Hill Slug Odds and Ends

 

Pole Farm, Lawrence-Hopewell Trail

19 December 2020

Now that the end-of-semester chaos has wound down and we're more or less snowed in, whatever that means during a pandemic, there's time to catch up on bike blogging.

I haven't been leading many rides this fall, due to aforementioned chaos. Usually, the Slugs will stir mid-week and we'll wrap ourselves in an email chain about where we want to go, what we want do to, who will lead, and what time. It's all very disorganized in an organized sort of way.

The day after Thanksgiving, or, as we call it now, Is It Friday?, Tom led a ride from Etra Park to Farmingdale. The drive to Etra is annoying, so I tend to start from Tom's house instead. We met Ricky and Pete at the park. I got a couple of pictures of the lake through the trees.

We almost went right past the Manasquan Reservoir causeway. Tom said, "Laura probably wants to take pictures."

"You bet I do!" So we turned. The sun was right above the water, though, so my photos are washed out.

After that, none of us stopped for pictures. Somewhere on the way back, we came across a random porta-potty next to a ballfield. Since Plain Jim wasn't with us, we have no record of where it is.

Two Sundays later, we had our first cold day, and met at the Brearley House to ride the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail. I rode the two miles from home on Grover, my 2007 Cannondale mountain bike. By the time I got there, I was sure I wanted to get rid of the thing. I was convinced I wouldn't be able to keep up with anyone. 

Tom was on his new mountain bike, which is the same size but much lighter than mine. Pete was on his new Cannondale Topstone lefty. Ricky was riding his converted road bike. Jack H had a gravel bike. Jim had his Krakow Monster, a gravel bike before there was such a thing. And Mighty Mike, well, I don't remember what he was riding, just that he was riding with us again.

Approaching the Pole Farm from the southern end, one is faced with a long, slow grade to where the Delaware watershed ends and the Raritan watershed begins. Before making the turn onto the slog, I snapped a few pictures as the Slugs rode by:

That's Jim.

And Mighty Mike behind him.

Hi, Pete!

Over the summer, the curators of the trail were busy building bridges over wetlands and the Stony Brook between Rosedale Lake and Old Mill Road. It's quite an improvement. Gone is the hair-raising descent that, if not taken properly, would give one the impression that one was about to take an unplanned swim. We no longer have to navigate the mud near the Equestrian Center; instead we have a winding path and a series of bridges, then a smooth trail that parallels the road. I only took a picture of the westernmost bridge.

We were somewhere close to the end of the ride when I overheard Jack H say that he was planning to get rid of his gravel bike. "I'm gonna sell it for $500 or something," he said.

"Wait, what? What size is it?

"It might be too big for you. It's a 54."

"That's my size. I'll take it."

I said this without really looking at the bike. I didn't have to, because I'd seen Jack H fly off into the distance on the Paulinskill Valley Trail. 

When we got back to the parking lot, he let me try it out. The top tube seemed a little high for a 54 cm frame, but Rowlf, my Colnago, is the same way. I couldn't truly test it, though, because the saddle was up in the stratosphere. Still, it was easy to maneuver even standing up. Much easier than Grover.

I asked him why he wanted to get rid of it. He said he wanted something newer, geared differently. The big thing now is a "one by," meaning one chain ring in front and a big spread in back. Not having two derailleurs is a plus if you're hopping logs or riding through low brush, which I won't be because those days are over.

$500 seems a good price for something I'd put less than 200 miles on in any given year. As for changing components if I have to, when I changed Beaker over from Shimano to Campagnolo, I kept all the old parts.  Jim was already using the word "we" to describe what could be changed to make the bike my own. 

"It'll be a few months," Jack H said. "I'm heading up to Vermont for a while."

"No rush."  I'm not in a hurry, and he might change his mind if he can't find a new bike to suit his needs. 

I got back on Grover and trundled home. Only later did I realize that, despite Grover, and unlike our October adventure, I kept up this time.