Onno's Blog

(you should read this at the speed it was typed: slowly)

After a hiatus of about four weeks, today at last I had time to ride the bicycle again. The RBC’s schedule featured a 54 mil ride from Geneseo called Killer Hill. Very appropriate for a glorious return to turning the pedals! A 9:00 am start called for the alarm to be set to 6:45 am. I manage to get out of the bed after hitting the snooze button only twice. To the kitchen to make coffee, then check news, email, facebook, print the route map. Breakfast is yoghurt with oatmeal. Then it is time to change into the cycling uniform, fill the water bottles and pack up the bag. Down to the basement storage to retrieve the bicycle, helmet and shoes. Just as I am halfway back up the stairs with the bicycle over the shoulder, my downstairs neighbor kindly opens the hallway door. Great timing! Thanks Jimmy!

I put it all in the car then quickly back upstairs to give Squeak her shot, get the coffee mug and I’m ready for the drive to Geneseo which takes about 35 minutes. The Grateful Dead plays lllOUDLY on the stereo singing of important matters such as a monkey at the controls of a train and that your cards aint worth a dime if you don’t lay em down. Right at the traffic light to turn into the Wegmans parking lot from where our rides start I pull up behind Steve and Cathy.

A fair group is assembling. Not only Steve and Cathy give act de présence after their Switzerland and France vacation but also Gary back from his mini tour de France. When everybody is ready we roll out towards Reservoir Road. While 54 miles isn’t an epic distance I will have to pace myself to keep this on the fun side. There are four main climbs (Springwater, Vista, Coffee Hill and Groveland). Vista and Coffee I haven’t done before but know that they’re the hardest of the four. A fast group very quickly forms with Gary, Bill, Steve, Bobbie and a few more. Our group (Richard, Joel, Jules, Tom, Bruce) follows at a more mature pace. Richard grew up just outside Dansville in which direction we’re heading and entertains us with stories and anecdotes of the area.

Just after the hamlet of Sparta the first climb up Springwater road is before us. Richard and another rider grind heavily through the gears and fall back. About halfway Joel comes up besides me and we climb up together. We gather up Ginn who fell back from the first group, Jeff is just a little further up.

“This used to be easier,” I say to Ginn. “This was never easy,” he responds. Good point.

We’re now on Reed Corners road which is a lovely winding and mostly downward road. Downward of course means upward in the near future. After a left on Depot and a left on Vista this is so. On the map Vista looked fairly short. Up to the second sharp turn it’s certainly steep but nothing too disconcerting. One look up coming through that second turn puts the matter firmly to rest: a vertical wall awaits me. Tching goes the chain onto the largest sprocket and five meters further I’m up out of the saddle. Four, five hunderd meter further it flattens a bit which is code for “13% instead of 19%.” After which it picks up again. I am breathing like a vacuum cleaner. Joel passes me, doesn’t seem too stressed.

A few miles past the rest stop at Dansville awaits Coffee Hill. I’m not too sure about that one, legs and lungs still hurt. In the village I missed a traffic light so I am at the back of the group. At the start of this hill there’s an option to turn right skipping the climb, catching up with the route further on. This is quite appealing. Surely someone else will think still too and I’ll just follow them! I watch the group ahead of me, Bruce goes straight, Tom goes straight, Jeff goes straight. Richard. Richard will turn. No, goes straight. Ginn then? No, straight up too. Jules, surely my pal Jules will turn right and save us both! Alas. Darn, now I have to do that climb too.

It turns out to be way easier than Vista. It’s steep in the beginning but then just grinds on for two miles or so. After the summit we descend for about half a mile, come to a roadblock. Bridge is closed up ahead. We have to go back up the hill then right, right again. I trust this extra climb comes out of our club membership fees?

This is a roughly flat section till we get to Groveland. Bruce and Joel kindly keep looking back, wanting me to latch on. But while the climbing goes quite well, I have to pace myself in between to cover up for the lack of endurance. Eventually I do catch up. Bruce and I chat a while about BikeJournal.com, Garmin Connect (it sucks: a technical term indicating low quality and entertainment value). Bruce found a new one: RideWithGPS.com. One reason why Garmin Connect uh well sucks, is that after they bought Motionbased.com (which didn’t uh well suck), they tried to convince that development team to relocate from Sausolito, CA to Kansas. That, apparently, didn’t go over so well.

