We ride around Great Pond--all the way around

Nicole and I were lucky enough to get to ride around Great Pond, which is the largest lake in the Belgrade lakes chain.

We started in Rome (seriously, Maine has some odd names for its towns), turned south before we hit Oakland, rode through the center of Belgrade and then circled back in Rome.

Only in Maine can one realistically ride through Rome and Belgrade in the same day.

The ride was fun--for the most part at least. Nicole still needs to work on her hill climbing technique. We hit a series of peaks and drops in the final leg of the trip. Each time, Nicole made the near fatal mistake of actually using the brakes on the downhill, thus starting from zero at the base of the downhill, thus forcing us to climb the hill rather than use the momentum to coast to each hill's midpoint. We'll have to work on that.

And there was some good sightseeing, of course. You can see a lot more when you're riding a bike as opposed to driving a car. Although I have been vacationing up there with my family for the last 21 years, I actually caught a glimpse neighboring Mesalonskee Lake for the first time of my life. We also snapped some great photos of a horse stable outside of Belgrade.

Post ride was a real treat. We took a boat ride out to Otter Island. In two decades, I have never once seen any otters there, but it is a great place to go swimming. It felt good to cool off and indulge myself into thinking I was competing in some sort of triathlon.

In seven weeks, we will return to Maine, instead to mighty Cadillac Mountain. In another seven weeks, we will will be at Key West!

Adventures in rack fitting--never problem free

I got my front rack and panniers in last Wednesday. I was as giddy as a schoolboy until it actually came to putting the rack on the front fork.

Nicole and I each decided we wanted to go with Arkel's base model front rack. Both of our bike forks have eyelets for such a rack. It seemed like a such a perfect fit . . .

Sadly, searching for perfection on a self-contained bike tour is a fruitless endeavor. Although I was able to set up Nicole's rack without any difficulty, my rack became a series of sorrows and triumphs, followed by more sorrows and triumphs.

Problem number 1 was that the lower eyelet by the quick release couldn't accept a bolt. I tried screwing it in, but the bolt would only go in somewhat sideways, after which I couldn't turn in any more. Dejected, I put the bike aside and sat on the couch feeling listless.

The story is nearly painful to retell, so I shall merely summarize: Nate cheerful, chipper, and happy to re tap the threads to fit the bolt into place. Excited, I tried putting the rack on, only to find that the rack would hit my disc brake caliper. Either I had to get rim brakes or a new rack.

That's where I am now. On the one hand, I have contemplated swapping out my STI shifters for bar-end shifters. Doing so would allow me to run V-brakes on the bike. I have also considered slightly narrower handlebars for a more appropriate bike fit.

On the other hand, I can save money keeping the components that I have. I like the convenience of my STI shifters, and Arkel makes a disc brake compatible rack that mounts on the v-brake posts and through the axle. It also doubles as splash guard, so my quick release half fender would be sufficient to protect the bike and me in the rain.

I'll make a decision by the end of the week. Until then, I'll be riding with just one set of panniers. They are marvelous, which only makes the wait for the front rack solution all the more agonizing!

New Cycling socks from an authority

Eric Patermo stopped into Bicycles East the other day, cycling socks in hand.

"I'm not trying to get rich here," he said. "I just wanted to give people jobs."

Yeah, he also designed a superior product. Eric runs 3athletics, a company that designs multi-sport clothing.

The socks are very nice. If you've never worn a true cycling sock, you don't know what you're missing. Coolmax is a material that just pulls moisture away from you: instead of feeling drenched in sweat, you feel like you have just a few droplets of water on your feet.

It's a more personal touch when you know the person who designed the clothing. You can almost see on his face the reflection of the literally thousands of miles he has accumulated on a bike over the years. He's an authority all right.

Local company. Made in the U.S. Great Product. I'll have to see if he has any touring socks.

To be continued . . .

Big wheels keep on turning--I make it home anyhow

I did a 20 miler today to stay loose. I'm expecting my fancy panniers to come in any day now, so today may well have been my last ride without carrying a heavy load.

The route is one of my favorites. It starts at my apartment, which is right around the 1 mile marker of the Manchester Road Race. Instead of turning left to stay within Manchester, though, I head east to Route 85. From there I breeze by the outskirts of Bolton, Andover and Hebron before taking a right onto Route 94 (Hebron Ave) and then turning right again onto Manchester Road.

