Trail Tales

1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
So this weekend, I had an experience I've never had in 20+ years of riding.

A week ago, I got out for my first non-solo ride in probably four months with my buddy Slimm. I told him I was planning a trip out to Rothrock this weekend and invited him to come along since he'd never ridden there before. So I planned a ride that would hit all the can't-miss highlights (as I see them): Bald Knob, Tussey Ridge, Cooper's Gap and all of it linked together via the best gravel roads in the east. Now, there are some issues in the forest right now - bridge construction has closed some of the roads, so if anyone is planning a trip out there, plan carefully - I'd advise doing the Cooper's Gap area before the Trail Mix course for ease of access. Anyway, I'm not going into detail on some of the early disaster that unfolded for us. But I will say offer this advice (and - seriously - PLEASE heed this advice): on the Trail Mix course, your first real singletrack section goes Bald Knob-to-Green Shoot-to Bald Knob again. DO NOT forego the Green Shoot section to stay on Bald Knob the whole way. If you do that, it becomes a miserable hike-a-bike slog like the original Iron Cross walk-up, only steeper and way longer. Objectively speaking, it's fucking terrible. And if it's wet like it was yesterday, it's also terrifying.

But lets get to the point - after the entire Bald Knob experience, we were shell-shocked and destroyed and, at just 10 miles in, reconsidering our entire plan. (As a point of reference, by the time we reached Laurel Run Road again, we were averaging just about 5 1/2 mph for the first 10 miles!) We decided we'd skip most of the Trail Mix course and just head over toward Cooper's Gap, but as we were heading back toward thew car, I saw the sign for the Tussey Mountain Trail on the left and told Slimm we needed to at least try it - Tussey is just too iconic not to experience for any first timer. So we turned into the trail and started the climb. I actually love the Tussey climb - sure, it's "techy", but it's all rideable and it never feels like a slog. So we climb up to the ridge and by the time I hit the ridge itself we're a bit spread out. And so I'm kind of alone and rolling along staring at the expansive view to the right when something moving on the trail catches the corner of my eye. And when I look up, for the first time in my life, I'm within maybe 15 feet of a black bear. It wasn't a huge bear - maybe about three to four feet tall on all fours - and it sees me and takes off like its ass is on fire. I stop short and just stare. I didn't even try to get my camera out. I just watched him (or her!) take off. It was so cool! It jerked its head to look my way and then charged down the trail away from me and disappeared around a corner (for such a fatty, this bear could run!) I know a lot of riders who have had experiences with bears in the past - especially the folks I know who live out west - but for me, the only other bear I've ever seen in the wild was climbing rocks along a highway as I was driving by. This one was close enough that I actually picked up his odor (kinda stunk, BTW!) and I never felt an ounce of fear. It was just something I'll never forget. I waited there for Slimm to catch up so I could warn him and then I made a lot fo noise as I was riding the rest of the trail. Eventually, we saw another rider coming the opposite way and he never saw it so I guess it took off down the ridge or something. I felt a little bad for disrupting his/her day but I wouldn't trade that for the world. I love animals, and seeing one so close in its own environment just doing its thing is such a treat. I would have loved to get a picture, but I'm okay with just a memory on this one.
 

Jmann

Never gonna let you down.
I saw a bear yesterday at Tourne. Ive have a few encounters before, nothing remarkable, but this was the first time I saw one while riding with my dog. Thankfully she didn’t see the bear (who was about 30 feet to our left) and I rode a little faster to keep her focused ahead with keeping up with me.

I know the peeps who ride the north jersey parks regularly see them all the time. The first time I saw one in the wild was at ringwood, and I was really excited, told another rider I met on the trail and he was like so what I see them everyday.
 

1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
Sitting in my living room still feeling like I'm not yet recovered from a brutally hot and humid 70 mile jaunt to NJ and back this morning, sooooo ... how 'bout another story from the archives?