I ride up Groveland with relative ease. From here it’s about 8 or 9 miles back to base. I am enjoying the wonderfully tired feeling in my legs. Sometimes when you’ve been riding well the muscles hurt in such a good way.

Back in the parking lot some of us gather where Joel and Bruce parked. Joel has his folding chair out, gets another one for Bruce. I lean against Bruce’s car. We smalltalk. Then we notice that Bruce has a new bike! He gets up to talk about, points out important elements of the bicycle. I listen but I eye the now free chair as well. Would it be impolite to just sit down? No, that’s not nice. But he’s still talking about the bike. Others ask him questions. I glance again at the chair. More questions, more Bruce explaining and pointing. That’s it, I’m sitting down. His legs are still young. New, light bike, he’s fine. Oh, that chair is nice. Joel is now my favorite club member.

Run over to install Club Rides on your iPhone or iPod Touch!

Club Rides helps you keep track of your bicycling club’s activities, see the yearly schedule of rides, keep track of your participation and mileage, view elevation profiles, and map the starting location.

You can view your rides by schedule, by distance, by starting location.

More information is on my Software page.

Club Rides comes pre-loaded with Rochester Bicycling Club’s schedule but can be easily customized to show your club’s schedule.

Go on, make me rich. It’s okay.

Today featured the Canandaigua – High Tor club ride of 60 miles in length. The weather forecast wasn’t all that good but after Thursday’s movie (Ride Across The Sky), I was going to ride no matter what.

Even while I loaded the bicycle onto the bike rack, packed the bag with all options of cycling clothing, laid out all the food goodies on the kitchen island the evening before I was still late getting underway. Among others things because I forgot that I needed to gas up the Mini. So a few minutes before 9:30am I was really underway (after collecting the McDonald’s breakfast and filling up the Mini) – not a lot of time to get to Canandaigua. All goes well until reaching the toll gate at Victor and I-90 – because of road works a little traffic jam has developed. While the delay is not huge it is enough to make me late for the 10am start.

At the toll gates for the Canandaigua I-90 exit there are two lanes. I first choose the right one. There are four cars in each one so it was a toss up. However, my lane is not moving at all and the cars in the left lane swiftly move through their gate. So I check the mirrors and change lanes. When it’s my turn to hand over my 20 cents the attendant grins at me: “Oh so now my lane is good enough?”. Guess he’d seen me switch.

Getting to the starting point it is really starting to pour down. Bob Cooper, the ride leader, is there to sign riders in but he’s not riding himself – wise man! I sign the ride sheet through the window of his car. He tells me Jeff and Larry are the other two riders; they already started as I’m late getting here.

I wait out the pour down by making my final preparations – putting on cycling shoes, stuffing the back pockets with all the ride goodies, rain jacket – in the car and get underway when it is just raining.

The first part of the route goes down the east side of the lake so that’s easy enough. Things start to get more entertaining when turning off East Lake Road and getting to the climb up Newell Road. My cycling computer illustrates its sense of humor by recording a 1% incline. I am meanwhile in my lowest gear and struggling to keep my breathing in check. At the start of the climb the Garmin GPS records 970 ft of elevation and at the top 900 ft. Oh the joys of climbing up a near vertical wall in changing barometric circumstances!

The rain has stopped and a few miles further on the fast decline down West Avenue towards Naples the sun comes through. I pull on the brakes – and am reminded that new brake pads aren’t perhaps such a splurch as one might think – to take off the rain jacket. Then a right turn onto Parish Street where near the bridge I nod courtly at a couple of hunters in full camouflage regalia including their rifles. I admit I like my meat but their Saturday afternoon is just about killing for fun and spare me all the self-justifying arguments. Those just remind me of the Japanese and their excuse to hunt whales for scientific purposes. Grrr… okay, okay, back to the cycling.

At the end of Parish Street I resist to just go a little to the right and visit Monica’s Pie shop, instead left towards Naples. A few minutes later I come past the sign that always make me smile: “Welcome to Historic Naples!” As opposed to the one Italy founded, ohh, some 2800 years ago? Nevertheless, it’s a nice little town and the convenience store we always stop at makes a fair cup of coffee. Jeff and Larry are here. Jeff is adjusting some of his spokes. They came loose on the Newell climb. I go inside to get that cup of coffee and a peach pie. It looks like Jeff and Larry have been here a while. It may be sunny now but we’re all still wet from earlier so I urge them to get going and not wait for me.

