Scenes from the Last Rides of 2013

Grandview Road, 27 December 2013

28 December 2013

The ritual pre-ride excuse round, December 27, 31°F, wind chill 26°F, 8:55 a.m.:

Ed:  I haven't been on a bike in two weeks.
Ron:  I'm out of shape.
Me:  I haven't had any coffee.
Ed:  Oh NOOO!

Ten minutes in:

Ron:  I think I wore too much.
Me:  I think you have the same tights I do.
Ron:  I have long johns under my tights.
Me:  No wonder you can't bend your knees.

Woodfern Road at Leigh:

Me:  My toes are cold.
Ron:  Mine too.
Me: I could use a snack and some indoor plumbing.

At the Bagel Bistro, mile 27:

Ed:  The Hillsborough Bypass is open.  Let's ride on it.
Me:  No.

Climbing Grandview:

Ed:  "One hundred pedal strokes...fifteen...fifty-one...eighty."
Me:  How many was it?
Ed:  One hundred.
Me:  How did you do that?
Ed:  When I get tired I count.  On a big hill I break it into hundreds.
Me:  You didn't know it would be a hundred?
Ed:  Nope.
Me:  Well, you made it look like you knew.


En route from Village Park to Etra Park, December 27, 2013, 34-42°F, wind chill 29-36°F, 9:15-9:45 a.m.:

Me: Yesterday we were climbing Fairview.  Ron and Ed stopped at the bottom to use a tree.  I kept going.
Jim:  Wise choice.
Me:  So, at the top, I was taking a picture of the view, and there were these turkey vultures on the roof of a house, so I got their picture.

And while I was standing there I heard rustling in the tree behind me.  When I turned around, there were, like, twenty vultures just sitting there.  They didn't seem the least bit perturbed by my presence.

And they were stretching their wings to warm up.

Then I looked across the street and there were a few more in a tree there, and a couple more in a tree in the next yard.
Jim: What were they waiting for?
Me:  I dunno.  Tippi Hedren, maybe.
Jim: Tippi Hedren!

Etra Park, 9:00 a.m.:

Chris:  That'll do it.
Jim:  Is that a film camera?
Chris:  Yep.
Jim:  Better use up the film while you can still get it developed.
Chris:  Yep.
Me (hand warmers removed):  I didn't bring my camera. I'll need all my pockets for shed clothing.

Westbound into the wind:

Me:  Did you lead last Sunday?
Larry:  No.  I saw the forecast for rain.  Not like you guys.

Near Imlaystown:  balaclava removed

Eastbound with a tailwind:

Me:  So where's our September trip gonna be?
Tom:  I'm thinking about Mystic, Connecticut.
Me:  Cool!
Tom:  Yeah, and we can get to Rhode Island pretty easy.

Imlaystown-Hightstown Road at 526:

Me:  There's Tweety!
Jim:  Tweety!
Me:  He still looks awful.  I want to run up there and straighten him out.

New Egypt, around 11:30 a.m.:  off come the glove liners, arm warmers

Walnford, around 12:30 p.m.:  booties off

North of Allentown:

Cheryl:  Pace pusher!  Pace pusher!
Me:  Tailwind!
Jim:  [something about complaining]
Me:  Hey, she's allowed to complain.  See the keychain on her saddlebag?
Cheryl:  It says, "complain complain complain complain."
Me:  One for every fifteen miles.
Cheryl:  That's right.  As long as I never ride more than sixty miles.

Gordon Road, next to Amazon Warehouse:

Chris: Soon we're gonna have to give this road a new name.

Me:  Huh?

Chris:  Duck!

Me:  Huh?

Chris:  Amazon! Drones!

Etra Park, 1:00 p.m.:

Ron:  You were right about Al.
Me:  Yeah.  He made his move kinda late, though.  Hey, Al, you were kinda late today.  I figured you'd take off on Gordon Road.
Al:  I had a good draft.
Me:  I saw you moving up, one rider at a time.
Al:  The giveaway is when I get into the small gear.
Me: I can't see that when you're drafting me.  All I can see is your face in my mirror.

