Once More Into the Breach

 

Delaware River at Washington Crossing

31 January 2021

I'm glad I'm not the sort to make new year's resolutions, because if I were I'd have broken each one already.

I wasn't going to consider buying a new gravel bike. I did. Not there are any out there I'm willing to pay for.

I wasn't going to use any subscription biking apps when I started using my indoor trainer in November. I did. Not that I'm paying for a subscription just yet.

And I wasn't going to bother to ride outside on Saturday because the real feel would be something in the single digits. I did. Not that it felt as cold as last weekend, when I had no qualms about going out on both days.

Those last two items are related. Most of my friends who ride indoors are on Zwift or Strava or both. I have no interest in either. I want to be anonymous, without some avatar representing me, without my name up on some list on the screen, and I don't want to ride in some virtual reality world. Rouvy seems a better fit. Although it's aimed at racers and Iron People, the routes are real videos, some made by users and curated by Rouvy.

On Thursday morning, as I was using Wahoo's built-in app on my indoor trainer, grinding through an endurance ride, because I still follow the old-school spinning workout protocols, I was getting bored looking at the display of cadence, watts, and heart rate. "I wonder," I thought, "if Rouvy has courses in Acadia National Park."

It does: a carriage road loop, Park Loop Road with Cadillac Mountain, and the mountain road by itself. I downloaded the app and the carriage road video for a free trial. The weekend would be cold; I could experiment. 

On Friday we had our weekly Insane Bike Posse Zoom therapy session. "I'm going to ride up the canal from Washington Crossing tomorrow if anyone wants to join me," Pete said.  

"I'll go," Tom answered.

Peer pressure. "Okay," I added.

It was 20 degrees when I packed Grover into the car. Blobs of ice were floating down the Delaware River.

But it wasn't as windy as last week. Jack H, who found us by chance, was the only one of us who didn't stop on the bridge for pictures.

As we did last week, we went up the Pennsylvania side, which is more sheltered from the wind than the New Jersey side. The canal was starting to ice over.

By the time we reached New Hope, Tom had had enough of the cold and decided to turn back. The rest of us went on. I stopped to get a picture of the sculpture that I missed getting last week.

We crossed the river to Stockton.

With the wind at our backs, we flew home. Pete turned up Church street to ride back to his house. Jack H is still riding his Fuji gravel bike while he waits for his new one, a higher-end Cannondale Topstone, to arrive, "late March or April," he said. I'll take his or the Topstone 4, whichever comes first.

At this point my chances of getting a new bike this winter are about as low as my getting the COVID vaccine.

None of us had plans for an organized Sunday ride. Snow was in the forecast. I spent Saturday afternoon making two trips to Newtown to pick up two curio cabinets from a classmate. I figured I'd spend the weekend moving furniture around. Once I got started with cleaning the cabinets, though, my caffeinated brain had me packing away a rack of rare CDs, moving the rack out of the house, sliding the cabinets where the rack was, and moving glass around. In the end, it was as if the crowded pieces now had a chance to breathe, with room to spare for another few years. It was also after midnight.

I tried to sleep; instead I lay awake and came up with three possible designs for the glass pendant lamps Mighty Mike wants me to make for him. At 2:00 a.m., I gave up, found Mojo on a sofa, and carried him to bed, where he purred on my stomach until we both fell asleep.

Of course, I woke up late, and by the time I'd finished breakfast, the ground was already dusted by the first flakes of the storm that promised to leave us under at least a foot of snow.

So down I went to Gonzo, who has been posted on the Wahook Kickr Core since late summer. I linked Rouvy to the Kickr, turned on my heart rate monitor, started the music, and began the Acadia National Park carriage road course.

I was transported. I was there. It was summer, late afternoon. I almost hollered out to Jack, "Come here! You have to see this!" The video was crisp, and, every once in a while, the rider's shadow would appear on the crushed stone path. He was on a road bike, flying past people on mountain bikes and cruisers. I remember doing that too. Most of the time it was just me and the carriage roads, not a soul in sight. I only wish the rider had aimed the camera at Eagle Lake or out over the edge at the top of the open climbs. Unlike me, this guy doesn't stop for pictures.

I've cued up the Park Loop Road loop with Cadillac Mountain.  Central Jersey will be snowed in for a while. I'll be in Maine.

A Month of Weekends

 

Winter Sky

24 January 2021

New Year's Day was rainy. January 2 wasn't. Tom offered to lead a ride from Mercer County Park through Princeton and on to Hillsborough, so that we'd be into the wind first.

I'm not sure where we were when someone had a mechanical of some sort. I did my usual winter thing, pointing my camera to the sky.

There were two jets flying close to each other. They were too far away to get a good shot (click on the pictures; it might help).

The Griggstown Causeway is prone to flooding. This time, the road was clear, but the parking lot was under water.