A couple of minutes later I push off as well. The route takes us up CR 53 and then left onto CR 21. I quite like that climb – one that I’m always able to warm up to after the stop and develop a nice pedaling tempo. Jeff and Larry turn onto Basset Road just ahead of me. I’m lucky because I was so steadily turning the pedals around on this climb that I would have missed this turn off if they hadn’t been in sight. Larry is riding a time trial bike and turning around a big, Ulrich-like, gear. That couldn’t have been easy on Newell and that’s not going to be easy on Sliter Road.

Jeff and I chat a little before I pedal on. The left turn on to Sliter Road arrives and I go almost straight from a 50×12 gear down to 34×26. This time the Garmin bike computer feels more cooperative and enthusiastically reports a 15% incline, then 17%, 21% and even 23%. While I admire the device’s desire to be part of the effort, 23% and even 21% is just not true. No way I turn around a 34×26 gear on that kind of incline. On Newell I had a hard time controlling my breathing. That goes better here but in the second half of the climb I grind to a halt and have to walk up the last 50 meters.

At the summit I get on the bike again, click in the pedals and look up. Oh, lovely, Vagabond Inn is here… This is where Rachel and I celebrated our last anniversary a year ago in August. I believe we both made our best efforts but I think we both knew in the backs of our minds that it was not going to last. One anecdote may illustrate the odds stacked against us. We had brought a bottle of our favorite champagne (Veuve Clicqout) which our host kindly put in the communal fridge to cool. When the evening came which we planned to spend sensually and romantically in the bathtub overlooking the valley it appeared that other guests had taken our nice champagne. So instead of toasting ourselves and sipping our favorite bubbly we did have the long necked glasses but with water in them…

Alright, back to the cycling. I turn right on Shay Road and start a windy, fast decent. A few times there are side gusts that attempt to throw me off the road but I’m not much bothered. On the other side of the valley it’s up Route 364 that the three of us came down on the way out. My legs are still hurting from Sliter and it takes some revelations and fiddling with the gear lever before I find a nice rhythm. The next climb, Bare Hill Road, goes easier.

Dark clouds start to gather above and ahead. They seems to be all talk and no play and so I cruise back to Canandaigua without needing to reach for the rain jacket again.

After loading the bike back on to the rack, changing into dry clothes I swing by Starbucks (Tall Vanilla Latte, please) at the far end of the parking lot before driving back to Rochester.

This weekend featured two rides: circumnavigating Keuka Lake from Penn Yan on Saturday and a 28 mile ride from Black Creek Park in Chili on Sunday. Friday evening at the RBC Volunteer Dinner I queried a few of the fellow fast friends to gauge interest in the Saturday ride. Responses were lukewarm which was already more than could be said of Saturday’s weather forecast: cold and wet. I wasn’t too convinced of the weather either but looked forward to the exercise and was probably going to ride anyways.

Saturday morning it didn’t look too bad in Rochester and the detailed forecast gave a 50-50 chance of staying dry or getting wet. Good enough, I felt, and put the road bike on the back of the Mini. First stop the McDonald’s on East Ave for breakfast number 2 and a medium coffee. Then switched on TomTom to navigate to Penn Yan and cued Tinariwen on the iPod.

TomTom routed me via I-90 and Geneva which is longer but could be faster than via Canandaigua. Coming up to the Manchester exit on I-90 I changed my mind and decided to cut through from there to Penn Yan. This was perhaps a less than ideal spur of the moment. It took TomTom quite a while to give up on insisting I make a U-turn back to I-90 and instead calculate the alternative route. So I lost some time here and I was already short on time to make to the ride’s 10am start on time. Whether it was this, the weather or something else but I found myself in a bit of an odd mood. I became mischievously intrigued in the concept of getting to Penn Yan just a little late so I would miss the group start and ride by myself. Having some difficulty finding the start location in Penn Yan, this plan succeeded in rather a natural way and I pulled into the parking area at 5 minutes past 10.

