View of the Sourland Mountain from Route 518
25 November 2016
Some of the best rides are the ones nobody plans for.
Halfway through Thanksgiving, John K posted an impromptu Black Friday ride from Hopewell to Rojo's in Lambertville. I rustled up a few Slugs for the 9:30 start.
At 8:30, I decided I'd rather ride than drive to Hopewell. I didn't get a move on until 8:45, which meant that if I didn't hustle I'd be cutting it close. It's not far from my house to the center of Hopewell Borough, less than ten miles, but there's a bridge out on Carter Road. Rather than take my chances, I went around, which added a couple of miles. I managed to get to John and Plain Jim a few minutes before 9:30.
John wasn't quite ready, so I moved off to take a picture of the sky:
It was a chilly morning; not quite cold, and when the sun poked through, almost warm. But standing in the parking lot, I cooled down too much.
Bob N rolled in, also from a late start. There was more shooting the breeze. I'm not sure what time it was when we finally pushed off.
John had a vague route in mind, but mostly he was making it up as we went along. The first handful of miles were Hill Slug standard winter no-brainer roads (Stony Brook to Snydertown to Linvale; Stony Brook is still a bag-rattler), but then we breezed past Mountain and took Rocktown and Losey over to Wertsville.
At the light at 202/31, John announced the next few turns. "My buffer is full," Jim complained, which set off a string of wisecracks that showed our ages. Two turns later, Jim and Bob didn't turn, but they heard us shouting and reversed course.
The first time I was on Boss and Garboski Roads was in Kermit's first year, as Cheryl and I were following Alan K through hills I wasn't geared for. I'll always hear his voice when I read the word "Garboski," and I'll always think of those roads as the back way into Sergeantsville, no matter which direction I'm facing. I also always remember being on Garboski in December 2001, when it was warm enough that long sleeves and leggings sufficed and there was news of a record blizzard in Scotland.
Where Bowne Station meets Sandy Ridge-Mount Airy, there's a farm we never look at when we're coming up alongside it. We're too busy focusing on the little hump at the Bowne intersection.
We took Lambertville Headquarters Road down to Route 29. I should take this road more often.
We passed a house with politically unfavorable signs. Jim gave them the finger.
On Union Street in Lambertville, we saw this, among others, that helped us channel our anger:
The tables at Rojo's were taken up by laptops, so we stood at a counter at the back of the store. There, we ran into Paul I, poet and fastboy hilly ride leader. I didn't recognize him at first; he was wearing civilian clothing.
On my way out, I bought a bag of beans and remembered, when I handed over the cash, why I don't buy Rojo's beans on a regular basis. When the price is more than a dollar an ounce, there'd better be a good reason. Today, East Timor was the reason.
John offered to carry the beans in his massive saddle bag, but I stuffed them into my jersey instead. I'd have to carry them from Hopewell to home in any case.
We thought we were heading up to Quarry/Rocktown, but John changed his mind at the last minute and sent us up Swan instead. I used to panic at the thought of it (Alan would lead us up there), but now I have a granny gear in front and 32 teeth in the back.
Some banter needs to be explained. Other banter can be taken out of context without losing the original goofiness. Such was the exchange John and I had on Hewitt Road:
"Happy birthday! Wait! Don't blow out the candles!"
"Don't get blood on the cake!"
"What flavor is the icing? Type A!"
The plan was to stop briefly (ha!) at Wheelfine. John had been riffing on a recent sale announcement: buy a new bike, get a free cap: "I wasn't sure about the four thousand dollar bike, but with the cap, well..."
"If I buy a cap," I asked, "Can I get a free bike?"
Bob had never been in the place. It's always fun to watch a newbie walk in the door.
Michael said to me, "I'm upset." I figured he was about to tell me that Campagnolo had discontinued a silver group we'd had our eyes on.
"Why?"
"It's the last paper Freewheel," he said. "People look at it."
"It wasn't cost-effective anymore," I said. "And it's a pain in the ass."
John played with a cotton cap on the counter.
"Organic!" Michael said. John turned around to decide which bike would be the one, then put the cap back on the counter.
"We'll have a glossy flier for you," I reassured Michael. If there have been new members who joined because they read the Freewheel at Wheelfine, none of us knows about it.
I'd have told him he can always print the PDF, but this is a man with a rotary phone behind the counter.
Somehow we got out of there before my cycle computer shut off.
We took Rock Road and 579 back to 518, and stayed on that the rest of the way back to Hopewell. By now, the cloud cover was too thick for sunlight, and we were feeling colder than when we'd started.
This was November gloom.
We coasted into Hopewell.
I slogged back up the Princeton Avenue hill, grateful that there wasn't much traffic, because the road surface is slowly disappearing and I had to veer out a lot.
Carter Road has been freshly paved and striped. How can I tell it's fresh?
You're welcome.
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