Not sure why this one came to mind today - probably the dirt roads I was riding near Baldpate - but Iron Cross popped into my head this afternoon. Weatherwise, there couldn't be anything more different than today than Iron Cross. I've done Iron Cross 5 times in my life - twice in the old Michaux venue and three times in Williamsport. And every single time, it seemed, Iron Cross fell on the season's first truly wintery day. Some of the weather over the years there has been truly insane. In 2015 (the first year in Williamsport) we had literally everything you can imagine - rain, sleet, snow, wind and even a little sun. And temps never got above 40 degrees all day. In 2017, it was another epically rough weather day - at least for me. I went legitimately hypothermic on the super-fast highway descent and fell to the back of the singlespeed pack as I shivered and crawled through the rolling paved section that followed. But I managed to recover some body heat on the next climb and slowly came around over the course of the next few climbs. I reeled in all but one guy ahead of me, and hit the run-up feeling pretty good after blasting through the muddy, rutted singletrack descent that dropped us at the bottom of the mile-long run up section (this section has been radically reduced since then as they took the rutted sigletrack section out because it was a major complaint of all the racers on cross bikes, but at the time it was a brutal climb that forced you to lean into the hill at times just to keep your balance.) After I topped out at Larry's Tavern, I figured that since I hadn't caught the guy ahead of me by then, I wasn't going to so all I could do was hold my current spot. So I grabbed a PBR and some venison from the guys there and took off. That was the first year the race ended in a different location from the start, so I had no idea I was approaching the finish until I saw the banner ahead of me and I kicked up my effort on the kinda-horrible climb to ensure I wasn't run down from behind in the last moments. After I finished, it was another screaming road descent back to the start area where I cleaned up and headed over to town for the post-race festivities. I still thought I was at best in second, so I stuck around a while and then found out that I'd actually won - the guy ahead of me had dropped out after being caught by another racer earlier because he was feeling sick himself and decided it wasn't worth it to push on if he wasn't holding first. So after one of the worst experiences I ever had on a bike, it turns out the toughest parts of the course - the soul-crushing and endless climbs - were just what the doctor ordered! I warmed up and eventually came back enough to get myself back on terms. Not my best race strategy ever, but I'll take it if it means a chance to say I won a monument of east coast racing like Iron Cross!
 

1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
Absolutely trashed myself in the heat today, so I'm sitting here with my legs up drinking the last of my Neil Peart Memorial beer from Carton and useless for everything except ... another story!

So as I was riding today, I was thinking about how all of my rides are on my Routt right now because ... shit happens. So that got me thinking about how I always prefer off-road when I have the choice ... So this one goes waaaaaaaay back to - my first ever official "mountain bike" ride!

Back in my college years, I was really into lifting. And by the time I graduated, I was just looking for some cardio options that I wouldn't hate. I'd done one bodybuilding competition prior and the thing I remember most about it was how much I hated the cardio equipment I had to use at the gym during my cut down. So I tried running and ... yeah, that wasn't going to work. (Oddly enough, lately I've been thinking I might try some trail running just to get back in the woods while I'm waiting for my new frame.) So I'd already started snowboarding with a few school friends and two of those guys were into mountainbiking, so I thought I might give that a try. After graduation, I took some money I'd saved and bought a brand new Mongoose Sycamore. It was dark green, rigid and had this new technology called "grip shifts". I bought it off the floor at Toms Atlantic Cyclery in Atlantic Highlands (I think it was Tom's at the time - might have still been Frank's, which was in that spot in the 1980's. Not sure.) I was for all intent and purposes homeless at the time - I had just lost my apartment in Jersey City when my roommate moved back to Italy for the summer, and I wasn't going to move back into my childhood home. But I owned pretty much nothing, so I actually had room to store it in my car. The first thing I did when I bought it was stop by my parents' house and take a ride over to Thompson Park where I'd heard there were "trails" next to Brookdale Community College. I never found them. So right off the bat, my first ride was a failure.

Luckily, one my oldest friends told me that a guy we both knew was really into riding and he'd connect us to give me some ideas for places to ride. So eventually we connected (took a while because in the mid 90's we didn't all have cellphones so it wasn't exactly super easy to connect with someone like me who was practicing amateur homelessness.) He suggested we meet up at Hartshorne. I knew Hartshorne from hikes my dad used to take us on, so that worked. We met at the lot off Navesink River Road and ... off we went. Or I should say HE went off. I kind of struggled just to keep him in my sights. The first hill nearly killed me. The second hill actually did kill me. And the third hill took what was left of my corpse and wiped its ass with it. After that, I don't remember too much because I was focused on trying to keep what was inside from making an appearance on the forest floor. And I miserably failed in that - I think I threw up about four or five times. Let me paint a picture for you ... Jeff showed up in full gear: his clothes seemed to be made specifically for the task at hand, and he even had these shoes that attached to his pedals! And gloves - he was wearing gloves! His helmet looked like it was forged in an air tunnel. His bike was a brand new GT something or other with a suspension fork and Spinergy wheels (I thought they looked really cool.) For my part, I was wearing those high-top Nike boots that were so popular back then, along with cut-off Pony sweat pants and a Lollapalooza t-shirt (I remember that specifically because when I puked on it, it actually didn't look that out of place against the rainbow of colors already there.) And my helmet was a silver box that made me look like ... well, let's keep it family friendly and say I just looked like a "mushroom" ...