Looking around it seemed I needn’t have worried one way or the other: I recognized none of the few parked cars so it seemed I was the only one to show up for the ride. While there was rain on the way here, it is now very calm weather. Entirely overcast but very little wind and no rain: the wind jacket instead of the rain jacket.

The route is pretty straightforward: along the lake to Hammondsport and back along the other side for a total of about 45 miles. Quiet roads, mostly flat, plenty time to look around. A lot of houses, cabins and cottages for sale along the lake’s coastline. Especially real estate agent Mark Malcolm II (the “the second”-part assumes me) is very active. A few have sold or are sale pending; good for them. There are some very nice ones but also a few that may rather benefit from being thorn down and rebuilt. Close to Hammondsport there is a mobile home park with some of those candidates for sale.

I turn through the village and continue the ride now on the other side of the lake. Here the hillside seems to block whatever little wind that was there and so even smoother pedaling. Last year the road here was closed and I was directed up the hill. For a moment I consider doing the same detour but I don’t feel like climbing. Earlier this season a club ride cam along here too. I smile when I see again the pink mobile home that we teased Paul about, how it matched so nicely with his pink Pedaler’s club outfit.

In Branchport a right turn and the last 10 miles or so back to Penn Yan. Here apparently the local bike club has rides along this road what with writing on the shoulder that a sprint is coming up. No line drawn though so I assume club riders know where the sprint finishes. Here the road calmly climbs up then resulting in a big gear run down into town. Back at the Red Jacket park where the Mini is waiting no sign of other cyclists so I guess I am the only one to do this ride. I am quite happy to be back. While it didn’t rain during my ride, the roads were wet. I didn’t bring my booties and so my feet are wet and very cold. But I did bring dry socks. Before driving back I jump into McDonald’s to pee, get a Quarter Pounder and a coffee. Observing the clientele and the working staff I can’t help but thinking that Penn Yan, or at least its representation here, is not the pinnacle of intelligence.

With the support of Mickey D’s calories and caffeine I drive back home. At the I-90/I-490 toll booth I smile at the impressively painted nails and pierced tongue of the attendant.

Sunday features the so-called Fall Foliage Tour from Black Creek Park in Chili swinging past Mumford and Scottsville. Noting the 28 miles distance and the mostly flat profile I predict a fast ride and so put the rear wheel with the 11-23 cassette on the bike. Dave volunteered on Friday to lead this ride. This seems to me an implicit good weather guarantee that he provides for rides he has signed up for. Always wonder what recourse he offers if it happens to rain on such a ride? But behold, the skies are clear and blue. So different from Saturday.

I drive into the park behind Jeff. It is full of parked cars. Hadn’t notice them before but there are two soccer fields and both are in use. The parking lot where we are meeting does still have a few empty spots. Dave rides into the park and I also see Bill, Bill, Sara, Donald, Ginny and Bob getting ready. This indeed promises to be a fast ride. There is a new member, joining in for his first club ride. He attended RBC’s open house in July. Guess he doesn’t much like summer weather with waiting till now for his first ride… Anyways, welcome, welcome!

I try to convince Dr Bill of the joys and pleasures of the Tuesday Night winter rides. He listens to me all the while shivering in his yellow wind jacket. I am not sure I am successful.

We pull out of the park. I trail at the back of the group first observing what pace we’re settling at. I was looking forward to a speedy ride but my legs are rubbery and I feel a little lethargic. Keeping an eye on my cycling computer I see the average speed climbing up to 18, 18.5 and 19.2 mph for a little while. So we are going at a respectable pace so perhaps the feeling in the legs isn’t entirely misplaced. However, I carefully and skillfully avoid coming to the head of the group until just before Scottsville. On the few hills that are on the course I am happy just to dangle at the back. Bill, Sara and Dr Bill all power forward on several of the short climbs. I have for a change no trouble resisting the temptation. On South Street or on Union Street I get dropped on the climb there and with the cross wind it takes quite an effort to get back to the group. Maybe that was a necessary effort because a mile or two later I’m pedaling much easier.

We return back to the park. Past the entrance we all drop to cruising for the 300 yards or so to the parking lot. Seems we are all tired and Dr Bill correctly concludes that we haven’t seen any foliage, only the rubber of the wheel in front of us.

