Saturday
"That was more work than I expected," I said, pulling into the Twin Pines parking lot on Fozzie, my no-frills gravel bike.
The wind was out of the west at a steady 17 mph, with 29 mph gusts. The ground was still wet from the early morning rain. A tree had taken down a power line where Lawrenceville-Pennington Road meets Denow. There was debris to be dodged.
It was 54 degrees when I left the house. In January. In New Jersey.
Overhead, the storm was on its way out, with gray and white clouds moving at a noticeable speed.
We'd been dithering for several days over whether or not to ride. As Saturday drew nearer, I decided not to list anything on our club's calendar. The towpath and LHT would be a muddy mess. The trees up on the Sourland Mountain were probably spitting branches; my front yard was already week's supply of campfire kindling, and that was just from one tree. Our best bet, I figured, was to ride in the shadow of the mountain rather than on it.
At 7:00 a.m. we still weren't sure. We decided to meet at Twin Pines at 10:00 if things cleared up by 9:00. Pete G, Martin, and Heddy were in.
The sun came out at 9:00.
Four of us, on our gravel bikes, did the Old Friday Night Route (if you know, you know).
We took the new bike path on the north side of Keefe Road. I stopped to get photos of the head-high grass in the field against the puffy clouds, blue sky, and fresh blacktop. We used Heddy for scale.
The counterclockwise route went past the Pole Farm, around Carson Road Woods, through ETS, up Carter, over Bayberry, over to Moores Mill, up to Route 31, on 31 (briefly!), down Woosamonsa and Burd, into Pennington the back way, and then down Pennington-Lawrenceville Road to Twin Pines.
We got rained on a few times. If there's water on your GPS, it counts as rain. We had confirmation by looking at the droplets hitting roadside puddles.
The wind picked up and the temperature dropped.
At the end of the ride, Heddy, Martin, and I talked about the Nova Scotia trip. We're in the thick of logistics now, reserving hotels and our spots on the CAT ferry from Bar Harbor to Yarmouth. To anyone who hasn't traveled to New England in the summer, this seems very early to be doing all that. It's not. The ferry only leaves once a day.
The sky between me and home was gunmetal gray now. It was raining. I surfed the tailwind when I had it, and leaned into the gusts that threatened to send me sideways when I didn't.
After I got home, had lunch, and warmed myself back up, I made the journey up to see Michael at Wheelfine. It had been a year. I had to confess to my sin, Janice.
Tony G was in the shop, picking out bar tape to go with a Di Bernardi frame he was going to build into a fixie. Tony G has a lot of bikes. Tony G does not admit to knowing how many that many is. "If I knew," he said, "I'd have to tell my wife." I'll let that one slide.
I bought a pack of 3 metal tire levers with thin ends for a whopping $5. Given the tint of the plastic wrap, the bag had probably been around since the Carter administration. I need levers this thin to get the damned Vittoria Rubino Pro tires off Janice's Boyd carbon rims.
Anyway, Michael and I chatted for a while as the wind shook the door to the shop. Tony puttered around, having decided on black tape to go with the dark blue frame. We'll have to coordinate bikes when he's ready to take his fixie out on a ride. It'll look good next to Beaker, my blue Tommasini.
At night, Eric H and I traded texts for at least an hour, trying to figure out if it would be possible, let alone safe, for him to lead his planned Sunday ride from Claremont. The route required crossing the D&R Canal at Griggstown. I went down a rabbit hole gawping at NOAA's water gauge tables. The causeway was flooded. Would it still be in the morning? What about the predicted snow squalls?
Sunday
I got up early and put my warmest winter gear on. That meant the wind-stop leggings that, unless I bunch them up at the knees, feel as if they were meant to immobilize me.
At a few minutes before 9:00, Eric texted me to tell me he cancelled the ride. The causeway was still flooded. Two of the six riders had already bailed.
No problem. I could work out on my trainer instead.
Or, wait! There was that hike that TEW was leading out of the Pole Farm. It was already filled, but maybe she'd let me in. I called, and she did. There were, it turned out, several last-minute add-ons, including Jack H and Plain Jim.
We walked in sunlight with a stiff wind.
I have no sense of distance on foot. The loop was five miles. Somewhere in there, maybe halfway, clouds started moving in.
With half a mile to go, I stopped to take some pictures of the thick, gray clouds to our west. These were the snow squalls, and they were heading our way.
I tried to get a picture of the less-threatening sky to the east, as seen through one of the round, screened thingies next to the Reed/Bryan Farm parking lot.
We did get some snow squalls maybe half an hour later. They didn't amount to much. None of that zero-visibility stuff that the forecasters had been threatening, anyway. Nothing stuck to the ground. It doesn't count if it doesn't stick.
Some real winter air is headed our way this week. It'll be 25 degrees colder tomorrow than it was yesterday morning. This is, I guess, what passes for normal now.
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