Eventually, I told Jeff that I needed to stop or I was pretty sure I was going to die - I had a chill despite temps in the 90's, and my field of vision was reduced to just a 6 inch circle surrounded by a black abyss wherein the faces of my dead relatives were beckoning me to follow the light. His reply was , "You'll be fine - just stay on my wheel." So ... yeah ... that didn't happen. Eventually, we finished the ~ 8 or 9 mile loop and it felt like the single worst experience of my life. I was pissed.I thought I'd wasted my money on the bike because there was no way I was ever going to do that again. I had a headache, I was nauseous and I had to sit in my car for 20 minutes before I was sure I could drive back to my parents house without passing out behind the wheel. And why hadn't anyone told me you need to bring water on bike rides? I stopped at the 7-11 in Red Bank on the drive home and drank a liter of Gatorade, which I promptly threw up in the lot.

So that was my first experience with actual mountainbiking. After that, I didn't ride off-road again for at least a month. I eventually tried riding with Jeff again and it was more of the same (although he did introduce me to Watching right before MTBers were kicked out for what I guess is now forever.) It almost turned me off to the sport altogether, and I think if I'd continued riding with that dude, I'd have quit and never gone back within a few weeks. Luckily, though, I took off for a road trip that lasted 6 months at the end of that summer and then moved to Bethlehem for grad school the following spring. So after that summer, I was able to start riding solo more and take a little more time to develop.

For the record, I don't think Jeff was purposely trying to be an asshole - I think he figured I was fit since I worked out so much and all I needed was a little time to get into it. I don't think he understood how advanced he was relative to a true newbie like me (I would have thought, though, that he'd have realized that by the second time I covered my shirt with my lunch.) But that experience definitely colored how I am when I ride with less experienced riders: my personal rule is that the pace is theirs to set. I just could never do that to someone - ruining your concert t-shirts is never going to be my goal. It took me another three years to upgrade to a better bike (grad school played a role in that) and another year or two after that to actually get my first set of SPDs. And somewhere along the line, I gave up the sweat shorts and t-shirts for more technical gear. I suppose it could be said that I still look like a dick in a helmet, but probably not a lot I can do about that at this point. And the only other time I ever threw up again while riding was when I did my first race, so I never again ruined a summer music festival t-shirt, which is something.
 

Kaleidopete

Well-Known Member
Maybe I'll keep this thread going....

So this is my weird tale. A few years ago I was riding Wawayanda in the winter, there was a light snow on the ground,
just a few inches. It was kinda cold, around ten degrees. The area I was riding was Iron Mountain trail and there is an
iron bridge there that crosses a stream. Any way to get to this particular spot it’s about a mile and half into the woods from any direction.
As I approach the bridge I see someone standing there. Now I never see anyone out on the trails at my usual early morning ride at
seven AM, let alone on a cold snowy morning. I see it’s a guy, not athletic looking by any means wearing a lite jacket, no hat and no gloves,
and like I said, a mile and a half in the woods. I stop and say hi, how‘s it goin‘. He says great, I’m out here looking for Bigfoot,
I know he’s around here, I’ve seen signs of him being here. I say, great, but I haven’t seen him around here myself and I’ve been
riding this area for a while. He says, Oh, I know he’s around here, I just haven’t found him yet. I say, OK, I’m gonna keep riding, good luck,
and I rode off. I never saw this guy before, or since, and I’m just as happy for that.

:eek:
images.jpg
 

Captain Brainstorm

Well-Known Member
Maybe I'll keep this thread going....

