28 August 2022
When I posted the route for Saturday's ride from Mercer County Park to Charlestown Coffee, I edited an old map. I forgot an important detail.
I rode in from home with Rajesh, who was the only one out of the handful of people I contacted to take me up on extra miles from my house. Jack H would undoubtedly ride in from Yardley. Blob, massochist that he is, chose to make the 18-mile trip from his house.
We took the shortcut through the woods, stopping at the little bridge over the Assunpink. We're in a drought. The water was a sickly, murky, gray-green.
This is a reflection of the trees in the water:
Blob arrived at the parking lot looking a bit worn. "It's from the eight flights of stairs I had to climb trying to get through Princeton's campus." Dang. Had I known he was planning to cut through campus to get from Washington to Alexander, I'd have told him, "You can't get there from here." Campus right now is a maze of blocked roads, construction barriers, and students moving in.
Racer Pete rode in from Ewing. Joe C rode in from Hamilton. Everyone else had the good sense to drive. The air was sticky, and already I was wet with sweat.
There were eight of us, a number that's easy for me to count while moving. The new person, Joe C, it turned out, had been Rajesh's bike mentor and coworker years ago. They hadn't seen each other in forever.
Someone noticed that the jersey Rajesh was wearing said "Wiggins" on the front. "I got it cheap," he said. I replied, "I'm calling you Wiggins from now on."
Eric H wants to be a ride leader. "Eric is going to give the spiel," I announced.
"What?!?
"Pop quiz!"
He did pretty well for not having studied. He's been on so many of Jim's rides he's got the patter down.
We were heading east, approaching the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area, when I realized how tired I was. I'd had a hectic Friday and didn't sleep well. I looked down at my speed and was ashamed. Only then did it occur to me that we were heading dead-on into the wind. Somehow, I always wind up in front when we're in a headwind.
We made it down to New Egypt without incident. Next to Charlestown Coffee is a deli. They're connected inside. They're in a little strip mall at the corner of Routes 518 and 539, which is neither peaceful nor scenic. But the place has everything a cyclist could want, including a shady breezeway (that was indeed breezy) we could gather ourselves in, out of the way.
I opted for a mango smoothie, just fruit juice and ice. One advantage of being the ride leader is that I get to decide when we're ready to leave. This is important when I'm trying not to get brain freeze (I failed). One has to go slowly with these things.
The route back continued the counterclockwise circle, so we were in a crosswind again when we got to Hill Road. Some of the road is under trees, and under our wheels were dead leaves.
My lack of sleep was catching up with me here, and I wound up in the back of the group. I had a nagging feeling that the GPS would tell us to go north on Walnford Road, which, I only remembered at this moment, has been closed for bridge repairs for quite a while now.
Near the top of the last of the seven hills, Racer Pete got a flat. I stopped to lend a hand. I figured the rest of the group would be gathered at the intersection, waiting for me to make a detour. I know the roads around there well enough to fake it, but not as well as I know the roads in the Sourlands.
Fortunately, it was a front tire flat and a quick fix. And, as I suspected, the bridge was still out and the group was waiting. Blob and Jack know what Hill Slugs are about. They'd already assessed the situation.
"It's walkable," Blob said. "Loose dirt," Jack H said.
Hmm. They were all already between the road-closed sign and the concrete barrier. Going around would add extra miles. It was hot. And windy.
"Well, I do have a reputation to protect."
Heddy, with a little grin, did an about-face and lifted her bike over the barrier.
A few people wanted to know where this crossing sits in the scale of difficulty. Racer Pete did lose a cleat cover, which adds points. We did have to hand our bikes off to people; that adds points. But the actual crossing was relatively easy, and dry. I'd say this sits somewhere in the middle. Eric H and Joe C got their Hill Slug initiation, so that's a plus.
The rest of the ride was hot and windy. With two miles to go, I felt myself starting to bonk. I guess I ought to have ordered the large smoothie, not the small one.
Wiggins and I made it back to my house with just under 62 miles.
The evening was spent down in Collingswood, celebrating the new citizenship of an old friend. I was the designated driver, as always. We didn't get home until after 11:00, and by the time I'd cleaned the litter boxes, fed the cats their evening snack, and checked on the spiders, it was past midnight.
I slept in, and went out on my own with Beaker. The rear derailleur, which Michael had fixed as much as he could, requires a lot of double-shift-up-single-shift-down action. It makes quite a racket. I was glad to be by myself. I did the old Friday Night from Pennington route, with a detour into Hopwell. This is my recovery ride muffin run.
On the ground everywhere were dead leaves. This is what early October should look like, not late August.
Boro Bean was strangely quiet. The guy who sits on the porch with his guitar said the place had been packed, including bikers, earlier. "Threatening skies," he said.
I wish it would rain. I wish it would pour for days.
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