About midweek, I got an email from Laura OLPH with a suggestion about the weekend rides. Tomorrow (Sunday) is the Ride for McBride, which I've done every year, but Laura asked for Saturday, "Saturday's weather looks too good to waste. Who's up for a Lambertville to Clinton journey?" She suggested this route.
Well, I sure was. I was at the start 40 minutes early (now THERE's a surprise), and drove around a bit to waste time. After I parked, Tom drove in, as did Blake, The Other Laura (who has a home in near Lake Tahoe, and has thus been re-christened "Nevada"; pic is below), and Laura OLPH.
Tom and Blake above; below, Blake and Nevada.
See how grey and misty? It wasn't quite that bad, but almost; the rest of the photo misery is due to the use of an old, CF-card camera I decided to try today. It's awful. Tom has a waterproof camera he used in Hawaii, and I've cast the eye of lust upon it.
Laura's planned route went up 29 for a ways, but in view of the traffic, the poor road surface, and the worse visibility in the fog, we changed the beginning and added a few miles. We went up to the bridge at Sergeantsville, and then continued north.
Because we added the miles, we had over 30 by the time we got to the stop in Clinton, and we were talking about some of our fellows who would have been complaining about that. (Were your ears ringing?) We stopped at the usual coffee place. (Tom asked about a competitor, but Laura had been refused the use of the lavatory some time ago. The place may have changed hands twice since then, but a Hill Slug never forgets.)
Then back. Laura's route includes a hill that goes up about 7-800 feet in about two miles, shortly after leaving the stop. Well, MY legs were complaining, that's for sure! (The reward is that you get a vista like the one below, the faithful reproduction of which is simply beyond the ability of this raggedy camera.)
The other thing you get after a long uphill, often, is a long downhill. I'm not a great descender, and the following song parody has been percolating in my head for some time, to the tune of "Great Pretender":
Oh, yes, I'm a poor descender.
I ride the brakes all the way down.
I'll let you pass as I clench my gluteus maximus
I tremble as you go around.
I may have used a different ending word in line three.
Then back. We departed from the route partly to shorten it (in which endeavor I do not think we were successful; the ride page shows over 60 miles), and so that we wouldn't have to cover some of the same roads we did on the way out (which is not exactly against the Hill Slug code, but repeating roads is not a preferred practice).
And, of course, since we left from Lambertville, so close to O Wow Cow, The Excellent Wife (TEW) had sent me with a human-organ-capable cooler and instructions not to return home without a pint of I Hate Chocolate ice cream. Which is now safely ensconced in the freezer, so tranquillity reigns in the house.