Someone had a mechanical of some sort and pulled over. I was a bit ahead, and took the time to take pictures on the bridge.

On Plain Jim's Sunday ride the next week, we stopped for a minute at the arboretum at Montgomery Veteran's Park.

The following Saturday, Tom led me and Pete from Mercer County Park to Bordentown. The overlook where the Crosswicks drains to the Delaware isn't as pretty at low tide.

The wind picked up by the end of the ride, and I fought it all the way back from the park.

The next day was even windier. A lot of fast people I didn't know had signed up for Plain Jim's ride. For most of the route, we were into the wind or being pushed sideways. Only when we got to Sunset Road to turn east did we catch a break. I managed to get a little ahead while the group bunched up waiting for everyone to make the turn, and I took the opportunity to get lots of cloud pictures, which is what I do in the winter. 

The group got ahead of me at this point, but I didn't care; we had a tailwind now.

By the following Saturday, we'd plunged into a medium-deep freeze, which is to say that we weren't in the single digits, but we were in air that was in the high 20s with wind gusts to match. I hadn't led a ride all year, so I listed one for the towpath. I got four takers.

Ricky and Ken G rode in from home on their gravel bikes, and Martin came in from home as well. Ricky had his new gravel bike too. I'm still stuck with my 13-year old mountain bike, whose front brake cable comes out of its housing every time I take the front wheel off, which I have to do to get it into my car. I've taken to wrapping a Velcro strap around the brake lever to keep tension on the cable. I had the front end serviced less than 200 miles ago. The levers are shit.

I asked Ricky some more questions about his bike. It's a Cannondale Topstone 4, the only gravel bike I've seen so far that isn't more than I need. It's a one-by with mechanical disc brakes. And that's it. No fancy shocks, no hydraulics, just simple bike. The price is right, at something like $1100. The light blue color isn't bad either, which is saying something, because every other new gravel bike I've seen is some version of puke brown. Of course, one ride on the towpath in the winter will turn any frame puke brown.

I was pleasantly surprised that Grover ran as smoothly as he did, considering that, to clear him of half an inch of towpath last time, when my garden hose was frozen, I splashed four buckets of hot water onto the frame and drivetrain to clean him off.

Delaware River at Washington Crossing

Still, I had to work hard to keep up as we headed north on the Pennsylvania side. I used the bridge over  Pidcock Creek as an excuse to take pictures and give my legs a rest.

It takes me longer to get my right glove off and the camera out of my pocket than it does for me to take all those pictures.

The droplets of water in my Camelbak line froze.

I'd originally suggested we turn around at Stockton, where there's a stairway from the towpath to the bridge. Ken, Pete, and Ricky were already up it when Martin and I got there. I was standing next to a trail map that listed miles between bridges. If we turned around here we wouldn't even have 20 miles. Martin suggested we could go on to Bulls Island. I liked the idea. Ken and Ricky were cool with it. Pete had to get home, so he stayed up on the bridge and left us.

I'd forgotten how bad the towpath is on the PA side north of Stockton. No wonder people turn around there.

The sun cast shadows of the Bulls Island bridge railings onto the cement. By the time I got my camera out, a cloud had gotten in the way. 

Going north, pushing against the wind, felt like hours. Going south, with the wind pushing us, felt like minutes. After I got home, warmed up, and had some time to think, I called Ross Hart and asked if he'd be able to find me a Topstone 4. I might have to wait a year; he'll call me back.

Tom wanted company today. He'd be up in Long Valley to visit his father and would be riding on the Columbia Trail. I left Grover in the car overnight and drove up to meet him at the Coffee Potter on Schooley's Mountain Road. 

It felt a lot colder than yesterday. I'd stupidly checked the forecast for Trenton, not Long Valley. Once we got moving, south towards High Bridge, it wasn't so bad. We were between trees most of the time.

We always stop for pictures on the bridge over the Ken Lockwood Gorge.

My lens needs cleaing.

I think we had a tailwind, and the grade is ever so slightly downhill between Long Valley and High Bridge. Compared to yesterday, this felt easy. Also, Tom was riding a mountain bike, so we were better matched.

On our way back, we opted for the dirt road in the gorge.

It started off as we'd expected: the pavement gave way to gravel with the occasional ice-filled pothole. But farther north, the road had been washed out and filled in, first with large gravel chunks, and then with stones too large and jagged for our talents. We walked over those. Tom's rear wheel skidded out on him on a patch of ice. The fall snapped off his pump holder, but he was fine. I stopped a lot for pictures.

The Coffee Potter is doing brisk business as a drive-through. I loaded up on pastries, then stopped again at the Oldwick General Store to buy a pumpkin loaf. I always want to buy a pumpkin loaf when I'm there on my bike, but the things weigh more than a few pounds and are far too big for anyone's pannier. I was skeeved by several maskless customers, though. I got in and got out with the cherished loaf, grumbling to myself about the covidiots of Hunterdon County.