So this is my weird tale. A few years ago I was riding Wawayanda in the winter, there was a light snow on the ground,
just a few inches. It was kinda cold, around ten degrees. The area I was riding was Iron Mountain trail and there is an
iron bridge there that crosses a stream. Any way to get to this particular spot it’s about a mile and half into the woods from any direction.
As I approach the bridge I see someone standing there. Now I never see anyone out on the trails at my usual early morning ride at
seven AM, let alone on a cold snowy morning. I see it’s a guy, not athletic looking by any means wearing a lite jacket, no hat and no gloves,
and like I said, a mile and a half in the woods. I stop and say hi, how‘s it goin‘. He says great, I’m out here looking for Bigfoot,
I know he’s around here, I’ve seen signs of him being here. I say, great, but I haven’t seen him around here myself and I’ve been
riding this area for a while. He says, Oh, I know he’s around here, I just haven’t found him yet. I say, OK, I’m gonna keep riding, good luck,
and I rode off. I never saw this guy before, or since, and I’m just as happy for that.

:eek: View attachment 138248

Maybe it was one of these guys:


They have a show on Discovery, one episode took place in NJ. These guys are a thing. My brother works for a major corporation, and in one of his meetings he joked around about the BFRO. After the meeting, he got some feedback from his boss that he offended a couple of people. Two of the guys on the other side were members of the BFRO, and we’re about to leave on an expedition to go squatch’in in Washington State.

EDIT: There’s another expedition in NJ scheduled for 2020, open to non-members if you want to get to squatch’n. Pete’s intimate knowledge of Wayway would probably be very useful here.
 
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1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
So this weekend was about as perfect as we can ask for weather-wise. Seeing the forecast earlier in the week,I planned one of my favorite things - a stupid long ride! I did get my Sir9 up and running this week, but I decided to do this as a mixed-road ride on the Routt. So I pulled out a map and decided "Why not Easton?" I knew I could get a minimum of 40 miles on the canal trail that way, and once I was in Easton, I'd just pick my way southwest toward home without a specific route adding that always fun possibility of getting hopelessly lost. So I set out around 9 or so in the morning and took backroads over the New Hope, hitting the canal trail after about 25 miles. I rolled up the canal trail at a nice clip (the Routt is a perfect gravel bike) and reached Easton at just about 70 miles total. So at that point, I decided to do the smart thing and hop off the D&L Trail for a quick side-trip to Weyerbacher Brewing. I popped up the steep-ish climb on Packer Ave to the brewery and rolled in for some liquid sustenance. Weyerbacher currently requires you order some food, too. So I looked over the food-truck menu and took a flyer on some chicken fingers. And that ... didn't work out so well. I took a bite and it felt kind of rubbery. So I looked at the other piece in my hand and this is what I saw ...

IMG_2372.jpeg


Completely raw. Ugh ... I wasn't going to be a dick about it (shit happens) so I just took it back to the truck and told the lady that I didn't want a replacement but I wanted her to know she may need to up the heat on the fryer or something.

But after that, I was afraid to eat anything else. I had a Clif Bar in my pack, but I was really afraid that even though I'd spit out the bad chicken, if any had gotten down my throat then I could be setting myself up for a *rough* ride home.

So without getting into detail for the ride home, I decided it was prudent to cut a few of my original miles planned and head south at Bethlehem instead of Allentown. But that meant I had to deal with the two brutal climbs between Bethlehem and Quakertown. Doing those with nothing in your stomach is a recipe for bonking, but I held it together by just zoning out and going full zombie. Ultimately, my original thought was to do about 140 miles and I ended up with around 120 instead. But I never pooped myself or puked on the road and that felt like a victory. For shits and giggles, I weighed myself when I got home and had (temporarily) lost 11 lbs. Not the best way to do a long ride, but I actually never felt like I totally bottomed out either, which is kinda weird ...
 

rottin'

Well-Known Member
Staff member
Team MTBNJ Halter's
So this weekend was about as perfect as we can ask for weather-wise. Seeing the forecast earlier in the week,I planned one of my favorite things - a stupid long ride! I did get my Sir9 up and running this week, but I decided to do this as a mixed-road ride on the Routt. So I pulled out a map and decided "Why not Easton?" I knew I could get a minimum of 40 miles on the canal trail that way, and once I was in Easton, I'd just pick my way southwest toward home without a specific route adding that always fun possibility of getting hopelessly lost. So I set out around 9 or so in the morning and took backroads over the New Hope, hitting the canal trail after about 25 miles. I rolled up the canal trail at a nice clip (the Routt is a perfect gravel bike) and reached Easton at just about 70 miles total. So at that point, I decided to do the smart thing and hop off the D&L Trail for a quick side-trip to Weyerbacher Brewing. I popped up the steep-ish climb on Packer Ave to the brewery and rolled in for some liquid sustenance. Weyerbacher currently requires you order some food, too. So I looked over the food-truck menu and took a flyer on some chicken fingers. And that ... didn't work out so well. I took a bite and it felt kind of rubbery. So I looked at the other piece in my hand and this is what I saw ...

