November Sky

sunrise

28 November 2015

The plan was to meet Snakehead and his daughter at Six Mile Run for a short, mellow hill ride. We had a route picked out. I was looking forward to Boro Bean.

But man, did my legs and back hurt when I woke up at sunrise this morning.  I was on the floor, doing my PT, when a message from Ed came through.  He and his daughter had both come down with a case of the snots. They wanted to ride, though. Ed wanted to know what I thought.

So there I was, all dressed and stretched with nowhere to go. I pulled up the ride list for the first time in ages. Chris et al were leading the Saturday Tri-County Cruise out of Reed Recreation Park in Allentown.

Another message from Ed: They still wanted to ride, he wrote, despite the used tissues piled 8-high on a chocolate bar wrapper (they were counting; he felt I needed to know how many a 100 gram chocolate bar wrapper could hold). This is fever logic. I'm no stranger to fever logic. I wrote that he should not to be an idiot and stay home. I was about to hit "send" when he called.

He sounded terrible. "Stay home!" I commanded.  I told him I was planning to ride over to Allentown instead. "I'm checking the map," I said. "I know how to get there, but I don't know how far it is."

"Fourteen miles," he said.

14.5. How in the world did he know this?  

The ride began at 10:00, which gave me plenty of time to get ready. I left home early enough that I was able to stop for a picture of the sky over Mercer County Park:

I arrived at the ride start early enough to look at the sky some more. It was going to be all about the sky today.

There are three paces that leave from the same place at the same time:  C+, B, and B+. Chris leads the B+ ride, which, he tells me, merges with the B ride most of the time. Today, he was the only leader in the parking lot. There were seven of us altogether. One was a B+ rider, three of us were Bs, and the couple on the tandem had come out for the C+ ride. Chris took us all, keeping the pace and distance down.

My plan was to hang with the group until the rest stop, then head home. If I stayed with Chris the whole way, I'd be looking at 65-70 miles. I really did not want that.

The best laid plans, blah blah blah. Chris took us due south. Somewhere below Georgetown I was off my mental map and stuck with whichever way Chris pointed next.

Al got a flat. He changed his tubular tire by the side of the road. I walked across the street to take more pictures of the sky.

Meanwhile, a disheveled, elderly woman appeared, in her robe and slippers, and began to berate the rest of the group for being on her property and making her dogs bark. She threatened to call the cops. "Go ahead!" Chris hollered. "Call the cops!" The others joined in. "You don't own this part of the road!" Al fixed his flat and we left.

A few miles later we arrived at Mr McGregor's Farm Market:

"What are you roasting?" I asked the woman behind the counter. I'm half deaf, and I never wear my hearing aids on a ride (they're too expensive to go flying off into the road, and sweat is no good for the tubes). So I misheard "ribs" as "grapes," and had to ask for clarification. "Baby back ribs," she said. The guys made hungry noises.

Today's metal to carbon ratio was favorable: Two carbons to one aluminum (the tandem, which ought to count for two frames) to two titaniums to one steel.

One of the carbon frames, a Scott, places the rear brakes under the chainstay. This is a new thing. I don't know how much of a thing it will end up being, but it's all the rage on some of the newer carbon frames.

What's wrong with the traditional rear brake position?  (Geez; I need to wipe Kermit down!)

Al noticed the tree across the dirt road from the market:

I noticed the sky around it:

My legs were getting tired, the kind of tired that one feels when one stops pedaling. The only recourse is to keep pedaling.  By the time I recognized the roads again, we were nearly in Chesterfield. I told Chris I was going to break off as soon as I found Old York Road. That was the same route Chris had in mind, so we all went back to the park together.  Chris had, mercifully, cut a few miles from his plans.

As we left the parking lot, Chris heading south and me heading north, he asked, "Are you riding tomorrow?"

"No. I'm the designated driver to Philly tonight. I don't know when I'll be home."

"Wuss."

"Shut up."

For Chris, hearing "shut up" is like hearing "aloha."

At this point, all I wanted to do was to get home before the rain got me. I did, with about fifteen more miles than I'd planned. I credit the new bearings and two round wheels for my not having bonked along the way.