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.
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