Wet

 

It was a newspaper-in-the-shoes kind of ride.

11 September 2022

After a stressful week with not enough sleep, I chose to stay off the bike yesterday. Everyone I wanted to ride with was otherwise occupied. I even skipped the Sourland Spectacular. Instead, I slept in, took care of a couple dozen rusty paint cans that had been squirreled away in the crawlspace, did some yard work, walked around Bordentown with Jack, did some chores, and headed off to South Jersey for dinner with friends. It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day. 

As we ate dinner, I watched the clouds roll in. Tomorrow would be rainy in the afternoon.

I'd signed up for Eric H's Sunday ride. It was his first as a ride leader. He was filling in for Jim. These days, learning how to list a ride using the club's online calendar is more of a challenge than keeping a handful of riders together. 

I set out on Kermit, aiming to meet the group on Canal at Suydam at 9:00. They came rolling down a few minutes later. The forecast had gotten worse; two riders had canceled. So there were five of us, which is a good number of people to have on your first ride. He kept us all together.

Eric used one of Jim's routes. The plan was to stop at the Blawenburg Bistro. I'd leave the group there to make my way home through Hopewell.

We were a handful of miles in when I called out "Hole!" and pointed to a crater. Engrossed in conversation, a rider behind me hit the hole dead on. Carbon bikes make a certain noise when they misbehave. This noise was loud. Somehow, this rider stayed upright, suffering only a pinch flat that was quickly remedied. 

We were about five miles away from the rest stop, facing west, when the rain started. The Sourland Mountain was shrouded in gray mist behind a field. It wasn't raining hard. We pressed on.

A mile later, the rain picked up. We took a vote and decided that the best thing to do would be to skip the rest stop and head home. I had 33 miles at this point. 

I followed the group as far as the canal. When they went north, I turned south, with 15 miles between me and home. 

The rain was for real now. When you get to a certian level of wet, it no longer matters. I tilted my GPS so that the water would roll right off it. My shoes were soaked. My water bottles were coated in grit. My gloves were sponges. My sunglasses were useless; I peered over the top. I pedaled nonstop through Kingston and Princeton as the rain got heavier. By the time I reached the Lawrence border, I was riding through puddles.

I wheeled Kermit into the back yard and, in the rain, hosed the bike down. I cleaned the chain with Simple Green in my trusty Chain Pig, hosed the bike down again, and dried everything off with a towel.

Kermit and I have been in the rain together so many times that, to us, it's just another day.