A Ride, Uncomfortable
Inauspicious Beginnings
I set out today, disquieted--for reasons not important here--with only a pale idea of a goal for the ride: get to Sandy Hook, get back. I haven't ridden more than 1:30 in...what feels like forever, but I figured I would give it a go. The only problem: I no longer had any real "idea" of how long it took to get from A-to-B.
The Local Wildlife, on the Hunt
I wended my way through Holmdel, eventually working my way up Chapel Hill, and pointing the way towards Hartshorne. I remember the last time feeling this horrendously bad climbing...anything was several months after being cleared post-discharge from the trauma center. The wind never quite seemed to be the direction it "should have" been. It always seemed to be gusting, and pushing back.
I rounded the back of Hartshorne, and started the climb up. It didn't feel bad. Not fast, pinned in the lowest gear, committed to the grind. It was getting on at this point, ticking over the 1:30 mark. I hadn't packed anything to eat, vastly underestimating 1) my speed, 2) the wind, 3) the actual distance.
I started the descent to Sandy Hook, and was feeling every bit of depletion, and the impending bonk looming over my head.
Blessed Cover from the Wind
The wind was howling down the length of the hook; the vegetation was sparse this time of year, and didn't provide much shelter...but what was there, was welcome. I sheltered on the bike path, figuring 1) lack of people with the weather, and 2) I wouldn't be able to make much headway into the wind, anyway.
I knew I wouldn't have long, at this point. I made a "snap" decision to stop. I had been hearing, for months, about the bar* that opened right outside the chapel at Ft. Hancock. I decided any calories were good calories, pounded a Coke, deposited some extra calories in the bank via a [frankly, gigantic] chicken sandwich+half beer, and got a small container to smush the fries that I literally couldn't stuff in me into the bag, and off I went.
I left, suitably saved from bonking, and screamed down the length of Sea Bright. I knew from the muscle pain that I needed to bug out as fast as possible, so I headed through Rumson/Fair Haven, and made the first really bad decision of the day: I wanted to situate myself to not have to fight the wind on my final leg back, which meant taking Front Street back home. The traffic through Red Bank was...the traffic through Red Bank. I doubt it is anyone's favorite ride, but it was uneventful...until I passed Half-Mile Road, and found out that Front Street was closed at Normandy.
I wasn't very much in the mood. There would be no "taking the easy way", as they worked on the Parkway overpass. Likewise, a USN officer was stationed at the intersection to make sure that everyone went where they were supposed to [weird that they care
now, and not for all of the people blatantly using the highway to cut their travel time...]. I had no option but to take a 5 mile detour. My legs were screaming at the small hills. Finally, I was pointed home, and was able to (mostly) soft pedal with the wind.
Not the ride I had envisioned, nor the path, nor the unwelcome discomfort...but such is life.
I survive to ride another day.
*It's the Mule Barn, and by all accounts (and my one-time brief experience) 100% worth the trip out.