This Sunday morning saw another installment of the cyclocross race in Cobbs Hill Park here in Rochester. Sadly – well for me that is, don’t think the riders minded – it had been much too nice a weather the last few days so no heroic muddy pictures for me.

Still, it is a fun race to watch. The course has technical sections through the trees, fast parts, the climb up to the reservoir and then the descent back. The course was a bit different from last year: the route up the hill was harder and there was a sandy section that was not there last time. Those few zigzags through the sand caused a few problems for many of the riders.

Paul, Cliff and John of RBC fame were riding, the chap from the Towners bike shop entered (don’t know his name, he looks just like my nephew Martijn though), and Shana together with a few others I recognized from the Tuesday Night winter rides.

A few like Paul did both the Masters race and the Open Men’s. Madness, I say, but he seemed to enjoy it.

Each year (this is the third time) I think I should join in. But each time I think of this too late before the event leaving me with no time to practice a on the mountain bike. Which reminds me that I do need to check on that bike. The TNUA rides have started!

The pictures are in the gallery.

Hello, my name is Frits. I am Onno’s alternate ego. Normally Onno writes this blog but he’s not among the coherent and the awake so I took this chance to grab the keyboard. What happened, you wonder? Well, Onno went on a club bike ride this morning. Nothing unusual, this is often done on Saturday mornings. The route, a 50 mile jaunt from Ellison Park to Marion with just some rolling hills, didn’t look too strenuous and so I made myself comfortable in the back of Onno’s brain for a leisurely morning stroll through the subconscious.

Barely a mile into the ride I am rudely shaken from my reverie, just having found some amusing memories involving telephone books and a spider, when Onno speeds past the group to close a gap with this rider named Dennis. Fortunately this is just before a stop sign and so everything slows down. I expected this to be just one of those hiccups that happen and am about to re-settle in my mental rocking chair when after the turn he does it again! What is going on here? We all know Onno is a slow starter; I mean last week it took him 30 miles to get any kind of respectable pace going – those 30 miles were fabulous I tell you, nothing for me to do but rummage around in brain areas Onno believes I have no business being. Whatever. Did I tell you about that one time when ? Oh, today’s ride? Right, sorry.

So down State Road we go, chasing after Dennis, doing all we can to stay in his wheel. We’re riding 21 mph, 23 mph, 26 mph, 29 mph. Onno’s shifted up to 50×12, a huge gear. Still not enough. Well, it is a big gear. I mean, look at those legs, there are no thigh muscles to speak of. I have sometimes from the comfy subconscious descended down there and it is not pretty. Dennis still has his hands very relaxed on top of the handlebars. We, however, are under in the drops, pushing, pulling, wringing. “Not a good idea missing spin class,” I tell Onno. Helpfully I recite the class trainer’s instructions for him: “bring those knees to the handlebars, stabilize that core, bring it from the shoulders!” Do you think it’s being appreciated, no, but in the meantime that black and yellow rear tire is slipping away again. What is an alter ego to do!?

Dennis alerts us to the turns, stop signs and traffic lights as they fly past. Not a strain in his voice, leisurely he shifts up another gear. Onno’s vision has shrunk to a narrow circle consisting of Dennis’ behind, a Detours saddle back, that fearsome cassette with its chain way too far to the right and a black and yellow tire.

Otto later remarks how nice it is to ride on roads we don’t often cover and enjoy a different scenery. Onno and I were both surprised. There was a landscape all that time? Cows to mooo at? Pretty girls jogging to look at? Dennis The Menace (***) with his unhurried pedalling steals it all away and replaces it with thoughts of horror and anguish, dizzy views of tarmac spinning by from under his rear tire. “Why are you breathing so hard?”, he asks.

Nineteen minutes and twelve seconds after the ride’s start we’re in Marion, 25 miles down the road. We stop at a Sunoco gas station. Onno, shaking hands and all, gets a coffee and a Danish. After he sits down outside, he and I have an urgent conversation and we agree not to do this again. Let’s calmly ride the second half home.

After the break all goes well for a few miles. Onno rides at the back of the group and indeed there is a landscape surrounding us! Then, I am sure he meant well, Bill says after Dennis comes coasting past: “Just let him go, he’ll just go faster and faster.” I wholeheartedly agree but Onno is having none of it and goes after Dennis. Dennis, who is casually riding along Eddy Road and Gananda Parkway; why even slow down or shift back for those undulations? And so it goes until we get to Sweets Corners where the group reforms and pace down Atlantic back to Ellison Park. There, several of the riders gather. I notice one curiosity: four cyclists, four bike computers and four different average speeds.

