Lockdown Chronicles: #60

Assunpink Lake, Mile 77.7

30 May 2020

If a ride starts within 20 miles of my house, I try to ride my bike there. If the weather, distance, and motivation line up right, I sometimes spin a long ride out into a century.

I didn't figure there'd be much chance of that this year. We're not stopping to refill our bottles or buy food. There are no restrooms, only convenient trees to hide behind.

We're not riding close enough to each other to draft in a paceline. We all face the wind on our own now.

So when the idea crossed my mind that it's about time I rode 100 miles, I wasn't entirely committed to it. Tom's Saturday plan was to go from Mercer County Park to the southern end of New Egypt to see the longhorn cattle on Brynmore Road. The route he sent was 54 miles. Adding my trip to and from the park would get me 70. Finding another 30 would be a task I wasn't sure was worth pursuing.

I filled my Camelbak and packed extra food anyway. I told Jack I wasn't sure when I'd be home.

"So, you doing a century today?" Pete asked me?

"Dunno yet," I said.

Tom led Pete, Ricky, Jack H, and me out of the park. We were surfing the tailwind across the northern side of the Assunpink when I made up my mind. I switched to century cadence and fell behind.

Harvey Road at Davis Station Road

The little heat wave that had us turning on our air conditioners at the end of the week was being blown out to sea. The temperature was perfect for a hundred-mile ride, even if the wind was blowing a little strong. If I were careful with my water, I could probably do the trip without a refill.

We got down to New Egypt, where the herd was grazing on decomposing garbage and fresh grass. Tom altered course to avoid a muddy road, cutting out a few miles.

The calves were sprouting horns.

From the looks of the route, I thought we were going to stop at Charleston House, but we didn't. Tom found a wooded spot on a residential road instead. We spread out and ate our snacks.

We'd barely got moving again when Ricky found the pink-ankled horse and the two donkeys.

I gave the donkey nearest me some grass from my side of the fence. Then I had to use a precious disinfectant wipe to clean the donkey lips off my hand.

A handful of miles later, Jack H disappeared off the front, tired of waiting for us.

"Hey, Pete, do you have any spare water in your car?"

"No. I didn't bring any today."

Tom said, "You can stop at my house and use my hose," so that's what I did. He and Lori even let me use their bathroom, a first since the lockdown. I made sure not to touch any knobs or handles with my bare hands. This is the new normal.

I had to find 39 miles somewhere. I decided to go back to the Assunpink and take a look at the lake. I crossed Route 130 again, turned on Perrineville, and realized I'd still be short on miles. I took a detour up Cedarville to Etra and down Feldsher before heading into the Wildlife Management Area.

If nothing else, this ride would be a test of my distance knowledge. My solo loop to the Assunpink two weeks ago gave me some idea. I'd still come up short, though.

I stopped at the lake long enough to sit down for two photos and drink some water.

Instead of turning on Herbert to head home, I went south to Route 524. It's been so long since I've been on that road towards Allentown that I had no idea how far away it would be. I did know that from the center of town to my house is about 14 miles. When I reached town, I had about 16 miles to go. I went south to find Route 526. I took that to West Manor Way, where I saw several Amazon trucks coming and going from the industrial park. I've been on this road for many Saturdays, all of them truckless, until now.

To add some distance, I took Sharon Road to Bresnahan back to Gordon. When I got to Route 1 at Bakers Basin, two miles from home, I had just under 2.5 miles to go. I took the long way into the neighborhood and passed my house 0.3 miles short of 100. I went up the block until the odometer turned over.

This was my 60th century, and the first that I'd done half solo. I liked that I didn't have to try to keep pace with anyone. That's about the only advantage I can think of.

Lockdown Chronicles: Evening Livestock

Elm Ridge Road, Pennington

27 May 2020

Some days I'm not motivated to push myself. I dusted Rowlf off for a loop around Pennington and Hopewell to visit the usual livestock.

The herd on Bayberry didn't disappoint. A dog and a puppy watched me record the sound of the bells around the goats' necks:

Up on Elm Ridge, the evening light was just right:

I turned onto VanKirk to take a look at the longhorn herd. They were behind the trees.

I shouldn't have to, but I keep reminding myself how lucky we are to live around here.

Lockdown Chronicles: Almost Almost Normal

Manasquan Reservoir

25 May 2020

Outdoor gatherings larger than a passel of Hill Slugs are allowed again. For the first time since the lockdown began, everyone was able to ride, and everyone got to the starting point on time. 

The Pig is still closed. Jim, Ricky, Jack H, Bob, and Pete met me there anyway. We were headed to Sergeantsville counterclockwise. Tom would find us at the general store or the deli; we didn't really firm that part up.