View attachment 138873

Completely raw. Ugh ... I wasn't going to be a dick about it (shit happens) so I just took it back to the truck and told the lady that I didn't want a replacement but I wanted her to know she may need to up the heat on the fryer or something.

But after that, I was afraid to eat anything else. I had a Clif Bar in my pack, but I was really afraid that even though I'd spit out the bad chicken, if any had gotten down my throat then I could be setting myself up for a *rough* ride home.

So without getting into detail for the ride home, I decided it was prudent to cut a few of my original miles planned and head south at Bethlehem instead of Allentown. But that meant I had to deal with the two brutal climbs between Bethlehem and Quakertown. Doing those with nothing in your stomach is a recipe for bonking, but I held it together by just zoning out and going full zombie. Ultimately, my original thought was to do about 140 miles and I ended up with around 120 instead. But I never pooped myself or puked on the road and that felt like a victory. For shits and giggles, I weighed myself when I got home and had (temporarily) lost 11 lbs. Not the best way to do a long ride, but I actually never felt like I totally bottomed out either, which is kinda weird ...
Holy F that chicken is raw! wow, that is really bad. I really like the Last Chance IPA from Weyerbacher...actually happened to be buying a six pack a couple years ago when the local sales rep was behind me in line at Whole Foods when I was purchasing and we had a good conversation about the proceeds about that beer etc. He gave me his card and said to mention him if I ever made it out to the brewery, but never did...actually haven't seen Last Chance around here lately, too bad. It is good beer and a dollar per six pack went towards a no kill dog shelter ...hence Last Chance
 

1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
Holy F that chicken is raw! wow, that is really bad. I really like the Last Chance IPA from Weyerbacher...actually happened to be buying a six pack a couple years ago when the local sales rep was behind me in line at Whole Foods when I was purchasing and we had a good conversation about the proceeds about that beer etc. He gave me his card and said to mention him if I ever made it out to the brewery, but never did...actually haven't seen Last Chance around here lately, too bad. It is good beer and a dollar per six pack went towards a no kill dog shelter ...hence Last Chance

@rottin' - I think Weyerbacher has been scaling back over the past few years. The market in this area is really, really crowded now - there's a brewery every five miles - and I think they made the decision to stay more local to avoid over extend themselves. That's happened with a few places and some have gone out of business (in my own town, Prism went out of business a few years ago after trying to expand too quickly. So this just might be a move by Weyerbacher to ensure they survive. Next time I'm up that way if I see any Last Chance, I'll pick some up for you.
 

Patrick

Overthinking the draft from the basement already
Staff member
@rottin' - I think Weyerbacher has been scaling back over the past few years. The market in this area is really, really crowded now - there's a brewery every five miles - and I think they made the decision to stay more local to avoid over extend themselves. That's happened with a few places and some have gone out of business (in my own town, Prism went out of business a few years ago after trying to expand too quickly. So this just might be a move by Weyerbacher to ensure they survive. Next time I'm up that way if I see any Last Chance, I'll pick some up for you.

I've always wondered about this - they have 3 people making beer, and bring in a few more to pour/sell - they sell every bit they can make.
Gotta be doing ok in the $$ column - someone convinces/invests 7 figures to get them up and going for massive bottle/can runs, continuous production.
It no longer interests the local crowd willing to pay a premium - and can no longer compete on freshness and quality on the shelves at stores at the
price point they had. probably end up making the same amount of money for 10x the work and headaches. Screw up 1 batch, and BLAM.

While i don't like many of the Flounder beers, he does hit occasionally. He's decided to move out of his industrial unit into a barn with beer garden.
Hopefully that works out.

Magnify seems to have struck a nice balance.
 

1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
I just watched the latest EF Gone Racing video on Lachlan Morton's Badlands race in Spain a couple of weeks ago.There's a spot in it that reminded me of another story, so here goes ...

