Rolling Around

 

View from Higginsville Road

23 January 2023

Starting from Skillman Park was Blob's idea. It was a good idea. It got me out of my route rut. 

The Raritan/Neshanic valley north of the Sourlands is one of my favorite places to ride. The terrain is open and rolling. 

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to go up there on a cold, blustery day, but I have to maintain my nickname somehow.

Word has it that the bridge on Long Hill Road, the one that was under repair before Ida and washed out during the storm, is finally going to see some work. We approached the hole from the east, where we spent a few minutes deciding whether or not anything has been done here since the fall. The only difference was that the fresh lumber sitting on top of the culverts isn't there anymore.

We took Long Hill north towards Neshanic. I stopped partway down, pulling into a driveway, to get a view we can only see in the winter.

After we got over the mountain, we were in endless rollers for the rest of the ride. I dragged the group up Higginsville for the view.

To make the distance work out to something reasonable for mid-January, I'd chosen the Wawa on Route 202 as our rest stop. Across the highway is the Vacchiano farm store. Jim wondered it might make a better rest stop. My experience with places like that is mixed. Usually we can find something, but mostly these places are better visited by car. From their website, it appears less than ideal for a mid-ride break.

As with the rest of our rides this month, the sun went behind clouds after our break. I always feel colder after the rest stop anyway; the lack of sun adds to it. 

On the other hand, we had a tailwind most of the way back.

I was sporting one of my new pairs of leggings from Running Funky. I'd been expecting comments from the rabble, but there were none. I guess people are used to my oddball dress code by now.

Outside in January

 

Hollow Road at Long Hill Road

15 January 2023

I wasn't planning on writing a post right now, but I had to do some computer work for my day job, and Mojo has been sacked out on my lap since halfway through that. So here we are, blogging.

Tom invited the Insane Bike Posse and their partners over to his house yesterday to do a 5-ish mile walk along the golf course there. I couldn't convince Jack to join the crowd.

It was cold, windy, and dreary, a good day not to be on our bikes. The course closes in the winter. That's when regular people are permitted to walk on the golf cart path.

I hadn't seen some of these folks since last summer, and one since before the pandemic. The walk was easy, although my legs were tired by the end of it. I was wearing my hiking boots not because I needed them, but because they're the only thing that keeps my feet warm. I think they contributed to my discomfort at the end. This was not at all hiking boot terrain. I'd have felt better in sneakers with toe warmers. 

Blindly following Tom, we looped around and went inside the clubhouse twice. The second time through, we went out onto a balcony, where I took photos of a barren, winter clubhouse landscape.

When I stopped for a photo of the golf course on our second loop, Tom said this is where he stops for photos too.

After the hike, Tom and Lori filled us with salty snacks, pizza, and sugar. It was a fun day. 

Because I hadn't led a bike ride for a month, I listed one for Sunday. It took me three tries to come up with a route that stayed relatively short and scenic, but wouldn't be more hilly than a cold day in January would warrant.

I hadn't counted on the forecast adding 20-mph wind gusts out of the north at the last minute. Into this headwind I went with Miss Piggy, leaving home much earlier than usual, figuring it would take me forever to get up to Pennington in this weather. I really didn't want to leave the house. It was barely above freezing. On my way up, I considered ditching the planned route for a shorter one.

The six hearty souls who showed up -- Pete G, Racer Pete, Martin, Blob, Heddy, and Glenn -- were a good group to climb into the wind with. We stayed together so well that there was very little waiting at intersections. 

Our biggest climb was up Hollow Road from Route 518. We stopped to collect ourselves at the top. The bridge on Long Hill is still out. From where we were, we couldn't tell if any more work has been done since the fall. I took a picture of the sky, which was that perfect, deep blue we only get on crisp, dry days. 

Then we moved on, climbing up the rest of Long Hill.

We meandered towards Hopewell, stopping at Boro Bean. Fortunately, it was empty enough that we found tables inside. Also, it was cold enough that I hadn't sweated enough to get chilly during the rest stop. 

On our way back to Pennington, we finally had some tailwinds. We got pushed up Carter Road, which was nice, but then I was a bitch and led the group back down Crusher. Then we had a crosswind on Moores Mill Mount Rose, and a tailwind down Pennington-Rocky Hill. 

After the ride, Martin, Racer Pete, and I rode back down towards Lawrenceville together. We had a tailwind here too.