We were passed by every racer boy in the tri-county area, as if this were the first day they'd been sprung from  captivity.

Last week's winds had died down. The summer humidity hadn't yet settled in, which gave us a clear view of the ridge near Flemington from Rileyville Road.

Y'know, it's not like I'm overly fond of cows. I just have to take pictures of them is all. Dairy cows, who are handled more by humans, tend to be more cooperative than beef cattle as I fumble with my camera while trying to keep my bike upright on an incline. These gals live on Everitts Road.

Pete, Jack, and Bob pass me and Jim as we take pictures of the red barn on Yard Road:

We rolled into Pennington from the east, passing the general store first. Tom was sitting on the curb. Two customers were eating at an outside table. We turned down Stockton-Flemington Road to go to the Bagel Barn, where there would be more room for us in the parking lot. The Bagel Barn had picnic tables set up in the yard on one side of the building. The tables were occupied. We stayed in the parking lot to eat the snacks we'd brought with us. None of us went in.

We're getting used to riding together apart and standing apart together. We've been doing this for months now. It feels almost normal. Almost.

Real normal might never happen. Almost normal will be when we're comfortable with going inside to get a muffin and a cup of coffee, even if we eat and drink outside, six feet apart. Normal would be if we could use an indoor bathroom instead of a well-placed tree on an uninhabited road. I'm getting good at finding trees.

Back in Pennington, Art Toro and Music B. Ox are wearing masks. Be like the oxen.

The  rest stop with a bathroom thing, I think, is the difference between doing a century and doing what I did today. After yesterday's hills, I didn't have fresh legs. I rode Kermit 11 miles to Tom's house anyway, carrying extra snacks, two bottles of electrolyte mix, and a Camelbak full of water. Jack H had driven to Tom's. The three of us made the 5-mile trip to Etra Park.

Jim was waiting for us in the small parking lot on Etra Road. Etra Park itself, and the overflow lot across the street,  were both barricaded.

The air was cool and clammy. My hands were already sticky. Road grime was already collecting on my shins. Both of these things I attribute to the sunblock I cover myself with, even on cloudy days.

We rode into what little wind there was, which shifted along with our direction.

When we were about to cross Route 9, we faced a closed road. Things not being normal, we detoured around it. What has become of us?

A few miles later we turned into the parking lot at Manasquan Reservoir. It was full. We settled in at the boat launch.

I was supposed to be in Maine this week, watching the ocean and the fog from our hotel room on Mount Desert Island. "This will have to do," I told Jim as I put on my cleat covers, removed my glasses and helmet and pulled out my camera.

The thick cloud cover cast a gloomy pall over everything.

We'd been riding in and out of mist. There must have been rain overnight. The irises by the boathouse were wet.

We must have arrived just in time. As we were leaving, it looked as if park rangers were turning cars away.

When we crossed Georgia Tavern Road again I suggested a quick detour so that we could see the reservoir from the causeway.

I take this picture every time. There's always a boat among the dead trees.

Two fishermen were using pedal-powered boats to maneuver among the trees. I called out my appreciation to the closer one. Jim did the same, only quieter.

"I'm pretty sure that's the boat launch," I said to Jim, pointing to the brown building across the water. 

He refused to believe we'd come that far in such a short time. I believed it. We had a tailwind now.

I left the guys when they turned onto Battleground from Perrineville Road. I knew only that I'd follow Perrineville to Windsor Road and take my usual route home. I hadn't figured out how far it would be. If it weren't for the tailwind I'd have been miserable. As it was, I was merely uncomfortable.

As I rounded the corner to my house, my odometer read 74.2 miles. For a second I considered riding around until I reached 75 miles. But only for the second it took me to reach my driveway.

Kermit was as filthy as I felt. After I cleaned myself off, I doused his blackened chain in Simple Green and hosed him off. The chain is all shiny now. The sun is finally out.

Lockdown Chronicles: Great Blue Heron

Great Blue Heron near Delaware and Raritan Canal, Lawrence Township, NJ 

20 May 2020

Jack and I took a walk on the towpath an hour before sunset. We started from the Brearley House. There's a sign at the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail that reminds us we're in the new normal.

I'm here more often on my bike than on foot, and during winter more than any other time. The path to the canal was more crowded than I'd ever seen, which is to say that we made space for two pairs of two to pass us from the opposite direction.

In the little marsh we saw a great blue heron. I wonder if this is the same one a group of us kept disturbing on one of our winter rides last year. This one didn't seem to care about our presence. It was busy eating dinner.

They're kinda round!

And stilty.

The towpath, too, had people on it. I didn't think anyone bothered to walk this far south.

On our way back, nearly half an hour later, the heron was still there, now in shadow.