

I rode next to Jane.  "I hope you have shade like this in France," I said.  She and John are going to ride some of the Tour de France course in a couple of weeks.  When we got to the sunny, steep part, she said, "It's gonna be hot like this."

There's something about Round Valley Reservoir that makes people shout when they see it.  When I took Mike B up there for the first time, he jumped out of his saddle and bellowed, "This is great!  This is amazing!  I'm in the world!" or something like that.

Jim, as we reached the top, passed me, hollering, 

I - I am going to be a storm - a flame
I need to fight whole armies all alone
I have ten heads, a hundred arms. I feel
Too strong to war with mortals. BRING ME GIANTS!

(Cyrano de Bergerac, he told me later, when he sent me the text.  Had my camera been working, we'd be giggling at with him on YouTube right now.)

Long-time readers (yeah, right) might remember my obsession with the Dr. Seuss trees.   Today I wasn't the only one looking out for them.  By now I'd put the helmet camera in my pocket, much to the relief of my skull and several cervical vertebrae, and I didn't stop for still pictures.  We all got a good look at them from Payne Road, though.  "That's where we're going," I said.  "Yeah, but first we have to descend into the valley," Jim lamented.

The valley runs along the (no, really?) South Branch of the Raritan River.  There's a section where the road is closed, leaving what's left of the pavement to us bikers.  Last time I was here I marveled at the people who were fishing downstream of the sewage treatment plant.  Today I had to stop and pull my cell phone out.  Today there was somebody in a lawn chair, in the water, reading, as his buddy stood fishing.

Here's the wide view.  The treatment plant is on the bank in the center.

Here's a close-up.  I'm pretty sure he didn't see me.

One of our number was a little nervous.  He recognized the turn we made out of the valley.  Last year, on a hotter day, with different gearing, he cramped up.  "You got this one today," I said.  I was sure of it.  He'd been one of those fast people I didn't ride with yesterday.

We all made it up the 500-foot ascent, and we all got to see the Dr. Seuss trees from the top of the ridge.  Jane was pretty sure they were fake, hiding something technological behind the unlikely-shaped greenery.  I think we were looking at two dimensions as one, still too far from them to see where they were planted.

As we gathered at the top, I pointed back towards the reservoir.   "We're here.  We were there."  Jane looked ahead and said, "And that's where we're going to be."  Which was, for the most part, downhill all the way back to Flemington.

Once again, the circle was devoid of traffic, and we cruised into the farmers market parking lot just after the C-pace group and just before the C+ riders came in.

I regret that I didn't do a good job of pointing out land that was preserved.  I forgot to point out their parcel on Old Mountain Road.  The ridge that the Dr. Seuss trees live on seems not to be protected at all.  If you're into gazing at maps, you can find the Land Trust's target regions here.

This is the route that we took today.

The farmers market is worth visiting if you're up that way on a Sunday before 1 p.m.  If you're going to start a ride up that way, though, go around the corner to Old Croton Road and start from Mine Brook Park.  That's what I'll be doing when I run this ride, or something like it again.  Not so much traffic circle next time.

OK.  That's all for now.  I guess I'll be seeing some of you at the next Saturday ride out of the Hamilton YMCA on Sawmill Road.  Chris says I have the balls to do it.

*****

Here's how the helmet cam is going to travel from now on.  Gris-Gris Mojo approves:

Sunday, 24 June: Hill Slugs in Hunterdon County

21 June 2012

Back in April, Michael H. asked me if I'd do him the favor of leading a ride for the Hunterdon Land Trust. The Trust had asked Michael if he could get some cyclists up their way to check out their farmers market and the open space they'd preserved. Being an "environmental wacko," as Chris C. calls me, I said I'd do it.

What I didn't know at the time was that the start of the ride, the Hunterdon Land Trust Farmers Market, is on a bleedin' traffic circle. As circles go, it turns out, the one the market is on isn't so bad. There's even a back way in, sort of, for our return trip.  Michael says that there will be marshals to guide us into and out of the market.

I have two routes mapped out, both of which stay in Hunterdon County. One goes around the Round Valley Reservoir with a Hill Sluggish amount of climbing. The other is more punishing, explores roads I've never been on, and revisits Bloomsbury.

Besides being out in the scenery, there are two more goals for this ride.  The first is to point out what's preserved and what is in danger of becoming houses unless preservation happens.  The second goal is is to get back to the market before it closes at 1:00 p.m. I'm shooting for 12:30, which is more likely to happen if we go see the reservoir. It'll all depend on what the group feels like doing.

The ride starts at 8:30 a.m. from the Hunterdon Land Trust Farmers Market, at 111 Mine Street, in Flemington, on the circle where Routes 12 and 523 come together. The market is very obvious:  look for the roof.  More information is on the market's home page (from which I stole this picture).



Whatever route we don't take on Sunday we'll ride some other day, from a more peaceful starting location.

The 2012 Crazy Season Officially Begins

17 June 2012

Crazy Season starts with my first century, which is usually in late may or June, and ends with my last century, which is usually in October.  Crazy Season means grazing between meals with impunity.  Crazy Season means long rides and rest days.  Crazy Season means bringing 5-15 pounds of vegetables home each week from my half-share in Cherry Grove Organic Farm.  Crazy Season means figuring out what to do with all that greenery.  Crazy Season got its name when I was spending 3 hours each day commuting to and from work.  Now I don't have to do that.  Now Crazy Season means biking to work on days that I don't go to the gym or the farm or need to rest before the next big weekend ride.