Village Park, Cranbury, 1:45 p.m., 55°F:

Me:  Damn!  I'm two miles away from [round number of miles] on Kermit for the year!
Jim:  You have to fix that.  You know you have to.
Me (looking for all the world as if I'm about to get back on the bike, then not looking that way):  I could.  But then it would become a thing.
Jim:  True.

2013 stats:

The difference in distance between this year and last can be explained by the greater number of miles commuted to and from work on Gonzo in 2013. Apart from Gonzo's miles, I rode farther last year than this year.  Miss Piggy traveled 70% as far as Kermit did.  I am not committing my yearly distance to memory, nor am I going to enter it here.  It's not the distance; it's the adventure that counts.

Bike tune of the year:

Robert Plant and Alison Kraus, "Gone Gone Gone (Done Moved On)"

Lump of Coal Ride

Van Kirk Road

22 December 2013

I think I finally did it:  I finally killed a PFW Ride Leader jersey.

But, first, pictures from yesterday's foggy ride.  

Jim and Ron met me for a far-too-early-for-December 8:00 a.m. start.  I'd missed four straight weekends of cycling, and, damn it, I was going to get out no matter what.  All I had to do was be cleaned up by the time my grad school buddies were to arrive at 11:30.

We had time enough to take the old Friday night route, a route that was the first I'd memorized, back in my early days, when Kermit was still green and so was I.

The roads were a little wet.  There was still snow on the ground everywhere we went.  This was the shortest day of the year; the sun had only been up for about an hour.

We stopped for pictures on Cold Soil Road, at the Pole Farm (now Mercer Meadows) and across the street from it.

We stopped again on Van Kirk.

I was feeling every inch of road.  Indoor training only does so much.  Ron had been off the bike for as long as I had.  Jim wondered aloud why he'd chosen to accompany such a sorry lot.  (I think it was to hear us complain.)

We had enough oomph in us to climb Woosamonsa.  At the top there's a house being renovated.  I think some trees were taken down, because in all the years I've been on this road, I've never before noticed this view.

We got home in time for me to hand out some Swiss chocolate.  I spent the rest of the day on my butt, catching up with my grad school friends (we do this every year).  Jeff, as always, commandeered the laser dot for the cats to chase.  Steve and Jack, as always, talked about teaching college students.  Shortly after sunset (4:33 p.m.), our Christmas tree lights switched on.  I idly took pictures of ornaments while I listened to Jack and Steve.

My legs weren't tired when I went to sleep.  I woke up at 6:30 a.m. on Sunday morning and looked out the window.  In the dim light I could barely make out that the street was wet, but never mind that, because I was going to ride again no matter what.  I pulled on my 2004 ride leader jersey, the fluorescent yellow one with the time-worn ripped pocket.

Today I'd have to be smelling pretty by 11:30 a.m., in time for Cheryl to pick me up for a brunch at the Peacock Inn in Princeton (the gang would be the cast of regulars from the long-ago Friday night rides, more or less).

The outside thermometer read 67 degrees at 7:22 a.m.  I hadn't heard from Ron nor Jim.  They'd probably go with Winter Larry today.  Why would they do another time-constrained ride with me?  I chomped away at breakfast, weighing my route options, looking at the trees bend in the wind, trading text snark with Dale about whether or not it was truly windy enough for me to ride.

I heard a car door slam outside and saw a red jersey.  Jim.  I texted Dale that there would be someone for me to draft behind.  A few minutes later, Ron drove in.  Who'd'a thunk it?

They were good sports when I suggested going east into the flatlands.  They were good sports when I cried, "Antlers!"  and ran inside.  They were good sports while I attached the antlers to my helmet.  They were good sports when I bitched about how the antlers were wrenching my head every time a gust of wind kicked up.

"You can take them off," Jim suggested.

"No," I replied, feeling duty-bound to my Christmas tradition.  "I will suffer for my performance art."

We swung past Dale and Sean's house. They were sitting by their living room window, looking out.  I could see the exact moment that she saw my antlers as we rode by.

