#65: The Unready Century

 

Reed Farm, Allentown, NJ

12 June 2022

We're back into cool spring weather. Once again, Tom was leading a ride from the Reed Recreation Area in Allentown under the threat of rain. Once again, I planned to ride there from my house. 

I needed the extra miles because I was way behind on my century training. By now I should have had more than the two metrics spread more than a month apart. Tom's route was 55 miles. To Allentown and back would add another 30, making the day a good base for whenever I'd go for 100.

Rickety and Martin wanted in on the extra miles. "How many total is it gonna be?" Rickety asked. When I said, "85," he sort of groaned. Martin has been training for Anchor House and has a new bike (a hand-me-down of sorts from Ralph); he was ready.

"It's just the four of us," Tom said when we rolled into Allentown. Ming the Rocket was standing next to him in flip-flops. "I forgot my shoes," she said. She was about to leave when she remembered that she had a pair of sneakers in her car. With small feet and Look pedals, she said she was good to go. 

Before we started, Tom needed to bless the ride. Now, not only was the Holy Kickstand enshrouded in bubble wrap and a mask, it was also being protected by an umbrella. This was to shield us from rain, given that the last tme we were out here we got soaked.

The temperature was in the high 60s, and if there was wind, there wasn't much. We rode southeast, through Cream Ridge and Colliers Mills, then turned east toward Jackson, to Tom's house.

He lives in a gated, age-restricted, community that surrounds a golf course. The first two times I was here, all I could see were endless rows of black-numbered white mailboxes, at the end of perfectly manicured lawns, as we twisted and turned for two miles from the entrance to his house. Now I was noticing the houses themselves, and how they weren't all alike after all. 

As we dismounted, I saw the sky. "I think we're in for some trouble," I said. 

"Nah," Tom replied. "We won't get wet."

Tom and Lori fed and watered us on their back patio, which faces the edge of a small patch of woods. 

On our way back to Allentown, we felt a few drops of rain.

"You must have a metric by now," Rocket said. 

I looked down at my cyclecomputer. 61.7 miles. "Almost," I answered. "I haven't been thinking about it." And why not? Because, back at Tom's house, Rickety, Martin, and I had floated the idea of making this a century, rain-willing. Even Tom asked.

The problem was that I wasn't prepared. I'd thrown in an extra energy bar and gel shots, and I had electolytes in both of my bottles. But the last time I did a metric was a month ago. 

The final few miles of Tom's route were straight down Route 524. Martin took off, with Rocket chasing him. The rest of us stayed back. Rickety and I weren't going to burn ourselves up with 30 miles still left to go. We eventually caught up to Rocket, who, had she been wearing her cleats, would have been out of sight like Martin.

When we got back to Allentown, I sat on the curb and inhaled my second bar. Across the Route 526 spur, clouds hung heavy over the Reed sod farm.

Martin checked the weather radar on his phone and held the picture up to me. "That blue dot is us," he said, "and the green stuff is coming our way."

We had planned to stop at my house before the final 15 miles. I changed the plan. "Let's do the thing first."

I could feel my legs trying to cramp. When we got to Quakerbridge Road, I turned into the little Wawa. "I need water," I said. We all did. Rickety bought a gallon. I downed a small bottle of orange juice in about fifteen seconds. We didn't stay more than a few minutes. 

"I'm glad we're doing the extra miles first," Rickety said. "If we'd stopped at your house I wouldn't have started again." That had been my thought too. That, and the rain.

So far, the clouds had been drawing a semicircle around us, keeping pace with our pace. When we got within a mile of my house, I turned us north instead, creating a long path towards Pennington. If I could land us in the center of town at 94 miles, we'd have our century.

My delay tactic included Lewisville Road, where every speed bump I stood over threatened a round of cramps. We took Denow Road all the way to Van Brunt, which added distance and softened the incline. I had to stop there to dig into my bag for a pair of electrolyte tablets. My legs were starting to cramp for real. We were at 90 miles. 

"We can go home," Rickety said. "Nope," I replied. "We're too close to the end." I got back on Kermit. Within minutes, I felt better. 

We took Blackwell Road to Federal City. As we approached the traffic light on Main Street in Pennington, I looked at my computer. 94 miles. "Hey, kids! We got it!"

We rolled onto my street with 100 miles. My GPS, and theirs, read a mile more, but I always go by my little cyclocomputer.

Overhead, the ring of clouds maintained their distance.