Oh, I hear some movement in the room next to me; better disappear back into the subsconcious. Till a later time!

(***)
This label is intended as a compliment. It refers to another Dennis, Dennis Bergkamp. A Dutch soccer player of Ajax and Arsenal fame where he got the nickname. Now retired, I first saw him play when he joined Ajax main squad at age seventeen. This was a European Cup match against FC Malmo of Sweden. Dennis played right wing. The Ajax midfield every time would pass the ball deep into the free space behind the Swedish defense and this fast seventeen year-old sprinting after it. After a few of these, every next opportunity for Dennis to sprint down the line you could see the Malmo defender think: “oh god, not again…”

Dennis’ last minute goal for the Dutch national squad against Argentina: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exlBHTyB1R0 . Yes, the nation was very happy.

Dennis’ goal against Newcastle: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DNfgibZO5o

This is the title of a story by Kees van Kooten, a Dutch writer. It really had nothing to do with today’s ride other than that it played through my head during the climb up Nunda-Byersville Road. For the non-Dutch among us, the story is about the author’s yearly bike ride with his teenage son in France. They ride up a mountain each time but this year it is the first that the younger generation bypasses the older generation and so the son ends up, after waiting for quite a while at the summit of the climb, asking each car driver coming up “have you seen my father?” The relevance to today’s story will become apparent shortly. Or, well, maybe.

At Paul’s suggestion we did the Avon-Letchworth ride that was scheduled last Saturday but due to the rainstorms we didn’t do. In his email Paul enumerated various rules, one of them being that this is not an RBC ride and so no sign in and no mileage credit. That’s right, we’re doing this 89 mile hike in rather warm weather gratis receiving none in return other than our quiet personal pride. We shall perform this ride and not speak of it again.

We gather at the TOPS parking lot in Avon. Ed is joyfully playing Van Morrison’s Moondance on this car stereo. I look around and see an astute collection of fast riders: Otto, Paul, Gary, Dennis and Sara, Bill and Ed know how to push those pedals rather well too. Paul may have included “no drop” in his rules but I am thinking I’m going to be off the back end rather soon with this lot.

Avon’s main road is under construction leading Sara and Paul to suggest an alternate beginning of the ride going up Polebridge Road instead. I mutter: “Now I have to reprogram my GPS all over again.” To which Otto responds: “You’re not pulling a Wayne on us, are you?” We’re off doing the first few miles at a most civilized morning pace of 15mph. Near the turn onto River Road this is over, what with Dennis, Otto and Paul at the front of the group, and the couple of rolling hills are taken at a firm pace. My legs are a little heavy this morning and so indeed I slip off the rear of the group. A few miles further Paul drops back and paces me back to the group. I thank him and he says: “No problem, good race practice!”

I ride next to Gary for a while observing the riders before us. I see various pairs of shaved legs. A beautiful sight! Ahh, to witness so clearly the muscle definition of these calves! The supple contracting and relaxing of each sinew!
I remark to Gary: “I need to shave my legs.”
“Think it will help?”
“Oh yes, it’s a fact.” (Now where is that Wikipedia entry about the speed advantages of shaved legs?)

We turn into Letchworth Park. Quite soon the group is strung out. Eventually I am in a group with Paul, Dennis, Chris, Sara and Bill. A decision is made to add a little climb: we’re going down to the lower falls. While I am pedalling in bright sunshine, a shadow passes over me. One of the large birds, a hawk perhaps, floats over me. His shadow is bigger than the one me and my bicycle are throwing. This pleases me. Returning from the lower falls Paul and I are climbing side by side and we see one deer cross the road close before us and another behind us. Even after living abroad for about 16 years now, having grown up in a largely urbanized country this closeness of nature still impresses me.

At the other end of the park we turn left toward Nunda and then Dansville. In Nunda we stop at a convenience store. I take my needed cup of coffee and a danish. Across the street is a garage that seems to have been there for many years. Attached to its store front is a beautiful old blue neon sign for Pontiac. Otto predicts that this sign will become quite valuable as this is one of the brands that GM will be phasing out.