Crazy Season started yesterday with a century from home to Belmar and back.  Joe met me at 7 a.m.  We rode over to Mercer County Park.  On the way we found two Free Wheelers who have been on a few of my rides.  They were headed to Allentown, so we rode into the park together.

There are now bike lanes in Mercer County Park!

At the East Picnic Area we picked up Ron and Jackie.  From there we rode to Etra Park.  We were early, which is unusual for me.  Fortunately, Bruce and John rode in early too.

We had clear skies, low humidity, temperatures in the 70s, and a tailwind on the way home.  We never did get into a pace line (something we'll have to correct next time), but we made decent speed for fending for ourselves.

I ate right, drank right, and only hit a trough two times, both after 70 miles.  Both times I got out of it within minutes.  This was my 29th century.  I hope they all go this smoothly.

This is the route, from Joe's cue sheet.  We didn't do exactly this because we missed the turn onto West Farm, which cut out two miles.  We still came in over 100 though, and that's what counts.

Bloomsbury by Helmet Cam

10 June 2012

Today I helped Larry lead his traditional Bloomsbury Boogie route.  As usual, Jim has beat me to the blogging.  While he was writing, I was uploading today's helmet camera videos to YouTube, so I had an excuse.  Sort of.  I also went out to dinner.

I've got 20 videos up on YouTube now, 13 of them from today's ride.  I'm not sure how to direct you guys there, though, because when I search for "perpetualheawinds" nothing comes up.  Try this link instead if you want to bore yourself with all 20.  The upload apparently happened in random order, even though the files are named by the date and order in which they were taken.

Anyway, enough of that.  Here is a selection of the best of what we saw today.

This is our descent on Quakertown Road, from Quakertown into Pittstown.  Towards the end I turn my head to capture a sign on a building that reads, "Do not enter.  This is not an exit," and I show the stairs at the other end of the do not entrance.

We got onto 519 north in Everittstown.  This road is hard rollers no matter where one is or which way one is facing.  I think we were on an easy stretch here.

Larry's plan was to have me, and whoever would follow, take what he called "Cardiac Hill" into Bloomsbury.  The town is in a valley, just below Route 78, with the Musconetcong on its northwest side.  Every path into Bloomsbury is down.  I couldn't figure out how Larry was going to have me climb into town.

We would both start on Sweet Hollow in Little York, he said.  He'd take the left at Myler and we'd continue up Sweet Hollow.  At the top, he said, at 579, there would be a steep hill for us to get over.

I'd been there before.  njbikemap showed a descent.  mapmyride and ridewithgps both showed descents.  After something like 20 minutes on the phone last night, the best I could do was to get him to agree that he'd believe me when our two groups would meet again at the rest stop in Bloomsbury.

At the bottom of Sweet Hollow Road was a "road closed" sign.  Y'all know me well enough by now to know that I tend to ignore those signs, and this was no exception.  We began to wonder just how far up the closure would be.  Either we'd all have to take Myler, we'd all have to stay on Sweet Hollow, or we'd all have to turn around and take Goritz, which none of us had been on before, which would be close to 600 feet of climbing, and which would put us farther south on 579.

Lucky for us, the road was blocked only by heavy equipment, and we wiggled through.

Here's some footage of Sweet Hollow after the roadblock:

When we did split, five riders went with me and three with Larry.  We think they had the tougher climb.  Sweet Hollow is a gentle ascent; we agreed that it's work, but it's not as much work as Myler is.

At the intersection of 579, I looked to the right, in the direction we would not be turning.  I was looking at what was probably Larry's Cardiac Hill.  We were above it.  Had we been turned around at the construction site, we'd all have had to climb it.

Instead, this is what we got.  As they say in basketball, "nothing but net."  At about 4:30 into the video, you can see what is probably Easton and Phillipsburg on the other side of the river valley.

After that, it was off to the Delaware River.  I recorded our walk across the Riegelsville bridge.

Here's a bit of the PA side:

After a rest stop at the Homestead General Store in Upper Black Eddy (the crowd there rivals the Sergeantsville General Store), it was back to NJ for the ascent on Stamets, mostly in the shade.

Cows.

The road goes up, then down again, and veers off to the left.  We were turning right.

Below is a video of what happens when a rider gets hyped up about going downhill and the ride leader calls out the turn a bit too late.

Sean managed to get his attention in time.  Here he is, back in the group, on the last section of Galmeier.

You know when you wring something out, and you do that one last squeeze to get those last few drops out?  Well, at the very end I put two hills in.  Between the hills, though, was another big drop, this time into Flemington.  It wasn't as pretty, but there is a good view of the hills in the distance.

So, the helmet camera seemed to do a good job this time.  It didn't squash my head, didn't run out of power, and didn't run out of memory.  It still takes forever to upload the videos, but now I don't have to break them into pieces.

In that vein, here is the entire Lindbergh descent from May 28.

In two weeks I'll be back in Flemington to lead a ride with Michael Heffler.  His route will go to the Delaware River and point out open space preserved by the Hunterdon Land Trust there.  I'm not sure of my route yet, but I'll probably go north into uncharted (by me) territory.  Stay tuned for details.