Winter Larry's Hill

The adventure is around the corner.

21 July 2013

Winter Larry is a Flatlander.  That's why, when he told me about the "big hill" on Route 579 coming into Bloomsbury, I figured it would be a run-of-the-mill ascent.

Nuh-uh.

It's not a good sign when the ride leader hears one of her pack screaming "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" from several hundred feet away.   This is what happens when:

1.  I volunteer to lead a ride from the Dvoor Farm in Flemington in conjunction with the Hunterdon Land Trust and their farmers market, coming up with several routes to point out as much preserved open space as possible within the county;

2.  I find out at 8:15 a.m. that the market is only open until 1:00 p.m. and therefore choose the shortest of the four routes I've come up with; and

3.  I decide to take Little York-Pattenburg to 539 instead of wading through the stream on Sweet Hollow.

As if the hill weren't bad enough, three of the five were too spooked by the descent into Bloomsbury to take in the panoramic  view of the Musconetcong valley.  By the time we sat down with our snacks, none of us wanted to climb any more hills.

The thing was, we were only 25 miles into the 49-mile trip and it was already 11:00 a.m.  To avoid the hills as much as possible, we'd have to loop north into Warren County, wind our way towards the Delaware River, hammer to Frenchtown, and still have to get out of the valley.  My planned route home, on the other hand, was fairly direct. 

The roads out of town were ones I hadn't been on in a very long time, if at all.  "I abdicate all responsibility for the roads between here and Flemington," I announced as we saddled up.

Boy howdy, was I in for a surprise.  A 7% grade isn't much on its own, but when it goes on for three miles, it begins to do one in.  We were on Route 173, and instead of turning onto Mine Road (terrain unknown) for a side loop along some more preserved open space, I decided to shave some miles by going straight.

The descent into Perryville was worth the trouble.  Despite the fact that we were on a state highway, there were very few cars, a huge shoulder, a clear line of sight, and a knockout view of the Raritan Valley and hills beyond.

At this point, we were lucky to have a native with us.  She suggested a route home that would be, after a long, low-grade climb ahead, downhill and flat (as much as one can get a flat road in the Hunterdon highlands, anyway).   The roads I'd chosen apparently wouldn't be.  We were all for handing her the reins.  So, up Mechlin Corner we slogged, and from there we really only did have to climb a few times.

The shortest way home would have been to get to Route 12 as soon as possible, but I veered from that.  We'd seen enough state highways for one day.

We got back at 1:10 p.m.  Most of the vendors were packing up or gone, but a worthy farm stand out of Church Road in Milford was still open.

Plums taste best from sweaty hands.


[Thanks to Jack H, Dr. Lynne, Judy M, and Magda G (our native) for putting up with all of my tomfoolery.  For you, here's the route.  That was more difficult than it had any right to be.]

*****

And now, because I didn't post last weekend, here are pictures of Matt R and his legs, because I so seldom get to ride with him.  Usually he's blowing past me at a high rate of speed on one century or another.

 Ken G and Bruce are fixing a flat.

This is a fixie parked at Le Chateau de Ptomaine yesterday:

Also, I finally gave up on being able to tame the bad home perm that was the back yard after the hurricane.  We have light where we didn't before.  Violets were taking over.  The mulch paths had migrated, in waves, towards the driveway.  Every time it rained, which was all the time in June, we had several inland seas.  I did something I never, ever, thought I'd do.  I hired Greg's Landscaping.

So worth it.  They did everything, including re-paving the caved-in brick patio, in two days.

After six days of daily watering, little grasslets are poking up from the hay.

These hibiscus shrubs survived the storm.

On Thursday morning I sat on this rock, drinking my coffee, and, I swear, I clean forgot that I had to go into work.

Mojo, working:

Hunterdon Land Trust Ride, Sunday, 21 July 2013

18 July 2013

***** UPDATE 20 July:  The ride is ON. *****

I've come up with a preliminary route from the Dvoor Farm (where Routes 12 and 523 meet in Flemington) that will take us past plenty of parks, preserved farms, and other open spaces.  As of now the route is 59 miles with over 5K feet of climbing.  Kinda brutal.  Must edit.

[UPDATE 19 July:  I now have two three more routes, 50, 49, and 47 miles, two of them slightly less brutal and one that's downright cushy by Hill Slug standards.  I'll bring them all and we can decide on Sunday morning.]

The Hunterdon Land Trust farmers market event starts around noon; we won't be back by then.  But we'll get an early start.  Meet in the parking lot for an 8:30 a.m. push-off.  When we get back there will be all sorts of farmers-markety stuff to eat, sniff, and buy.  I've been told we'll all get $1 off whatever we purchase.

I know this is early and far away.  Shoot me an email or leave a comment if you plan to come with me.  This is a beautiful route but it would suck to ride it alone.

You know it's hot when...

7 July 2013

...you can wring out your cycling gloves without taking them off.

