NECS Spring Classcis Begin - Pomona-Westwood-Pomona

With the unrelenting nuclear style assaults being waged by the members of Team Seagal down on the trails of St. Louis and the ensuing creation of more strength through negative weakness, it was only a matter of time before the nuclear winter and it's resulting thaw would work it's way up North. Well my good friends it arrived this weekend and we here at the New East Coast Syndicate decided the time was right for our take on the age old Euro ritual - the spring classics.
We rolled out of Hawaiian Mike's tiki bar and brothel planning on a low key 35 miles through the rolling hills of Jersey's swank estates where the closest we would come to cobbles like these was going past an estate driveway.
With everyone jacked up on a couple of cups of Joe, it wasn't to far into the ride before we all decided to stop, have a gu, swig from the water bottles (sorry no flasks on the road rides) and try our hand at snowbank calligraphy. Back onto the bikes and we proceed to put in a handful of miles dodging potholes and boneheads with cellphones glued to their heads. Banter consisted mainly around the duration of the ride with Hawaiian Mike insisting it was going to be an easy 35 and the wily old Mayor, knowing Mike's ability to judge distance was right up there with that of an infant telling time, having severe doubts and his beer goggles on. Meanwhile Top Chef and C-Dubs decided to make a bit of sport out of the ride and attempted to crush every climb there was. As we plowed through the towns, riding with zeal and desire to get back to the growler luau at the casa, everyone started to roll through the stop signs to get back sooner. No sooner did we roll through one and then come up to the cars at the stop light when this thing, with cigarette hanging out of her pie hole, starting jawing off to us about obeying traffic signals. Judging from her size we all guessed that she had more then a bit of experience running lights to make it to McDonalds for the breakfast special.
As we rolled along, what had been forecast as a beautiful sunny day was fast turning into a rather gloomy one. Inquiring on which direction we were heading I pointed to the blackening thunderheads, looked at Hawaiian Mike and gulped as he gave the nod that we were going right into the thick of it. Ahh spring time and thoughts of the euro classics and the finest of Belgium
turned into the spring classics and the reality of Belgium, sprinkles, then intermittent rain and then the downpour.
And trust me it wasn't one of those quickies, it kept coming for awhile until we rode north into the clearing skies and windy colder conditions, and of course it was into the wind the rest of the way home. With Hawaiian Mike practicing for his single speed races by keeping it in the small ring and spinning like a tyke on a tricycle his seat began to succumb to the gyrations of the glutus maximus and the bolts loosened up and cried uncle. A couple of passing riders came to the rescue and within minutes we had Mike back in the game and riding toward total implosion. Not having listened to the wisdom of the Mayor, at about the mile 35 mark Top Chef and I heard a loud explosion and when we looked back we saw a sight very similar to the film clip below with Mike finally collapsing under the torrid pace and conditions.

Well once we picked up the pieces, shed the Hazmat suits and finished off the final miles it was into the driveway and time to enjoy a few of these well earned beers. Shop Sidekick, MacGyver and Footie, you missed a classic salt covered ride.