I'd listed the ride as a B ride, but in the description made it clear that we'd be going at a C+ pace in the hills. The ride only pushed into B territory towards the end. Every other flat spot we'd had was into the wind. Everyone was a good sport about it, though. I think the sun being out had something to do with that. If today had been cloudy, it would have truly sucked.

Well, Mojo has gone off to do more interesting things. There are no more emergency work tasks to be done. I'm signing off.

Ambivalent

 

Sky over Mercer County Park

8 January 2023

Leading rides lately has felt more like a chore than a fun volunteer activity. I've been at it since the late summer of 2000, although I didn't earn my first leader jersey until 2002. I started listing my rides as C+, then B-, until the then club President sent forth the edict that B- would henceforth cease to exist. I settled on B, letting the words "social" and "mellow" do the job the minus sign had done before.

I learned the term "Hill Slug" in my early days and decided that it fit me perfectly. Over the years I got better at climbing, which is to say I didn't get faster, just less afraid. I also got a lighter bike with gearing that lets me pedal at 3.5 mph without falling over.

When I stopped going around the big hills, the riders who joined me changed. The group has been pretty steady over the past decade. People have come and gone, but there's a core group of folks, all stronger than I am, who have stuck with it. Lately, though, some faster riders are creeping in. I'm always at the back of the pack anyway, but the pressure to go faster is more intense the more people are  waiting for me at the top of a hill. What's easy for them is hard work for me, and I come home trashed. 

Out in the flatlands, I've seen myself getting slower over the years. This is natural, of course. Ever since I stopped driving out to Cranbury, I stopped working on my speed. I honestly have no idea if I could keep up with Dave H's Saturday crew. 

So, between burnout and pace insecurity, I decided to take a little time away from leading. The last ride I led was on December 17. I'll get my 10 in for 2023 at some point, but, for now, I'm signing up for other people's rides.

On Saturday, I joined Marty and Bobbi's C+ ride from Mercer County Park. I rode over on Beaker, the Tommasini. She's not my fastest bike; she is the most cushy. I wanted to show her to Tony G, who had signed up and who had recently bought himself a pair of Tommasinis. 

The weather was on the warm side of cold. The wind was out of the northwest, which made my ride to the park relatively easy. 

I was disappointed to find that Tony had canceled. Bobbi and Marty had a big group anyway. I knew who most of the riders were. Plain Jim, Heddy, and Blob had signed up too. The route was one from Tom's book, Bobbi having a major crush on it. Although I'd loaded the course into my GPS, I hadn't looked at it.

I don't remember what brought us to the subject, but during our pre-ride chatter, Heddy said, "I'm an extrovert at work and an introvert at home. I guess that makes me an omnivert." That didn't sit right with me because I knew that "omni" means "all." I also didn't think one sholuld mix Greek with Latin. Being slightly word-nerdy, and married to a full-blown word nerd, I couldn't let this go. It bounced around in my head all the way through Imlaystown and down Rues Road. "Amphivert?" I suggested. That was a mouthful, and "amphi" is Greek. 

We were well onto our way south, over roller after roller, when I asked Marty where we'd be stopping. When he told me, my heart sunk. It's been something like a decade since I've set foot inside Le Chateau de Ptomaine. I told him as much.

"The last time I used the bathroom there," he began.

"Was the last time you used the bathroom there," I finished for him.

"There's a park nearby," he said. "It's got good bathrooms. We'll stop there first."

The park is Millstone Park, at the intersection of Yellow Meetinghouse and Red Valley Roads. It's new, it's huge, and it has heated bathrooms. There were some picnic tables and benches there too. This became our rest stop. 

I roped Jim into the Latin question. After correcting me that "omni" is Latin, not Greek (duh), he pondered for a minute and decided that, since "divert" already means something, "omni" would have to do.

Bobbi made sure we didn't stay at the park for long. Nonetheless, by the time we left, the sun had gone behind clouds and the air felt noticeably colder. We'd also turned north, into the wind.

Fortunately, nobody needed to stop at Le Chateau de Ptomaine, Marty assuring me that I could dip into his spare water bottle if necessary, and my record remains unbroken. 

We rolled back to Mercer County Park more or less together, the wind on Herbert Road having battered us into a handful of separated groups.  

