My 68th birthday is today, so when Tom H posted a ride for today, I decided to go, and to think of it as a birthday ride, even though I didn't tell anybody about it until today. I'm also leading a ride tomorrow, which I'm calling my birthday ride, even though it's not actually on my birthday. So that post will be my second birthday ride.
I know it's confusing. Try to keep up.
Tom had called for a start at the Prallsville Mills, just above Stockton, but when I got there (first, of course; I'm almost always first), the parking was closed for a private event. A flurry of calls later, we moved everybody up to Bull's Island for the start.
As far as I'm concerned, the Prallsville-Mills-to-Bull's-Island glitch was the only glitch over the entire day. Tom quickly adjusted the route to accommodate the change, and invoked the Holy Kickstand to keep us upright, dousing it with the Holy Water of Brita...
...and then sprinkling the assembly so that the Holy Kickstand's magical power could work through us.
And off we went. Early in the ride, one of the newcomers to Tom's group was a bit concerned that the ride would take off without him; he'd been on a hilly ride with another club leader, and been dropped enough times that he decided to come back on his own. I told him I didn't think that would be a problem today; a while later, the newcomer was remarking how he liked this conversational pace.
From Bull's Island, we took a roundabout route to Flemington, for a stop at Factory Fuel, a coffee shop that we like to go to. We don't go frequently, because some of the roads around Flemington get busy (and apparently get busier as the summer approaches). There were a couple of long and demanding climbs, which I decided justified the two gourmet donuts I got from a baker at the tiny farmer's market there.
The vibe at Factory Fuel is about cafe-racer motorcycles, but they also had two lovely examples of the old Stingray bikes:
On the way back, we paid a visit to the Sergeantsville bridge, preparatory to a trip down the newly-paved (after being closed for years) Lower Creek Road.
It was a nearly perfect day. You wish you had come along.
Now, when I first joined the Princeton FreeWheelers, say twenty years ago, there were some old riders in the club, and I remember looking up to them, and deciding that they were who I wanted to be when I got to their age.
In a not-entirely-welcome twist of fate, it appears that I have become one of those older riders, and other club members are deciding they want to be like me when they get to my age.
I'm conflicted:
- I'm honored, of course...
- ...but am I that old?
- And am I sure I want the responsibility?
- Are they sure they want to be like me? There's a lot of non-bikey baggage that comes with this carcass.
Hrmph.
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