The forecast flip-flopped several times over the next few days, so despite the Monday evening outlook that things would be cleared up by the time we were to depart, I wasn’t surprised at all when my friend Matt called early Tuesday morning to tell me to look at the radar. A line of storms was passing through, but it appeared to have slowed down and would not be out of the area until noon. Rats, another postponement was in the cards!
I’ll admit that I was already a bit sour, since two of my bikes were recently put out of commission. The carbon rims on my Cannondale had seen their final spin a couple of weeks ago, as the braking surface was starting to delaminate. I couldn’t be completely shocked, as I’ve had the bike for almost six years and have probably put 15,000 miles on them.
What I didn’t see coming was a small stress crack at the front of the head tube on my Pinarello Prince – there was no impact or accident involved. It seems to be a shallow surface crack, but I don’t want to risk riding it until it is checked out by someone qualified, and the prospect of sinking a few hundred dollars into having it restored to appropriate condition doesn’t thrill me.
A quick look into trying the ride some other day that week didn’t yield any positive results, as most of my friends still have young children, and other plans had been made. It then occurred to me that we might be able to squeeze the ride in later Tuesday afternoon. Two of the original companions had to back out, but the delayed departure opened up the opportunity for my neighbor Bob to join us. My mood improved dramatically as the clouds cleared, and we were treated to blue sky and reasonable temperatures when we started west on the Warwick to Ephrata Rail Trail.
Just a mile or two down the trail, there were closure signs, as it appeared a tree had come down during the storm. Not being too positive where to detour around this section, and seeing a few cyclists coming through, we cautiously proceeded. We were scolded (and I suppose, rightly so) by a man driving a small front-end loader to clear the cut logs/branches out of the way. I apologized and told him we weren’t from the area, didn’t know an alternate route and that we wouldn’t be coming back through, but he didn’t really want to hear it.
An amusing incident happened a short time later, when my friends Matt and Dan asked to stop for a “nature break”. A questionable looking fellow (my uncle would definitely had called him a “galoot”) with a bandana over his face, stopped to talk to us. He had a fishing rod tucked under his arm while he rode little circles nearby, asking if we collected racing bikes. I answered that I build and sell bicycles and that I own a number of vintage machines.
He explained that he had a French bike and a Cannondale that was a couple thousand dollars, but it had been stolen recently. Bob and I expressed our sympathy about the theft, then I asked what brand the other bike was. He repeated “French”, and I asked if it had a brand name on the tubing. He looked puzzled and answered “Poojee, or something like that - like the car company?”
I asked if it was Peugeot, and he answered, “Yep, that’s it,” then apologized that he didn’t have his teeth in and probably wouldn’t have pronounced it correctly anyway. He turned to ride away and told us that, if we knew anyone looking for a racing bike, to check with him. Dan pulled alongside of me shortly after this exchange and wondered if the guy had given a name or anything, and I told him, “Maybe he rides here often and figures we'd know where to find him.” I then added, “Yeah, if I know a person looking for a racing bike, I’m going to check with someone else?”
The hard-packed clay and fine cinder of the trail is acceptable for using road bikes, though some short sections didn’t shed the recent rains too well. We just went a bit slowly through the larger puddles so we wouldn’t spray each other or get our bikes filthy.
At the endpoint of the trail in Lititz, we headed down Front Street, which is lined with pretty little houses, most with very well-kept yards/gardens. We then pedaled through Lititz Springs Park and the campus of Warwick High School.
Traffic unfortunately picked up as we circled Lancaster Airport and rode down Oregon Pike into Brownstown. We were much more to ourselves on the smaller roads that roughly follow the Conestoga River and Muddy Creek. Dan and I have ridden together this spring, and I know he is in decent shape, but as we climbed the pass through the hills to Denver, Matt was fading a bit, as he was trying to get back in condition after a battle with COVID.
A couple years ago, Bob had a serious injury after colliding with one of the members of his regular cycling crew. Bob held a regular position in the rear of our mini-peloton, as he (understandably) no longer likes to ride alongside others. He told me later that he was perfectly fine taking that caboose spot, calling out cars coming from behind and having a visual of all of us in front.
We had a couple minor disgruntled shouts from impatient drivers and a crazy teen in one of those “Fast and the Furious-mobiles”, who came up on us WAY too quickly, just as we had begun to make a turn. Most folks gave us plenty of room and gladly waved us through at intersections. We had a particularly pleasant meeting with a group of a dozen folks on horseback, who shouted out greetings. One woman yelled, in a thick German accent, “What a wonderful day for a bike ride!” I yelled back, “...or a horse ride!”
When heading into the downtown Denver area, I mentioned to Dan how, when I was writing out directions, I kept mistakenly calling it “Dallas”. I told him that you would think it impossible for me to forget the name of a city founded by General William Larimer, and Dan said, “Maybe Dallas was founded by another Larimer.” Not being a fan of anything Texan, I replied, “It would have been a Corporal or Private Larimer!"
I am getting a steady flow of repair work this spring, but still managed to complete the assembly of the Vicini bicycle. I'll say goodbye with some photos:
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