Bobbi is an avid picture-taker. I've been dialing it back lately. Neither of us, it turns out, had used our cameras during the ride. Bobbi said it was because it was too much to fumble around with gloves on. I said I hadn't because I didn't want to break the pace of the ride. 

To make up for it, as I pushed against the wind, alone on my way home through the park, I stopped near the boathouse to get some shots of the sky. 

There hadn't been rain in the forecast. I had about five miles left. As long as that dark mess stayed to my west, and as long as I could see my shadow, I'd get home dry. It was too cold to be wet, and besides, Beaker's drive train had just been cleaned. 

Five miles later, the clouds were still west, but closer. We did get a little rain later on as the cold front moved in.

Sunday's ride was colder. There wasn't much wind. Plain Jim kept it short, without a rest stop. He's experimenting with listing his rides as C+. Some fast people still came out, but the general feel of the ride was much more relaxed. I felt the same way on the Marty/Bobbi ride. Maybe it's the lack of pressure because it's C+; maybe it's the mix of social people that C+ rides attract. It's probably both. If I can get this feeling back on my own rides, I'll consider 2023 a success. 

[Word nerd alert: After consulting with Jack, who has multiple dictionaries on his phone because of course he does, we now know that the term is "ambivert," which is an actual word already.]

Last Rides, First Rides

Snow Geese
 

2 January 2023

Tom led an off-the-books ride on the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail on December 28. It was the first day in almost a week that temperatures had risen above freezing. Fozzie, the gravel bike, hadn't been out in so long that his tires had gone squishy.

I rode Fozzie to the Brearley House. There was ice in the woods to the side of Mill Road where it bends into the Brearley House driveway.

The path from there to Lenox Drive was still blocked because of the housing construction next to the Brearley House. 

That the development is coming so close to this historic site has township history buffs hopping mad, but there's nothing they can do about it now.

Tom wanted to try the path anyway. We got about a hundred feet in when it ended at the development site, currently a field of mud. We turned around.

Despite the week's rain and sub-freezing temperatures, the trail was almost ice-free. There's always that spot, in the woods near Rosedale Lake, that is frozen all the way across. Last winter, Tom was the only one brave enough to ride across it. He's the only one who hasn't traded in his mountain bike for a gravel bike. This year, the surface was starting to melt. He was wise to walk.

I didn't stop for photos until we got to the Mount Rose distillery on Pennington-Rocky Hill Road. As many times as I pass this on my road bike, I never notice it.

It was good to see everyone again. Tom suggested he'd lead another invite-only ride on Friday. I was glad that he took the initiative. I'm burned out on leading.

We started from Mercer County Park. I took Beaker because I figured Rickety would be on Barney. Both Beaker and Barney are old-school, Italian, steel frames. Barney is a purple Cinelli that Rickety keeps sparkling clean. Beaker has a new rear derailleur; she'd been sidelined for months because the old one was more gambling than shifting.

I'm not sure exactly where we were when we heard the geese overhead. We were at an intersection somewhere north of New Egypt, maybe near Imlaystown. There were so many that I grabbed my camera, aimed up, and just started shooting. I was unaware that the setting dial had shifted in my pocket and was now in live action mode. For every shutter depression, I got three or four photos instead of one. This left me with dozens to choose from.

"They're snow geese!" I called out.

They made quite the racket up there.

Pete started to grill us: "What was your favorite ride this year?"

"I'll have to think about that," I said. A minute later, I called out, "Wait. I know!"

"What?"

"Park Loop Road and Cadillac Mountain, Acadia National Park." Duh.

Later: "How many bikes do you have?"

Plain Jim turned this question into a blog post*.

In New Egypt, Scott's doesn't let riders use their bathroom anymore, so we went to Wawa instead. Wawa doesn't have a restroom either, but it's the principle of the thing..

We took Hill Road from the south. At the top of the last hill, on the northbound side, someone with far too much money is in the process of erecting a statue of a horse several stories tall. I have a feeling I'll be taking a lot of pictures of this horse for a while.

The bridge at Walnford Mill is still out. It's been repaved, though, and it looks as if the road will soon be open. The concrete barriers have been rearranged so that we could get our bikes through without hauling them over. Tom and Jim had stopped for so long at the giant horse that I had time to take multiple photos of the mill (discovering here that I was in live action mode).

When the group reached the intersection of Gordon and Sharon Roads, Pete and I kept going straight, cutting off a few miles and the steady, infuriating, ka-bumps of the blacktop cracks on Windsor Road. I finished with 54 miles, a good way to end the year. Pete, who lives six miles north of me, would end his with more than a metric century. 

There were some rides listed for New Year's Eve. I didn't register for any of them and woke, late, to dense fog. I decided to take the day off, the first day in over a week that I didn't push myself to do something physical. I wish I'd gone out, at least for a walk. The pictures people posted of the towpath that day were beautiful.

Instead, I registered for Plain Jim's C+ New Year's Resolution ride. At the last minute, I decided to start from home on Kermit and meet the group somewhere on Canal Road. I wasn't really thinking about total distance or where I should break off. I left my house at 9:10, too late to get all the way to the Claremont School by 10:00. I stopped instead near Bunker Hill on Canal Road, in a spot where I could see if anyone was coming and get ready to push off again.

The thing I like about C+ rides is that they're totally chill. There was a big talent spread, but nobody was trying to push the pace. Tony G was there. I hadn't seen him since he did a Simone Biles over the stone wall of the Dead Tree Run Road bridge. 

"I hear you were involved in the judgment of the blue tires on my Canondale up at Mike's," I said.

"I was. I approve."

That got us talking about bikes and frames. "I just got two new Tommasinis**," he said. 

"My Tecno is my best bike," I told him, "but this one is my favorite." He has a bike like that, too. Sometimes it all just clicks, pedigree or not. Kermit has a new chain, a new bottom bracket bearing, and just got an anti-rust treatment, so he's running especially smooth.

This being New Year's Day, there wasn't a planned rest stop. I realized I already had 22 miles under me when we stopped to collect ourselves in Kingston. I chomped down half a bar as fast as I could before we zipped down the hill towards River Road, where we'd have a few more little hills.

When we got into Hillsborough, Andrew left the group at Township Line. I thought I probably should follow him, to cut off a few miles, but I didn't. 

We wound our way back to Canal Road. Now I was stuck with the 20-something miles it would take me to get home, and into a headwind by myself at that. 

Being weird about food, I found myself debating whether or not I should have the other half of the energy bar, dipping deeper into my lunch calories. This, I knew, was stupid, because bonking sucks more than having to eat a smaller lunch. Being weird about food, I stuck with stupid, stopping only when I got to Old Georgetown Road because I wanted to get some pictures of the old barn that has now completely collapsed. I pulled out a frozen Shot Blok and ate that.

The building across the street, covered in tarp, isn't faring much better.

I had to stop near the quarry to take a glove off and scrape frozen Shot Blok from my teeth.

When I'd passed through downtown Princeton on my way to the ride this morning, the place had been empty. Now it was teeming with traffic and pedestrians. I wasn't expecting that. Having to stop and start at every block is worse when you're tired.

I arrived home with 57 miles, far more than I'd counted on, and almost twice the 29 Jim's group had done. 

Having to go back to work on Tuesday, I decided to do a recovery ride today. I lollygagged around the house, taking the ornaments off the tree and hanging the last of the glass spiders in their new homes. I didn't get out until 10:45. I bought with me two sandwich bags and no camera. My goal was to get to Boro Bean and back with at least 20 miles (10 miles per muffin) at whatever pace my legs could handle. I came back with 27 miles, almost enough for a third muffin. The deal with the muffins is this: I cut them in half, and Jack and I each get a half for dessert. Unless it's sweet potato. Then I get all the halves to myself. 

Now that Miss Piggy's saddle is back in the correct position, I can ride without stopping to stretch my back. The shifting is shit again, though. The new middle chain ring has thrown everything off. Michael thinks the shifter itself is going. Shimano doesn't make Ultegra or DuraAce 10-speed shifters anymore. I can find used ones on eBay, or switch to Sram or something. Maybe I'll call JasonAtHalters to see what he's got in stock. 

Miss Piggy isn't the best carbon bike out there, but at 7 years old, the frame is still in good condition and the setup is custom to me and my janky back. I'm not ready to dump $10K on something lighter, fancier, or electronic. Not yet, anyway.

(*I read the post and wondered who among us had 9 bikes, so I emailed him. "I thought it was you," he wrote back. Um, no. "I have five," I replied.)

(**Tony has 18 fully built bikes, plus two frames. "I'm a collector," he explained.)