539 Blueberries

6 July 2013

The cats scatter at 7:10.  Plain Jim is outside.  This is far too early even for him.

"Did I put 7:15 in the blog?"

"Yep."

"I meant 7:45."  Hasty check on my phone to make sure my ride doesn't start at 8:00.  8:30.  Whew.  "Want some coffee?"

Hot.  Jersey-sticking-to-my-skin hot.  Jersey sticking to my skin at 7:40 a.m. while I drink coffee on the front steps.  Jim has foregone his usual circling and is on the steps too.  Hot.

Forget the 69-mile route.  "We're gonna do the 50."  That plus the 14 it takes to get to the park and back.  On our way over we can see the air.

Tom rolls in, says he's crazy like us.  Then Gordon, then John W.

The Sharon Road bridge over the Turnpike is open.

"Shade," John begs.  We're on the wrong side of Route 1 for shade.

I'm craving a Slurpee. 

I make it worse, too, by going off the cue sheet so that we can stop at Emery's Berry Patch more miles than I thought southeast of New Egypt.  The group I didn't ride with on July 4 went there.  I didn't count on it being five miles out of the way, down Long Swamp Road, all the way to the end.  Nobody is complaining, except John.  "Shaaaaade!"

"Great rest stop!" 

I'm focused on water, so much so that all I buy is drinks.  I don't have hands enough for a muffin.  I'm too thirsty.

To get home we're going off the cue sheet, so far off that I stuff it in my bag.  We're taking 539 as far as we can stand it.

Getting to the berry farm took us hours.  Getting home seems to be taking us 20 minutes.  I've never been on this stretch of road before.  What a tacky ice cream stand over there.  Lots of traffic, but not as much as I'd expected.  Wide shoulders.  Nobody's complaining, not even Jim.  He only sings because I notice he's not singing.

We're in a pace line.  Familiar intersections blow by:  528 (too far south), 537 (too much traffic), Burlington Path (we were there already), Polhemustown (forget it; we're almost in Allentown anyway). 

When we reach Old York Road, John and Jim are riffing: "Are we there yet. Jim?" 

"Almost."

We turn onto Gordon Road, where the Amazon warehouse is going in.  Look at that, a brand-new, bouncing baby berm.  Mud and trees. 

"Are we there yet?"

"When we get to the bridge."

Turnpike overpass:  "Is that the bridge?"

"It's a bridge."

Tom says, "When we get to Sharon Road, go right, and left on Windsor.  That way I can draft off you guys 'til South Lane."

"Are we there yet?"

At Sharon Road, I tell Tom, "I need to get these boys home for their nap.  I'm going straight.  It's more direct."  The wind will be at his back.

"Are we there yet?"

Back at the park I ask, "Which bridge did you mean?"

"The one back there.  On Old Trenton."  The one that's about to be torn up, closing the road, screwing up our park access for lord knows how long.

John says, "I feel great!"

There's shade on the bike path in the woods through the park.  I have just enough oomph left to get up the little hill on Princeton Pike.  My palms are prunes.

There's a text from Terry C:  "Cannot believe you took Gordon to blueberry farm!  I was waiting for him to come home to go with me -- darn -- at least he did not have ice cream yet :-)"

I write, "That place needs to be visited by car.  I need to go back."  I'm hoping I can hitch a ride, which is what happens.  Jack has no interest.  It's too hot.

After a traffic jam on 195, we're back on 539, back through Allentown, past Polhemustown, Burlington Path, 537, 528, turning on Long Swamp.  Terry wants to pick berries.  Gordon and I will have nothing more to do with the sun.  We hide inside.  I fill a basket with preserves, berries, a pie, blood sugar dropping, one muffin each for me and Gordon.  I spend as much money as miles.  Might as well; this place is too far away for me to be back any time soon.

By the side of the building, under an eave, exactly where we'd sat this morning, we eat and wait for Terry.  Hot.  I'm sticky all over again.

Terry honks the horn.  She has 5 pounds of blueberries in the trunk.  "Ice cream!"  I don't know where she's planning to go until we're upon it, the one we'd passed this morning:

Terry  cradles her sundae.  "How is this a small?"

My answer, "We're American."

I get a frozen lemonade, far better than a Slurpee.

We stay away from the highway on the way home.  On Old York I ask if we can stop on Gordon.  "I need to send Sean pictures of the berm."

Beautiful, ain't it?  Aaaah, New Jersey. 

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Saturday, 6 July

4 July 2013

The Slugs will be in the flatlands on Saturday.  Meet us at the East Picnic Area (Edinburg Road entrance) of Mercer County Park for an 8:30 a.m. start.

I'm planning for a few miles more than a metric.  However, the heat index might well change my mind.  We can cut the ride down as we see fit.

Extra-milers can start with me from my house at 7:15 a.m.  It's about 8 miles to the ride start.




[For a post about today's All Paces Ride, click on over to Plain Jim's blog.  I have a mini-post in the comments section.]