New East Coast Syndicate: NECS/MRC Non Race # 1

With the winter blues finally coming to a close and Frosty the snowman making his final appearance for this winter

the founding fathers of the MRC answered the call of spring with the only thing an organization of such power and magnitude could possibly consider - Non Race #1 - The Chinaman 100.
With a slight chill in the air and our significant others out on the MRC/Chick Division ride, Top Chef and I donned the requisite gear of leg warmers, insulated gloves, booties and chop sticks for an all out assault on Sampsonville Road and the famed Minneswaska grinder (as opposed to the even more infamous Alp d'Minnewaska). Rolling out of the church parking lot we were charged by this crazed looking creature which we managed to avoid right before it exploded into a ball of fire, smoking reindeer pelt and a few choice tenderloins.

Apparently, in a response to the NECS breakup of the Islamic terrorist ring at Stewart, NECS Breaks Up Terrorist Ring At Stewart, the freaky looking Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi had dispatched a battalion of suicide reindeer to put a hit on Top Chef and C-Dubs. With the ride heading into the backwoods of Kerhonkson we were going to have our game face on to survive the onslaught of attacks that were sure to come. By the time we descended off Sampsonville the only scare came from a nice gust of wind that threatened to send the S.S. C-Dubs and the now infamous ENVE sails for a bit of off road action but a superior attitude and superior state of mind kept me upright and powering to our first break of the day.
The cool conditions were taking their toll on us and by the 25 mile mark, with no espresso shop in sight, we stopped at an abandon diner where we fortified our mental prowess with a dose of tiger blood and goji berries. A few minutes were spent contemplating the viability of tossing the towel in at work and setting up a bike/espresso/craft beer stop - then fond memories of Stupid F*#king Customer IPA came to mind and we were off for the first round of espresso before the day's big climb.
Jacked up on a double and with 35 miles in the books we hit the base of Minnewaska and agreed there would be no hammering on this one, too early in the season. Well my good friends, being thoughtful and courteous cyclists, we stopped to assist a lost motorist. Seems our motorist was not your run of the mill leaf watcher out to see the state parks, rather our motorist was, shall we say, one that likes to hang with his homeys and was waiving an envelope with the local prison address on it in a desperate attempt to hookup with his leader

while his girl (complete with mustache) was in the car polishing something bright and silver.

For those that don't know the region, Newburgh is home to some serious Latino gangs and wearing the IF kit with this logo clearly displayed

you can imagine that my primary concern was not the climb ahead but what his gang affiliation was. While I nervously tried to keep the situation calm Top Chef was circling in the background running a check on the plates and marking Maria to make sure she didn't pull a MAC 10 on us (considering each of our bikes was worth more then his car this was a legitimate concern). I must have been wearing the right "colors" as cooler heads prevailed and we sent him to a place with a familiar name, the Vallejo station.
It was really becoming a very bizarre day, exploding reindeer, gang bangers lost, looking for prison, what else could happen? Well loyal fans plenty more and it came not a 1/2 mile up the road when we entered the twilight zone, were momentarily sent to the future where we came upon good old George Zubalsky pushing his bike up the climb

Further up the climb I could only look on in envy as Top Chef showed the advantages of not only 11 speed Campi but also those (at the time sexier then a pinup girl) compact chain rings. My friends I can assure you that the entire time I was out of the saddle with spittle flying old TC was spinning up the climb like a nun on the way to Sunday school. At least on the descent I would have the bigger gears to power away, but I also had the bigger wheels and thus watched TC disappear like a setting sun on the descent while I held on for dear life. In fact it was so hairy that I had to stop by the farm stand and towel off all of the sweat pouring off of me.
Team MRC Pimp Rides -

After this, in a state of eternal bliss, we cruised the west banks of the Wallkill until we hit Rosendale. From there it was a short spin to High Falls for the final espresso of the day. Along this stretch I must have really gotten into the zone taking a long pull at the front, only problem was I had no idea what was going on, totally spaced out and kept forgetting to point out the rough sections to TC. Having had enough TC took the lead and, excited about the looming espresso station, dropped it down a gear for the final climb and dam near forgot to keep pedaling. It was only C-Dubs coming along side and the prospect of more pothole carnage that snapped him out of this stupor.
Finally we pulled into High Falls and the final double espresso.

mmmm munchies

where Top Chef engaged our server, Ming Li, in deep conversation.

It was during this time that she revealed the greatest secret known to man kind, where to find Shangri-La. And find it we did as we made the turn for home. Like a thunderstorm when the air is electrified and smelling of ozone, the air in High Falls was equally sweet and electric but had a distinct smell of hops. Like Hillary and Everest or Shackelton and the South Pole, we truly had discovered Shangri-La.