Guest Slugging

 

Sky over Ringoes, NJ

21 August 2022

Saturday

Bobbi is Tom's biggest fan, so say both of them. When she and co-leader Marty A listed a ride with "non-speedy climbers" right there in the title, I clicked on it to find that the route they'd chosen was the Hill Slug route from Tom's book, Road Biking NJ. I've been burning out on leading rides. This seemed like a no-brainer.

They'd tweaked the route to start in Hopewell rather than Pennington. For a hot minute, I considered riding in from home. Then I thought the better of it, because, to get there with time to spare for a 7:30 start, I'd have to leave my house at sunrise. It's tough enough for me to wake up before 6:30, let alone to to be ready to pedal before that. So I slummed it and drove.

The only folks I knew on the 15-person ride were Blob, Rajesh, and John K. We huddled together at the start.

There was a big talent spread, as would be expected wit a group of 15 people. Marty led and Bobbi swept. I tried to stay near the front, which is what I tend to do, when I can, when I don't know anyone else's riding style.

Marty and Bobbi kept the group together, minus a burp in the beginning, from Hopewell, up Crusher, down Carter, to Bayberry Road (marked for chip-seal or micropaving). Just as I was telling Marty that I always look for the herd of sheep on Bayberry, we came upon them. They were in the southwestern field this time. I stopped for pictures, waving everyone else on.

The sheep and goats all moved towards me when I said hello to the dog in the next pen. I didn't have anything for any of them except a shot at internet fame.

We went south on Pennington-Rocky Hill (where we pased a sign for chip seal or micropaving on Old Mill), across Route 31, over Burd, and up Woosamonsa. I felt as if I had home court advantage here. These are the roads I take when I haven't thought of anything better. I'm not usually here in the summer, though. They're much easier when my legs aren't imprisoned in winter tights.

We got spread out on Pleasant Valley-Harbourton Road. We stopped at the top of the first hill to collect ourselves.

We climbed up Goat Hill and went east on 518. It was so early still that Michael's truck wasn't yet parked in front of Wheelfine. Good thing. Most of the bikes on this ride were electronic-shifting, disc-brake, carbon-framed, it-bikes. Lately, I've been thinking that Miss Piggy's 7-year-old frame and 12-year-old components might qualify as antiques. 

The titular boulder of Dinosaur Hill was recently painted. It glowered at us as we zipped past. 

There were no cows to photograph at the top of Mount Airy. 

The listed pace for this ride was a notch slower than what I'm accustomed to, and while I wasn't the fastest climber, I felt more at ease on the hills than I usually do. The pressure to keep up with everyone wasn't there. I found myself out in front on the flats, which is where my rides get faster too. The temptation to ditch leading Hill Slug rides grew, but, at the same time, I knew that I needed to push myself to keep up with the Slugs in order to maintain whatever it is I have. It's not easy being a brick shithouse in a world of two-by-fours. 

To add an extra mile, Marty adjusted the route so that we wouldn't go past the cemetery. Instead, we stayed on Sandy Ridge, which is a thing I never do but I think I might from now on. The road is pretty and shady.

We filled the bike rack at the Bagel Barn. I think people are choosing this place over the general store a quarter mile up the road. I like to alternate. Someone asked me earlier which one had better coffee. My answer was, "Meh." I rarely get anything to eat at the deli; at the general store, it's their homemade cherry-walnut-squash bread or a chocolate muffin. The general store has tradition and history on its side. It's quirky and also salmon-colored. The deli has a concrete pig near the entrance and a bathroom you don't have to climb a set of rickety, curving stairs to get to. 

We got spread out after we left the rest stop. We regrouped outside of the Carousel deli in Ringoes. There'd been a flat somewhere back there. I had my camera out when Bobbi caught up. She takes more pictures than I do, always of people, and none of me because I asked her not to. "What are you taking a picture of?" she asked.

"The clouds."

I wished it would rain, but that wasn't in the weather's plan today. The entire state is in a drought now. There's rain in the forecast for Sunday night, all day Monday, and into Tuesday morning. I want it to pour the entire time.