By the time we got to Mercer County Park, we were all filthy.  But it wasn't raining.  At it was 67 degrees out.  In late December.

I kept an eye on the time as we headed east, then south on Imlaystown-Hightstown Road.  It was there that we encountered Tweety, dressed as Santa, doubled over and bobbing in the wind, looking for all the world like a drunk college freshman.

From there we headed west towards Allentown.  The sky over there was that color.  Never mind, I thought, we're going to go north on Old York, catch a righteous tailwind.

Which we did, and it was good.

"Left on Gordon," I said, and as we turned a wall of sideways rain met us at the corner.  

Meh.  It's only rain.

Now I know I've passed a threshold of cycling experience, addiction, insanity.  I have just thought to myself, "Meh.  It's only rain."  I looked down.  "It's cleaning off our bikes," I said.

Bridge out.  Forge ahead anyway; you know what I'm like.  Jim went out in front and was ten yards out into the mud before I could call him back.  We used the detour on Bresnhanan Road, adding miles and minutes in the rain.  I began to wonder if I'd be ready to go by 11:30.

The rain let up while we were waiting to cross Route 130.  We were filthy again when we pulled into my driveway, 40 miles without a break.  We all hosed off our bikes.

"I hate to lead and run," I said, "but I've gotta shower."  The time was 10:55.  I took my helmet, glasses, and Miss Piggy puppet into the shower with me.  Miss Piggy was black with grime.  I scrubbed her with shampoo until she turned pink again, then got around to ridding myself of the same black grime.  Somehow I managed to be ready to go five minutes before Cheryl arrived.  

My poor jersey. (Remember the jersey? We started off with the jersey.)  I've washed it twice.  The mud stains are permanent.

*****

I owe you pictures from my last two days in England.

Here's a magnificent dog in the cafe where Jack and I were having breakfast.  

Mid-day we took a bus to Oxford, where our friend Tiffany, an Oxford professor, put us up for the night in a guest room at her college.  It was Sunday; the Oxford shops closed at 5 p.m., and all of Oxford was out on the street:

The only reason I'm blogging about Oxford at all is so that I can show you this decoration:

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc, Not Saturday 21 December

21 December 2013

The rain looks as if it's going to hold off long enough to get a short ride in tomorrow morning.  Again I have to be home before 11:00 a.m. so the ride will start from my house at 8:00 a.m.

20 December 2013

At the last minute, I've decided to do a quick ride from my house, no rest stop, starting at 8:00 a.m and ending around 10:30.

If the weather allows, I'll repeat this on Sunday.  Let me know if you're interested.

17 December 2013

If I'm going to have a life outside of biking, this is the time of year to have it.

This month, the long lead time required by the editors of the Freewheel conflicted with shorter lead times of various social events that I don't want to miss.

So, no ride on Saturday.  I have to be home by 11:00 a.m. on Sunday, which means we can still get a short ride in if the weather cooperates. If not, I'm thinkng of leading on December 26 instead (or in addition, off-the-books).

I will update with details later in the week.

Hill Slugs Ad Hoc Not Saturday, Maybe Sunday

14 December 2013, 11:20 p.m.

No.

14 December 2013

The forecast is for rain in the wee hours of the morning.  It probably won't be enough to wash the snow away, and it's a good bet that roads will be wet Sunday morning.  Check in again around 7:00 Sunday morning.  I'm being optimistic.



12 December 2013

If the rain washes all of the snow away, and if it's not raining on Sunday morning, we'll have a ride.  Please check back on Saturday evening after 7:00 p.m.  If the ride is on, here's what we'll do:

Rojo's to Rojo's Redux:

Meet at my house (contact me at perpetualheadwinds at gmail dot com for the address) at 9:00 a.m.  We'll ride up to Princeton, about 7 miles, for our first cuppa.  Then we'll go to Lambertville for our second.  All told, the ride will be about 48 miles.

It's Officially Winter

7 December 2013

I know this because Gonzo has assumed the position: