Assunpink Wildlife Management Area
5 March 2023
Remember one thing: Around here, when the wind stops, the humidity starts.
I didn't ride Beaker over to John K's birthday ride from Allentown because I knew it would mean an extra 14 miles straight into 30 mph gusts on my way home.
The handful of out-of-towners set to join us bailed because of the wind. Chris and I were the locals.
John K has a new bike, a carbon Moser, to which he transferred the components from his vintage titanium Serotta. The frame had been hanging at Wheelfine for an untold number of years. John figured out it's from the mid 2000s. The only new things about this bike, then, are the seatpost, the bottle cages, and the bar tape.
The frame is black, clearcoat over the fibers, because that's what all carbon frames were in the early days*, to show off that they were carbon. It has red and white highlights. It reminded him of the woodpeckers he sees at his feeder while he drinks his morning coffee. Well. I told him he should name the bike Woody. He did. He even got a sticker for the seatpost.
The wind was already whipping at 9:30 a.m. I took some pictures of the clouds while we were still in the parking lot.
Our route was short, only 31 miles. We went mostly clockwise, which kept us out of the direct northwest headwind. The sky was still dramatic when we got to the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area. Some of the trees are hazy with buds.
I suggested a detour to Assunpink Lake. Turns out John had never been there, the road to the water having only recently been paved.
We were the only ones there.
We all ducked off into the bushes. It was important to remember to pee downwind.
There's a little park on Baird Road. I suggested that we get some photos of Beaker and Woody together.
Halfway up a roller on Stillhouse, I stopped for a few photos of an old wagon at the side of a stone farmhouse.
We meandered southwest a little more. And then we were on Route 526. It was 8.5 miles back to the parking lot, straight into the wind, which was now conveniently gusting at 30 miles per hour.
Headwinds are kinda my thing. I'm on the small side, wide, and heavy. I dropped into a low gear, put my head down, and started to spin. I tried not to look at my GPS to see how much more there was to go. Sometimes a gust would do its best to push me out into the road. I wouldn't let it.
When I finally looked up and into my rearview mirror, I found myself alone, far ahead of John and Chris, who, both tall guys, were at a noticeable disadvantage. I reached the parking lot several minutes before they did, with enough time to put Beaker in the car and get a picture of the sky, which was, finally, clearing.
John's original plan was to order tomato pie and bring it to Screamin' Hill Brewery, where we could eat outside. We were now too battered and chilly to deal with all of that. "Next time!" he said.
I'd registered for a Sunday ride in the Sourlands, led by Dave S, conveniently leaving from Rosedale Park, 5 miles from my house. In the group were a few people I hadn't seen in ages and ages, including Jeff L, who is organizing our big trip to Nova Scotia two summers from now.
We passed the eagle's nest near Old Mill Road. I stopped and zommed in on a blob to the right of the nest.
Unfortunately, I went past the optical zoom and into the digital zoom range, meaning that the eagle on the branch became a pixellated blur.
The route was almost entirely on rural roads, without a rest stop. We paused at the halfway point, at the corner of Back Brook Road and Dutch Lane. The wind was kicking up again, with gusts almost as strong as yesterday's. Fortunately, we were headed south and east now.
While Jeff paused to remove a shredding toe cover, I snapped a couple of pictures of the Sourland Mountain from the paved part of Rocktown Road.
Dave put the most annoying hill towards the end: New Road. Heddy, Jeff, and I agreed that this would make a good training road for the mountain day in Nova Scotia.
On Federal City Road, within a mile of the end of the ride, we found ourselves interspersed among a caravan of horse trailers also making for Rosedale Park. When we got back, nearly every parking space in the lot was filled. I had no idea the place was this popular.
I hung out for a while, talking to Dave, Jeff, and Heddy. I let the wind push me home.
A week from now, we'll have changed our clocks and sunset will be at 7:00 p.m. I'm not waiting that long. As much as training on Rouvy has done for me this winter**, I'm ready to start commuting to work by bike again.
Miss Piggy got her chain cleaned this afternoon. Rowlf did too, and now he's got his lights charging. My bag is packed with tomorrow's clothes. In my mind, it's already spring.
(*And now they're all black again, mostly, as if to celebrate the bleak days of Covid or something. One would think that, now that we're coming out of it, we'd be celebrating with popping reds and snappy yellows. But no. We have black, and gray, and godawful off-whites -- I mistyped it as shites, which is the same in this case. For some reason, it's only the low-end carbon frames that have any pizzaz at all.)
(**I'm two-thirds of the way up some mountain pass in Italy, with the worst of the incline still ahead. I can't really call the indoor training season over until I finish this route. Some rainy day soon.)