A few years ago, I was doing a lot of big endurance races and one of my all-time favorites was a 24 hour I did just outside of Spokane called "24 Hours Round the Clock". But this isn't a story about the race itself. It's about afterward and how tired a really long race effort can make you. So ... after we broke down our camp and cleared out back to our hotel, I had to break down my bike for our flight the next day. My wife told me that I should leave it to the next morning and get some sleep since our flight wasn't until late morning and it was a small enough airport that we probably wouldn't take too long to get through security. Her point was that I was now working on over 30 hours without sleep and she thought I looked pretty destroyed. But I've traveled all over the country to race for a lot of years and the one thing I always count on is that nothing can be assumed when traveling with a bike. And besides, I felt fine, I said. So she ran out to the store while I broke down my bike and packed it up in my Trico case. It didn't take too long, and by the time she got back, I was all done and sitting on the bed with the TV on. She was like, "What are you doing? You should take a nap. We've got dinner in a few hours." (One of the reasons I'd chosen that specific race was that it gave her a chance to see her older brother, who lives in Spokane.) So again, I said, "I'm not really tired." And then she started to say something else but I missed it because I was transfixed by the popcorn ceiling above me.

It was rotating.

I'm not kidding. It was swirling around in a series of twirling patterns. I pointed this out to my wife. She just stared at me. I said, "No, seriously - look ..." And I stood up on the bed and pointed out where it was twirling. (I'm pretty sure she snapped a picture of me pointed it out while standing on the bed, but I can't find that anywhere.) At this point, I think she was becoming genuinely concerned. She told me that was it and I needed to take a nap. I said I'd try but I really wasn't tired. And less than two minutes later, I was out cold.

Of course, I don't remember falling asleep. She told me I was in the middle of a sentence when i just stopped talking and was out. I do remember the thing with the roof twirling, but I don't remember it being odd in any way. But I do have to admit that the next morning, the ceiling pattern wasn't twirling at all. So ... yeah, maybe she was right about me needing some sleep ... And for the record, when we got home from dinner with her brother and his family, I fell asleep right away and slept form about 7 pm to 8 the next morning. I never sleep more than 7 hours a night - ever. So you can make of that what you will vis-a-vis who was right and who was wrong about how tired I was ...
 

Patrick

Overthinking the draft from the basement already
Staff member
So blame spinning ceiling on being tired.
can work with this ;)
 

Rusty

Well-Known Member
Lack of sleep like that is no joke. In my earlier IT years I would often do overnighters and one time in particular I recall being up for like 36 hours straight. I started talking jibberish and my peers sent me home. Don't remember driving home. Wife told me I came in talking jibberish and fell down on the bed and slept for nearly 12 hours. I am too old to even attempt that stuff again.
 

1speed

Incredibly profound yet fantastically flawed
Watching the Vuelta today, the riders were descending off El Robledo at over 60 mph. That reminded me of another story. This is a road riding story, so ... sorry.

I didn't start riding on the road until I'd already been MTBing for about 5 years. The one thing I heard from other MTBers is that if you have decent bike handling skills on the trail, road riding is a cinch. That might have been an exaggeration, but it's one I believed right away. So I used to just hammer descents figuring I'd have no problem controlling my bike since - ya know - I was an MTBer with all of 5 years under my belt. So I don't remember exactly when this was, but one evening I was riding up and down the hills off Route 32 along the Delaware. One of those hills is Point Pleasant Pike and the descent starts in earnest right after this old quarry. By the time I entered the area with a bunch of houses, I looked down and my computer had me clocked at 53 mph. (I still think that may be the fastest I've ever gone on a bike.) And just as I was turning my head back up, I saw something moving to my right on a driveway. My heart almost stopped because I was sure it was a car pulling out into the road. I actually felt that instant body exhaustion you get from pure terror. I tried to pull the brake but I knew I would completely lose control if I did that so I blinked hard and was sure I was about to die. And then as I passed by I realized it wasn't a car after all - it was just an old man rolling a garbage can to the bottom of his driveway! I went by him so fast he fell backward and yelled something at me that I couldn't quite hear (but I could probably make a guess as to the nature of his comment.) After that I slowly feathered the brake the rest of the way down the hill so I was actually in control by the time I got to the bottom.

