Winter Larry's Improvisation

View from Roy's

29 April 2018

The roads were still damp from the overnight rain when I arrived in Cranbury for Winter Larry's springtime ride. He'd listed it as C+. I figured he'd wanted to keep the fast B people away; last year he wound up abandoned by his own riders and stopped leading altogether.

Given the rain, the cloudy chill, the steady northwest wind, and Bruce K's C+ ride leaving in an hour from down the road, I wasn't too surprised that nobody else showed up. 

Wanting to avoid a headwind, Larry had planned to head east. The only eastern route he has is to Battleground Orchards. It's no secret that I don't like that route. The rest stop comes too early, at 15 miles, the coffee is terrible, the food selection bad, and I'm never hungry at 15 miles anyway.

We'd head east. Larry knew of a bagel shop not far from the orchard. Right out of the gate it was clear that he was improvising. He wanted to ride on Schoolhouse because there would be more descent than ascent.

At the end of the first half, as we neared the light at Buckelew, I looked ahead and said, "You found all the hills!" Across the street a series of small rollers bumped off into the distance. Larry was going to turn right but when he saw me looking he changed his mind. "Wanna go straight?"

"Yeah!" 

So we did, and if we both hadn't been there with Tom three weeks ago we both would have been lost. Fortunately we remembered enough to know which way to turn so that we would continue east toward Englishtown. After that, Larry knew where we were and I had no clue.  I only knew that we were on Route 527 heading south.

We were climbing gradually. At the top we were next to a long, open field. On the other side, off in the distance, were two obvious hills. 

I tried to guess at what we might be seeing. The only hills I could think of out here in the flatlands were the ones near Millstone. Were we looking at the rise north of Clarksburg? I had no idea where we were.

One minute later I did. We were across Route 33 from where Kinney meets Sweetmans. We could see the mill from the intersection. "We're back on home turf," Larry said.

We turned onto Oakland Mills. Now the sun was out, the light filtering past the clouds in that way that makes every color pop.

We were facing west now, and the wind was picking up. Larry began to fall behind on the rollers. We passed Le Chatau de Ptomaine. I slowed, not sure if he wanted to stop there. "Do you want to stop here?" he asked.

"No!" I said. "It's Clarkburg!"  There was a group of cyclists sitting outside. We didn't recognize them. We moved on. "Roy's is only a few miles away," I said.

We continued along Route 524, past the Assunpink, past the Horse Park, looking at the houses and commenting on them. Larry notices every one, and he notices things I'd never pick up on, like the color of paint on a porch, or the size of a barn in the back yard. All ride long I'd been pointing out houses, as if he were on the market. I did my best to pull Larry through the wind to Roy's, four miles west of Le Chateau on the same road.

As we were turning in we saw a group leaving. While we sat outside a group from the Central Jersey Bike Club pulled in.

Roy's is the Sergeantsville of the flatlands. Roy's is the new Clarksburg.

We got talking and, after about ten minutes, the leader realized he knew Larry from way back. After that the rest of us witnessed a recounting of a who's who and where are they now. There was a brief discussion of big biking events that no longer happen, and of declining membership.

The breeze was making me cold. I hadn't worn a jacket, just arm warmers and leggings. I put my glove liners back on while we talked.

From where I was sitting I had a clear view of Route 524 and the field beyond. With proper framing and a moderate amount of zoom, I could make the road disappear, leaving two mailboxes to look as if they were standing in the middle of an open field.

We stayed put until the Central Jersey riders were ready to go. They went east, with the wind. We went north, towards the Assunpink WMA. Halfway up Imlaystown-Hightstown Road we found horses.

I'm a sucker for a horse with fuzzy feet.

To the right, a third horse stood, and, when I focused in on it, I noticed the stripes*.

Larry noticed the bird.

Then we both notices the miniature donkeys who were grazing their way toward us.

Larry was struggling on the rollers again. When I got behind him I realized that his seat was too high; his hips were rocking and they shouldn't have been. No wonder he had no oomph!

I told him what I thought right away, which might have been a bad idea. Getting this sort of information can really take the wind out of your sails because it's all you focus on for the rest of the ride.

Fortunately we were almost finished.

Larry confessed to having swapped saddles without thinking that the height from the rail to the top of the saddle might be different from what he'd removed. Now he's got a small homework assignment. The next time we see him I'm sure he'll be back to full strength.

We stood talking in the parking lot for a good 20 minutes before I finally begged off. I had to pee and buy bagels.

At home, yesterday's wide-open tulips were closed. I guess they don't open up until it's warm enough for my leggings come off.

(*I posed the question to a couple of equestrian friends, who told me that horses have a winter coat that comes in a different color than their summer one. With careful clipping, one can create stripes on a very patient horse.)