#48: Manasquan, Iced Lemonade, Hot Wind, and Pickles

 Not.

10 September 2016

I almost typed "10 August 2016." With the heat index hovering around 100 degrees, today might as well have been a month ago.

John K had a JDRF training ride planned for Saturday. He announced that it was going to be a 70-mile out-and-back trip from Allentown to Manasquan. Many of his regulars begged off.

Well, seeing that it's 15 miles from my house to Reed Recreation Park, 70 gets me 100, and I'd never been to Manasquan.

I didn't look at the weather forecast before I committed to the ride. I'd finished half a water bottle before the two of us left the parking lot. 

While John got the Cool Blue Halo ready, Kermit posed against a fence.

Cool Blue Halo, all cleaned up and shiny for the Lake Tahoe century:

As we were moseying down Ely Harmony, a fat-free carbon woman flew past us in her drops. She looked as if she were training, because she didn't even acknowledge our presence as she blew by.

We caught up with her at the Minit Stop in Jackson; she was already in line with drinks when I came out of the bathroom, my bottles full of water. "Is that water OK to drink?" she asked me.

"Yep."

"I never trusted it."

"I haven't died yet."

I ordered a frozen lemonade, which took some time to make. When I got back outside, the racer and John were deep in conversation. She was a triathlete, training for a national event in Miami in the fall. She left, and other cyclists came in. We left, and waited for a big group to pass by before we turned onto Farmingdale Road.

My usual route to Belmar takes me east and north of the Manasquan Reservoir. John's route went south, and after we passed the reservoir entrance there, I had no idea where we were.

Because it was just the two of us, and because John is goofy, I had no qualms about asking him to pose against the sign when we turned onto Easy Street, south of Allaire State Park, halfway between Howell and Wall Townships.

I got in on it too.

As long as we were moving, the heat wasn't too bad. The wind was out of the south-southwest, but as we got closer to the coast, it seemed to shift. When we turned southeast onto the bike trail in Wall, the wind was in our faces.

I was getting grumpy, hungry, and hot. The rough pavement and the headwind slowed us down to the point where checking my average at the end of the ride would be worthless.  It was worth being out of traffic, though, John assured me, and then chose to stop at the Sunburst Pie Company on Main Street in Manasquan. Already, I liked Manasquan better than Belmar.

We hung out there, inside, with air conditioning and every late-1990s alternative rock song you've ever forgotten playing through the speakers.

"Can we go to the beach?" I asked.

It was another couple of miles down the road. There was no boardwalk, just an asphalt path. There were no cheesy surf shops and fast food chains at the end of Main Street.

A small fence was all that separated the beach from the path. John, doing his best Plain Jim impersonation, felt compelled to photograph me photographing the fence.

On our way back out, a strong tailwind pushing us west, I stopped on a bridge over an inlet. It reminded me of Ghent, only with more power boats and less European architecture.

Or maybe not so much, now that I've dug up the Ghent picture:

We got back on the bike trail, this time with a tailwind.

Five miles later, we were smacked in the face with a headwind that didn't let up. I found myself spinning in low gear, moving forward at a pace more suited for a hill.

Back in Jackson, we pulled into the Minit Stop again. I got another frozen lemonade. Why not? As long as the ride is symmetrical, my snacks might as well be. If we're going to do OCD, we should go all the way with it.

John bought pickles and offered me one. It hit the spot.

We got to the rollers near Millstone right around the time I slammed into regular century wall, somewhere between 70 and 80 miles, the one that happens when I haven't eaten enough. I tend not to be hungry after the halfway point, and I have to force myself to eat. I hadn't been doing that today. The only thing to do was power through it and eat something as soon as possible.

At 80 miles, we stopped under a tree, where I chomped down three ShotBloks and watched storm clouds gathering to our south. At least they'd keep the sun off of us.

Then it was back into the headwind, but I felt better. To be on the safe side, on my way home, I stopped at the deli around the corner from the park and gulped down a bottle of orange juice.

On Old York Road I had a tailwind and decided to stay with it all the way to Sharon Road. This would make my route completely symmetric.  If I'd finished with exactly 100 miles, the OCD would have been complete. Unfortunately, I overshot by 0.7. Oh well.

Inside, I washed my hands, grabbed a jar of homemade refrigerator pickles (I'm not yet brave enough to try real pickling), and sat on the floor, my feet on the stairs leading down to where Jack was sitting, and ate a few spears while I cooled off. He'd been busy announcing on Facebook that I was crazy. I didn't argue the point, adding only that I was also stinky and sweaty.

Eventually, I got up, cleaned my water bottles, washed my helmet and glasses, peered at a map to figure out where, exactly, Manasquan is, and pet a couple of cats.

After I showered, I sat down to a proper snack of milk and pickles.