We climbed back over the Sourland Mountain on Linvale, then gathered to regroup at Snydertown. I pedaled past, calling out to Marty that "I hate hate hate this road! I'll see y'all at the other end." The last thing I wanted to do in that moment was to stop at the bottom of the hill.

I hate Snydertown because of where I always put it during a ride: towards the end, after a big descent. At this point, my back is starting to hurt (or I've lost a seat bolt), I'm getting hungry, I've just climbed the mountain, and I'm mentally not ready to go up again. 

Really, though, there's only a little bit of climbing, at the beginning. The rest is nearly flat or slightly uphill. The road is narrow, winding, and was recently chip-sealed. There are no potholes. There's no traffic. The trees are tall and often hide the houses. It's a beautiful few miles. I guess it's not so bad after all, especially when I'm not trying to catch up to the rest of my riders. 

I waited in the shade at the corner, where there's yet another sign warning of impending chip-seal or micropaving or whatever. 

Name a quiet road in the Sourlands, near the Delaware River, or in Hunterdon County. Odds are it's going to be covered in gravel or tar next week. 

Across from the sign, up in a tree, was what's left of a caterpillar tent.

We flew down Stony Brook to 518, where the riders standing near me looked ahead in horror at the asphalt wall between us and Hopewell. "Do we have to climb that?" I screwed up my face. "Yeah, but it's not as bad as it looks." There are a couple of breaks in the incline that we couldn't see from where we were standing. It's a grind, and we did it. Everyone made it back to the start in one piece. 

After I cleaned myself up and packed Miss Piggy away, I stopped at Boro Bean to bring home a couple of muffins. 

Sunday

Jim's ride had a few people signed in for his ride when I added myself to the list on Saturday evening. He was doing the Boro Bean run (yay! more muffins!). As is my custom, I planned to meet his group en route in Princeton and peel off after the rest stop. I miss out on a few miles, but I climb a little more to make up for it.

At 7:55, I checked the registration list again. I don't know why I did that. What I saw unnerved me enough that, had it been an hour earlier, I'd have canceled. But now I was committed; they'd be pushing off from the Claremont School in five minutes, a mob of fastboys that was exactly what I did not want right now. I was sleep-deprived and still tired from yesterday's hills. What I wanted was a recovery ride, not a catch-up fest. Bleah. 

I set out on Miss Piggy, taking my time. I had a mild tailwind to help me on the way into Princeton. When I got to Snowden, I opened the route on my GPS and did my best to follow it backwards while it refused to give up asking me if I wanted it to reroute me to the start. I was snaking through a neighborhood, clueless about which way I was facing, when I saw Rick waiting on a corner. We chatted for maybe five minutes before the group rolled up. 

I waited until I saw Jim, at the back, before I started to move. I hung with him and a few others as the rest of the group got far ahead and missed a turn.

"Let them go," I said. "Let them go." 

"See ya!" Jim called out, and on we went. 

They figured it out, and Jim waited for them at the end of what Jim called "a rabbit warren" of back streets. He read them the riot act about keeping the leader in sight, and from then on, everyone behaved, even up Pretty Brook and Cleveland, which I somehow managed not to be the trailing rider on.

After those hills, I relaxed, and was even having a touch of fun. We rolled onto Bayberry, where the sheep were in the next field over. I wondered if they were getting enough to eat, what with the drought and the grass being pretty much dead everywhere. At the end of Bayberry, as we regrouped, I looked up at a couple of the trees across the street, their leaves curled in, drooping.

In the moment, I was feeling pretty good, and even contemplated staying with the group past Hopewell for a while. But I knew that, because I hadn't eaten (only stuffing a couple of muffins in my pockets), the feeling would not last. Instead, I took the long way home, west and south, through Pennington. I wound up with 8 fewer miles than Jim's group had, but with more hills to make up for it, and probably a good deal slower, too, as I pushed against a strong south wind that promised rain.

It was so early when I got home that I didn't know what to do with myself, so I made a pot of coffee.

Free time will be obsolete a few days from now. Glassblowing starts up again on Wednesday. My brain will split in half, one part for glass, and the rest for everything else. I won't have time to be grumpy about ride leading and hills and whatnot. That's probably a good thing. I can barely stand myself right now.