Outside Nunda we get to put another of Paul’s rules to effect: no walking up Nunda-Byersville Road. At the start of the climb Paul asks what our elevation is. I check my GPS: it’s 934ft. With Paul’s curiosity towards this number I suspect that the climb will be a long one. The coffee intake provides its anticipated support to my legs and I ride up this hills relatively easily. I like long climbs, it allows my brain to wander off. Don’t know what an association to the ride may have been but Kees van Kooten’s story comes up and I entertain myself with recalling as much as I can from this Dutch writer. Paul gets to the top and a little while later I do too.
While dismounting the bicycle I report to Paul: “Het hoogteverschil is zo’n negenhonderd voet.”
“What!?” is Paul’s response.
“Sorry, wrong language, the climb’s elevation is 900ft.”

After we’ve gathered up everybody it’s down the other side. I am not liking this descent so much and take it easy. Soon I am well behind the others. At the bottom a sharp right hand turn. To my surprise I notice that Gary is behind me. Hardly ever happens I keep anyone behind me on a downhill. This road has a slight incline, I put my hands on top of the handlebars and reflect that this last descent notwithstanding. Hmm, at the farm on the left a woman with long blond hair in a bikini mowing the lawn. “Hey, old man, focus!” Eh? Ohh, sorry. This last descent notwithstanding overall I am becoming more comfortable going downhill this season. To prove the point the long decline into Dansville goes very nicely.

Lunch break in Dansville. Several are getting sandwiches. I should probably too but have difficulty with the idea of eating much. I settle for a bottle of Sobe Lizard Lava (totally yummy) and two multigrain bars. There is some discussion about the route. Whether to take indeed Route 256 and then Slicker Hill or consider alternatives. In the end we stick to the route.

Once we get going again a small group forms on 256: Robbie, Gary, Paul and me. We paceline very nicely, each taking turns at the front, the pace pretty high. For some miles we are pulling along really very pleasantly: except for the wind and passing cars it is entirely quiet, just four cyclists pedalling hard. I loved the serenity in that moment. Then right on to Slicker Hill. I have done this climb once before, crawling after Otto not knowing yet what a good climber he is. At the junction Paul turned around to wait for the others. When Gary and I get to the top of the climb we circle around for a moment, don’t see anyone, then decide to pull on.

We are now in the last stretches of the ride with about 15 miles of rolling terrain and side/head wind left to do. Gary pulls ahead of me and I follow about 200 yards behind. Shortly later one after another we return in the TOPS parking lot. I am happy to be able to take off my cycling shoes. Except for my toes feeling a bit squeezed and except for a bit of a slow start, I felt this ride went rather well. Much enjoyed the climbing.

After packing up several of us cross the road to Tom Wahl’s: various sorts of malts and shakes are to be ordered. I get my strawberry shake and walk around looking for the straws. A man comes up next to me and asks: “Is that your Mini outside?”
Then, after my affirmative answer, without another word he shows me a picture on his digital camera. It shows a beige Mini with a white roof with a smashed-in bonnet. Thinking that within the 30 seconds of me being in Tom Wahl’s someone managed to ruin Dr Frits I’m about to drop my shake. Only then does he explain it’s a picture of his wife’s Mini… after which of course I notice that the picture has no red bike on top of the car.

Tomorrow Ed is leading the Canandaigua Cup ride, a 50 mile hike around the lake. I make solemn promises to be there but, eh, well, we’ll see how the legs feel tomorrow morning.

Photos of the ride are on my Flickr page.

Today we did our second group ride of the season; a bunch of us who call each other fast friends. Yesterday we rode as well – Paul chose ride #130 starting from Mendon Ponds Park circling around for 23 miles. The weather was great, cool not cold and a bit overcast. So afterwards we decided we should ride again on Sunday, today. Paul charged Otto to come up with the route. Otto emailed in the evening that we should do ride #167, also from Mendon Ponds Park (all roads lead to, or rather from, Mendon Ponds Park) starting at 1pm – 1pm so the forecasted rain in the morning had time to clear.