I'm riding up Hebron Avenue and the incline is quite steep. My speed (which averages between 15 and 18 on the flats) is down to a pathetic 5.5 miles per hour. Fatigue is getting to me. I think to reach back for my packet of Gu, only to realize that it's not in my shirt pocket, it's in my bicycle bag. Oops! Should I get off the bike? Never! I think to myself, as I begrudgingly keep pedaling, cursing to myself inside about the heavy wheels I'm riding on. Wheels are rotational weight, always moving outward. So each time I pedal to make up for speed lost on the grade, the extra weight on the wheels slows my down. And yet I need the extra strength, in theory.

I sit upright on the bike and feel for the zipper, hoping that I can reach in and grab the Gu packet. I unzip a little and reach in with my right hand. I feel something. GU packet? Nope. Cell phone, multi-tool and tire lovers. D'oh! The Gu packet recessed in the far pocket of my trunk bag. I unzipped a little more, unsure if I could reach it.

Sure enough though, I was able grab it and and tear it open with my teeth like a pro (please, indulge in my fantasy. At the very least, I know I could be a domestique). I could feel the results almost as soon as the strawberry banana flavor reached the tip of my tongue. I looked at my speedometer: 6 miles an hour, 7, 7.5. I was saved! The remaining 130 feet of my 350 foot climb felt like nothing. Not bad with such a heavy wheel set.

As fate would have it, though, it was on Manchester Road that theory turned into practice. My bike had an altercation with a dimpled, spinning spheroid on the road. As I pedaled past the driving range I saw an errant golf ball bounce towards me. Before I had time to react I heard a PING! as the ball ricocheted off the spokes.

As much as I toy with the idea of upgrading my heavy Mavic A319 wheels, these things are bombproof. I finished the remaining 5 miles of the ride without incident. I'll check the tension of the spokes before I go out on a cool down ride with Nicole this evening.

It's fun to upgrade, but I have to remind myself that I'm not trying to shave time on a race; I want a bike that will carry me and 50 pounds of camping gear for seven weeks. Every ding, every scratch on the bike, every piece of wear is kind of like a merit badge or Japanese Zero emblazoned on a P-51 Mustang fighter pilot. Takes a licking, keeps on ticking.

Just the way I like it.

We return--for the pie

Last Friday Nicole and I took our bikes back to the Simsbury portion of the Farmington Canal Trail with one thought on our minds: pie. Sweet, wholesome, fresh baked pie. It was still nearly 100 degrees and humid in the sunshine, but the physical layout of the bike trail--a converted rail bed with trees on either side--made for perfect shading. Coupled with our modest pace of about 12.5 miles per hour, we felt a sort of "natural" air conditioning if you will.

It took us a little less than an hour to reach that intersection of the bike trail and 168 where we saw what looked like the pie place. Since we were only 11 miles into our ride, we decided to keep pedaling since we wouldn't have to carry and pie with us. We continued northward on the trail, but to our surprise, we didn't go too far until we discovered that the good people of Massachusetts we still landscaping and paving the trail! There were signs that said, "Construction Zone" followed by "No Trespassing."

"I want to keep pedaling," said Nicole."

"Well," I said. "If anybody stops us we'll say we didn't see the sign."

We rode on for about two miles or so before we reached another state road. The unfinished trail continued northward, but for some ethical reason I didn't feel like "trespassing" even though I didn't see anybody working on the trail itself. We turned eastbound and were greeted by large tracts of farmland to our right.

"They've got summer squash!" Nicole exclaimed.

I saw a rather delicious looking summer squash outside the many rows of crops. It almost begging me to place it my bike bag to be enjoyed in some sort of salad or stir fry.

"You want to take one? " I asked, not sure of I was being sarcastic or serious. Before I gave Nicole time to respond I answered my own question: "I think those people will mind," referring to the farmhands.

As we pedaled onward, we could see the tall ridges that marked the end of the Connecticut River Valley, peaking several hundred feet above us as if to show their dominance in the skyline.

About five or so miles down the road we hit our first intersection and turned south. The scenery changed, slightly, as we were greeted by the tobacco fields of Granby.

"Looks like we're back in Connecticut again," I said.

That wouldn't last long. We were approaching the Congamand lakes chain. Three lakes--aptly named North Pond, Middle Pond and South Pond--define the border between Southwick and the rest of Connecticut. Middle Pond stretched towards us on our right; South Pond was set back further towards our left. A small bridge separated the two. An unassuming bridge no more than 500 feet long divided the two. We rode over the bridge and viola! Back in Massachusetts, back onto 182 near where we thought we could obtain pies.

We had hoped to get a pie for Steve Dauphinais. He had intended to grab one on his last visit to the Farmington Canal Trail but fate intervened. We locked our bikes up and went inside only to find it was a sit down restaurant. Oops!

In back there was counter with a menu. Was I saved? Could I still get a pie for my boss, who sorely needed one?

"I see you sell pies by the slice," I said to the girl behind the counter. "Can we get some to go."