So end of story, right? Not exactly. After that, I was riding along 32 for a bit and the thought wouldn't leave my head as to what could have happened if it had been a car. And about a mile down the road, I had what I think may have been the one and only panic attack of my life (so far!) I started to shake uncontrollably, my face and hands went numb and I had to pull off the road and sit for a few minutes before I could get myself home. I just sat on the side of the road with my knees curled up trying to catch my breath. It was really weird. I thought I was having a heart attack. Eventually, I settled down enough to slow pedal home, but even now - about 15 years later - that was the last time I ever imagined I was a decent bike handler on the road and I've gone over 50 mph maybe twice since then ... and I'm sure both of those times were on roads with no driveways!
 

Ian F

Well-Known Member
I know that descent and have ridden down it numerous times. You can definitely get moving and near the bottom when it starts getting curvy something could come up really quick. I generally keep my speed under control there rarely getting much above 40 mph. Riding a 25+ year old frame on almost 30 year old components might have something to do with that as well... the braking surfaces on my rims are pretty much done. Eventually I need to have jdog build up a new set of wheels for that bike.
 

stb222

Love Drunk
Jerk Squad
Watching the Vuelta today, the riders were descending off El Robledo at over 60 mph. That reminded me of another story. This is a road riding story, so ... sorry.

I didn't start riding on the road until I'd already been MTBing for about 5 years. The one thing I heard from other MTBers is that if you have decent bike handling skills on the trail, road riding is a cinch. That might have been an exaggeration, but it's one I believed right away. So I used to just hammer descents figuring I'd have no problem controlling my bike since - ya know - I was an MTBer with all of 5 years under my belt. So I don't remember exactly when this was, but one evening I was riding up and down the hills off Route 32 along the Delaware. One of those hills is Point Pleasant Pike and the descent starts in earnest right after this old quarry. By the time I entered the area with a bunch of houses, I looked down and my computer had me clocked at 53 mph. (I still think that may be the fastest I've ever gone on a bike.) And just as I was turning my head back up, I saw something moving to my right on a driveway. My heart almost stopped because I was sure it was a car pulling out into the road. I actually felt that instant body exhaustion you get from pure terror. I tried to pull the brake but I knew I would completely lose control if I did that so I blinked hard and was sure I was about to die. And then as I passed by I realized it wasn't a car after all - it was just an old man rolling a garbage can to the bottom of his driveway! I went by him so fast he fell backward and yelled something at me that I couldn't quite hear (but I could probably make a guess as to the nature of his comment.) After that I slowly feathered the brake the rest of the way down the hill so I was actually in control by the time I got to the bottom.

So end of story, right? Not exactly. After that, I was riding along 32 for a bit and the thought wouldn't leave my head as to what could have happened if it had been a car. And about a mile down the road, I had what I think may have been the one and only panic attack of my life (so far!) I started to shake uncontrollably, my face and hands went numb and I had to pull off the road and sit for a few minutes before I could get myself home. I just sat on the side of the road with my knees curled up trying to catch my breath. It was really weird. I thought I was having a heart attack. Eventually, I settled down enough to slow pedal home, but even now - about 15 years later - that was the last time I ever imagined I was a decent bike handler on the road and I've gone over 50 mph maybe twice since then ... and I'm sure both of those times were on roads with no driveways!
I thought this was the Brighton Hill Road story. Would like a a recap of that at some point.

I think my top speed is Federal Twist. But man, woods right up to the edge of the road and potential for deer / cars....
 

Cassinonorth

Well-Known Member
Holy F that chicken is raw! wow, that is really bad. I really like the Last Chance IPA from Weyerbacher...actually happened to be buying a six pack a couple years ago when the local sales rep was behind me in line at Whole Foods when I was purchasing and we had a good conversation about the proceeds about that beer etc. He gave me his card and said to mention him if I ever made it out to the brewery, but never did...actually haven't seen Last Chance around here lately, too bad. It is good beer and a dollar per six pack went towards a no kill dog shelter ...hence Last Chance

I think they all but packed it in for NJ. They're in the realm of yesteryear brewers like Smuttynose, Oskar Blues and Erie. They got squeezed out by the newer cooler breweries making 16oz IPA's all day.

Only 1 store I can see has it near NJ: https://www.beermenus.com/beers/17738-weyerbacher-last-chance-ipav and that may not be actually accurate or super old.
 
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