hill slugs sep 19, 60 miles. lambertville-clinton

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.

third reflection on driving

Yet another in the series.

If we start out by heading north
(I hate to drive, I hate to drive)
Invective always gushes forth.
(I hate to drive, I hate to drive.)
Then later, when we're heading south,
The self-same words do fill my mouth
Until at home we do arrive.
I hate to drive, I hate to drive.

laura and the hill slugs - parody song

This has been percolating in my head for weeks (as TEW says, my mind can be a scary place). I emailed it to Laura OLPH, and she replied, "You need to blog this."

It's a song parody, to the tune of Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Down On the Corner" (which I thought was called "Willie and the Poor Boys", but that's evidently the name of the album, not the song). There are a few clevernesses in it, like references to the original lyrics, of which I am inordinately proud.

Out in the Sourlands, there's people riding bikes.
Laura and the Hill Slugs are doing what they like.
If you are a fast boy, and try to ride ahead,
Laura likes to change the route and go and cut you dead.

Glide on the downhills, Grind up to the tops.
Laura and the Hill Slugs are riding: There'll be coffee at the stops.

Try to stay with Snakehead on a downhill; you just can't.
At a busy intersection Jim will sing a chant.
Ron and Jack are quiet; they're trying to beat the rain.
If Cheryl's up from Florida, you'll hear her complain.

Glide on the downhills, Grind up to the tops.
Laura and the Hill Slugs are riding: There'll be coffee at the stops.

We don't give a nickel who can go real fast.
We pay much more attention to the people who are last.
We stop a lot for pictures, you ought to come along.
And if you ride a lot with us you'll wind up in this song.

Glide on the downhills, Grind up to the tops.
Laura and the Hill Slugs are riding: There'll be coffee at the stops.
Glide on the downhills, Grind up to the tops.
Laura and the Hill Slugs are riding: There'll be coffee at the stops. 

... well, it made ME laugh, anyway.

second reflection on driving

Remember that last reflection on driving with the song to the tune of "Oh, Tannenbaum"? Driving back from the in-laws on July 4, I started another one:

I hate to drive, I hate to drive,
It messes up my tummy.
It makes me want my teddy bear,
It makes me want my mummy.
The Parkway of the Garden State
Deserves antipathy and hate.
I think I'm going to be late.
I hate to drive, I hate to drive.

reflection on driving

With the in-laws being sick, The Excellent Wife (TEW) and I have done our share of driving from Central Jersey up to Bergen County, often at the worst of times and in the worst of conditions. We take the Parkway, mostly because the tolls are lower than the Turnpike. But I hate the Parkway; the lanes are too narrow, and I think the presence of trucks on the Turnpike has a calming effect on people in cars. (Do you know why the toll is higher on the Turnpike, in my opinion? Because it's worth it.)

On the way home from staying overnight at the in-laws last night (the Excellent Mother-In-Law was released perhaps just that little bit too early from the hospital), I composed the following bit of doggerel. It's to the tune of "Oh, Tannenbaum":

I hate to drive, I hate to drive;
It really makes me mental.
I'd rather go be skinned alive,
Or have procedures dental.
On turnpike, or on country lane,
It causes pain inside my brain.
Serenity doth fail to thrive:
I say again, I hate to drive.

It strikes me that Laura OLPH's husband, the excellent Professor Jack, does not drive. Perhaps he will relate... or perhaps he's never endured the exquisite torture of, for example, Route 21 in Newark on a rainy rush hour.