She smiled. "Normally we do, and we sell whatever is in season."

I leaned forward. An inside source (actually, his wife, Deb) had told me peach is Steve's favorite.

"However," she said. "We don't have any pies right now."

Ouch! Back to the drawing board. It was a hot day, and by the decor one could clearly see this was a nice restaurant. Nicole and I each ordered a smoothie to refuel and cool off in air conditioned splendor. Steve would still get his pie, I reasoned, but it would call for a contingency plan.

We headed out of the restaurant ripped and ready to go. The sugar from those smoothies must have been a little magic, because our pace increased noticeably on the way back.

"I want to go faster!" Nicole said, eyeing the open space of the trail ahead of us.

"Oh, all right," I said, expecting her to flame out after a quick burst.

Instead, Nicole mashed on the pedals and quickly accelerated. I increased my speed to keep up, noticing that we had reached 18 miles an hour. I expected her to slow down. She didn't.

We finished the final leg of our 30 mile trip relatively quickly, thanks to our home-brewed style smoothies. After which, we made a quick stop to Wade's Fruit and Vegetable stand, a nice place to get fresh fruits and veggies near the foot of Taclott Mountain. We spotted a fresh-baked and Peach and Blueberry pie and picked it up.

"What will Steve say," asked Nicole.

"What Steve doesn't know won't hurt him" I said.

Sure enough, we delivered the pie in person to Steve and Bicycles East that very day. Flustered from being so busy, he nearly rejected his gift when he saw us.

"For you," I said, handing him the baked dish of many tasty morsels.

"Peaches," he said, quietly. "My favorite."

"Enjoy."

And he did. We didn't tell Steve about the pie's origin until the next day. But hey, all's well that end's well. A true maxim in baking and in bicycling!

KM

Fresh raspberrys on a training ride

"Look," I said. "Raspberries."

We had pulled over to the side of the road near an organic farm on the South Glastonbury/Portland border. Through the trees one could see the Connecticut River. Across the street from the farm were wild Connecticut raspberries. We helped ourselves to a few and hopped back on the bikes.

"I don't want to go back up that hill!" Nicole said as she started pedaling. I slowed down and turned my head towards her.

"We have to. It's a one way street."

"Ugh!" said Nicole, followed by "okay," and pedaled through it. It was one of our days off, and we had planned to do an epic ride, starting at Bicycles East, down route 17, through Portland and East Haddam, all the way to Gillete Castle. We had planned to take the ferry and ride north into Rocky Hill to take the other ferry back to South Glastonbury.

But it was not to be. Around mile 20 we ran out of GU and clif bars, stranding us in East Haddam. I knew I could ride through it, but I knew what would happen to Nicole if she over-exerted herself. We turned around at Hurd State Park, pedaling back the way we came.

The heat was beating down on us, and we were also out of water by the time we reached route 17. We stopped at a local farm stand to purchase some bottles of water. I grabbed some Raspberry elephant ears as well.

"For home," I said. "A little motivation for after the ride."

We got back on our bikes and pedaled north on 17. At intersection of route 160, we met up with a group of 20 or so cyclists. The temptation to race them, however foolish while riding a touring bike with an extra 5 to 10 pounds of gear, was overwhelming.

"Go," she said. "I'll catch up to you."

"No," I said. We've got to finish this together."

The last few miles were the hardest for Nicole. As we pedaled, each stop at every stop sign or red light resulted in her asking the same question: "How much further?" Succeeded by "Are the hills over?"

It was disheartening to explain that the hills are never over in Glastonbury, and the remaining distance would always seem longer because of the grade. We resumed pedaling until we reached the intersection of Chestnut Hill and Hopewell. It's a hill that made her lose hope.

"It just keeps going!" Nicole exclaimed.

"It's the last one." I replied.

"You said that last time!"

If you're not familiar with the area, picture yourself riding about a mile on an incline that varies between being relatively steep and relatively less steep. The hill crests after mile one, then dips down to meet Hopewell Road, after which you have to climb another 50 feet on a relatively steep grade. I tried to explain that it was one continuous hill, but it was hardly any consolation at that point. Nicole simply slid forward off the saddle to put her feet on the ground and take a swig of water, before getting on the back and continuing upward.

We we got back to Bicycles East, it was late, and Nicole was stone faced after going through such horror.

"How far did we go?" as her heart rate returned to normal and her quiet rage towards me dissipated.

"40 miles," I said.

"My odometer says 38."

"Laid out flat we did more than 38," I said. "If anyone asks, we did 40."

Nicole smiled. We loaded up the bikes, and at night enjoyed some fine pastry for desert that we obtained on the ride.