Splinter's Splinters Splintered

 

Byron Johnson Park

5 August 2026

Tired of playing rain roulette with Our Jeff's Wednesday night rides, I asked Wednesday morning's Team Social Security ride leader, Michael N, someone I hadn't met, if he could let me in. 

Opening another slot on a full ride is a pain in the ass, especially from a phone, but he graciously did.

Michael had a good line in his intro spiel that I think I need to steal: "Ride safe and ride together."

There were two official rides going out of Byron Johnson Park this morning. One was Henry's nominally B (but nobody believes that, do they?), and Michael's C+. The latter group was so large that he split us into two right there in the parking lot. Andy A would take the faster folks; I went with him.

I found myself behind Dave M, whom I barely know and blindly followed. To the south, which is where we were headed, storm clouds were gathering. 

"We're not supposed to get rain til this afternoon," Dave resassured me. 

Michael's course was loaded with rollers. At the top of a particuarly steep one (even the flatlands have a few), Dave and I were ahead and stopped. The rest of the group was not far behind.

I asked Andy, "How many are we?"

"Too many," he said. "Dave, you take Laura and anyone else who wants to go ahead."

Our splintered group had splintered again. We were five: me, Dave, Joe M, and two people I didn't know (one was Reiks, I gathered from conversation; the other never said a word to us).

Thirteen miles in was when I felt the first drops of rain. I remember EZ stating that it's not officially raining unless your GPS is wet. What does it mean when your GPS is dry but you can no longer see through your glasses? Misty drizzle doesn't count as rain, I guess. The road was wet, though.

We turned east and the pavement turned dry. Spotty showers I can live with in midsummer.

Our rest stop, at 18 miles, was at Charlston Coffee in New Egypt. We were putting our bikes in the closest breezeway when the rain caught up to us, real rain this time.

Henry's group rolled in minutes later.

We got word that Al's group, whichever that one was, had turned back when the rain started.

I went inside to avail myself of the plentiful paper towels set out in rolls on each table. I ordered an iced mocha, because that's apparently what I do now.

Our group, with the addition of Martin, who had some sense knocked into him by the B+ fastboys in the mile before the rest stop, left before Henry's crowd, only to be passed by what looked to be not all of them minutes later. 

Dave led our pack again, the rest of us strung out behind him, Henry's group eventually disappearing over the horizon. At mile 25 or so, Dave peeled off for home, leaving me to guide the five of us onto Route 539 and over to the next left. That was fun.

Ahead of us were Bob W and Chris. I didn't remember seeing them in Henry's group when they passed us. These two must have left the rest stop before everyone else.

This was no longer splinters. This was shrapnel.

To make things more confusing, Michael and Al and their people finished after we did. If they'd turned back as had been rumored, wouldn't we have arrived after them, or at least overtaken them on the road? Or was it Andy's group that turned around?

Whatever. Nobody seemed to think anything out of the ordinary had happened. Chris verified this when I asked. I can only wonder what someone with a flat, a mechanical, or an injury would have done.

But, hey, at least it wasn't raining. That didn't start in earnest until mid-day. Our Jeff wisely canceled his evening ride.