While driving to the park fog descended on Clover Street and covered the park as well. It certainly was more damp and colder than I had thought. I was happy that I threw my winter jacket in the bag just before I left, one great last minute thought, but no hat nor earwarmers, wintergloves, booties. So chilliness was going to be part of the ride. A good group gathered in the parking lot, all fast mile eaters: Wayne, Otto, Dave, Bob, Michelle, Greg, Ginn. No Paul though even after he teased Otto yesterday for not having a ride lined up for Sunday.

Off we are; Douglas and Pond roads out the park and then, and then, huh what? Oh, flat. Bob’s front tire punched on the climb on Pond towards Clover. Three miles done yet still in the park. With Dave’s help Bob performs the operation. A new bike as well and already a flat. Bob’s inflates the tire with Dave’s Morph pump. I have one too in Charles’ suitcase, very good pumps. I’m thinking maybe should bring it on these rides too. In between Bob, Dave and Wayne the outer tire is forced back on the rim. The wheel goes back in the fork and we’re rolling again.

With some left and rights our overall direction is west towards the river. Otto compliments Michelle on her pink pedals. It’s going well, I feel spunky as the British would say and do my turns at the head together with Wayne and Otto. This winter I have been doing spin class once or twice a week and I’m feeling the difference. If nothing else, spinning made me realize how much more efficient my pedal stroke can be. It helps me maintain a better cadence on the flat and also in powering up small hills.

After turning off East River road and zigzagging back to Mendon Ponds we turn onto Stoney Brook and I happily power up the incline. Otto and Dave u-turn to catch up the others on the climb, Wayne and I slowly pedal on talking about PBP, Quadzilla, time trails and such matters. I look around, no one in sight. Wayne and I circle back too to find Ginn on the shoulder of the road fixing a flat. The Morph pump comes back to mind and I am thinking I should really take it with me on these rides. Except for Ginn we all take this to be a lunch break and munch on cliff bars, gels and other much concentrated foods. My dad calls these gels “astronaut food”. When he was in the hospital on liquid food he proudly proclaimed being fed the same food as the space station occupants. Ginn completes the procedure and we thank him for his consideration in giving us a lunch break.

The road slopes down from here. At the end we turn left onto Rush-Lima Road where Wayne has another flat. We covered barely half a mile since “lunch”. Wayne flatted on his ride from home to the park as well. That costed Wayne his spare tube but Ginn gladly donates a tube so that we’re on the go again a little sooner. I should really bring that Morph pump, you know? Wayne notices that this tube has been patched. Several jokes follow about how this increases the weight of his ride. After putting the tire back on Wayne says something like he’s ready to pump while one holds the wheel and someone shouts “We’re Hans and Frans, we want to pump you up!” Universal giggling. Alright, wheel back in the frame. We’re off. Gearing to go because the standing still has made us all very chilly.

Right here we make a right and a short incline on this road. And Bob has another flat. His rear tire this time. Not even half a mile. Bob’s run out of spares. I donate mine but Bob is first intent on fixing the puncture. Not all in the group are really pleased with that extra time investment. The puncture repair doesn’t really work out so Bob takes my tube. He’s pumping the tire with Dave’s Morph and I am so bringing mine next time. Then, bang! The tube was pinched between the rim and the tire and blew out. In one smooth motion Gary reaches in his saddle bag, retrieves his spare and lays it before Bob before even a thought of puncture repair can emerge. We realize we need to consult the Rochester Bike Club policy on whether this constitutes a flat during a ride, will Bob get credit for one or two flats? During all this Ginn has been repairing his punctured tube from 3/4 of a mile ago. Good thinking, at a rate of three flats a mile…

The wheel’s back on, we all clip in, ride! Nothing untoward happens for several miles.

We go down a hill with Otto and me leading. While not very steep or that long suddenly the front of my bike starts to wobble. At the same time I hear some noise behind me but I am focused on carefully slowing down the shaking bike. Not sure what happened, maybe I was too cold and any body shivering was adopted by the bike? Because of that noise I look over my bicycle but nothing seems missing or loose. Turns out that noise was Wayne’s pump coming off his frame hitting his rear wheel. Pump’s broken in two. We’re now close to the roundabout on route 65, via Pond road we make it back into the park and back to the parking lot. Wayne’s without pump, his rear tire is losing air. He still needs to ride home so I borrow him my pump. Now I’ll have to bring that Morph pump on my next ride.