Shorts in February

 

Pete's "Multi Route"

11 February 2024

I was so busy last week, between two days of glassblowing and five jam-packed workdays, that I didn't have the bandwidth to post a club ride. Pete G jumped in with an offer to lead an unofficial ride.

The first 25 miles would be relatively flat. We'd return to the starting location, Terra Momo in Pennington, for our break, then head out for a hilly 20 miles. I rode in from home, 6.5 miles with an unusual almost tailwind. 

The whole gang was there, even Tom and Bob, both slowly coming off the disabled list. While Bob might have been ready to get back in the saddle, his bike was having none of it. In the intervening months, one of his shifter batteries had gone dead, rendering the whole shifting system inert. This is a Sram thing, apparently. He didn't want to hold us up by changing the shifter batteries, so he told us to go on without him. Jim could not resist getting in a dig about how his cables never run out of charge.

Pete is a genius when it comes to navigating through neighborhoods none of us even knew existed. Somehow, he packed 25 miles into a very tight space. Tom held his own for most of those flat miles. He turned back towards the end, playing it safe.

Although it was early February, the temperature was in the low 50s. When we got back to Terra Momo, I stripped off my leggings and ditched the long-finger gloves in favor of half-finger gloves and liners. I kept my vest and booties on only because I had nowhere to stash them. 

Terra Momo has a lot of fancy breads and heavy pastries that I've had an aversion to since childhood. I ordered a cortado and munched on the energy bar I'd brought with me.

We headed west after the break, climbing (Un)Pleasant Valley the "easy" way, cutting over on Pleasant Valley-Harbourton, and then climbing Harbourton-Woodsville. The latter is where I learned the term "hill slug," many years ago, from Barb C, as she shouted it to some fellow riders. Whenever I climb this hill, I remember "Hill slugs!" right where the road gets steep. 

Last week, as we were climbing Dinosaur Hill, Heddy zipped past me. "Cortado!" she said. I'd had hot chocolate. "Shoulda had the cortado," she instructed me later. Well, this time, right at the hill slug memory spot, I passed her*. "Cortado!" she said.

That was the last real hill, never mind what anyone's Garmin said. I got home with 57 miles.

My legs were already tired before the ride even started. I think I'm overcompensating for missing Sunday rides. After glassblowing last Sunday, I had lunch, then spent 45 minutes on the trainer. I blew glass again Monday night, then had four long, intense days at work. During that time, I managed to squeeze in a couple more days on the trainer and some weightlifting sessions. By Friday night, my legs just plain hurt. When I got home from Saturday's ride, they were stiff. Then I was up early again this morning to blow glass. When I got home, I ate lunch and did an hour on the trainer. Tomorrow I blow glass again. I know where this all leads if I don't dial it back. This sort of behavior wrecked me when I was half my age. Aren't we supposed to be wiser when we get older?

(*I'm willing to bet anyone cash money that this was a one-time event.)