With a drug induced nap on the operating table a scant 5 days away (and believe me it was going to be a loooong 5 days), Top Chef (ironically his first ride back from broken ribs) put out the Tweet for a flash mob ride from Kerhonkson. Pulling into the lot it hit me like a hot kiss at the end of a wet fist, this was it, the last ride of the season! Well I was as excited as this or this, in fact I nearly pissed my chamois I was so excited. Pulling in right behind was Paul LeStage, the road racing guru of the MRC followed by Top Chef, the ex Dark Horse racer, Fat Chick (aka Jenny Craig) who had suffered this fate at the hands of the MayorRich Medivac Long and Frank The Tank. Being the MRC there was lots of bling ready to roll with Top Chef's carbon lugged Colnago, Fat Chick's Giant TRC, C-Dubs steel IF and a fleet of Specialized Tarmacs, and everybody rolling on carbon. I mean this is the kind of stuff that makes bike groupies scream and throw themselves at you.
This being Kerhonkson and the groupies looking like this
we all clipped in and set off for the easy side of the Sampsonville Road climb and it's fast descent.
With a fresh coat of tar and chip that had left a lot of loose gravel, I would have rather wiped my ass with 80 grit then ride the entire descent with the road like this. Thank god for my taint, halfway down and long before the fastest part of the descent the paving stopped and we were back on excellent tarmac.
Not long after this shot, sure as Criss Angel wants to be a boys camp counselor, we we diving for the mandatory MRC espresso stop at Bread Alone.
The espresso stop is the brainchild of our master of the smoker, Top Chef, and has taken on a ritual status on our rides. One of the great things at Bread Alone is the dope-o-cino, where the "double" is really a quadruple and you can be sure the pace will be fast.
Despite the horror stories of the strata bianca in the Giro, the troops, jacked up on some great italian coffee, managed to survive the tire eating conditions
and hit the run down 213, a fast flowing, slight downhill of about 7 miles. The battle cry went out "PACE LINE" and it was time to rock. Now this being the last ride and with a belly full of espresso, my rotation at the front tended to up the pace a bit (hey, might as well go for it all on one of my favorite sections of road). With the road closed due to construction we had every turn to ourselves with the only break coming for the water crossing where the bridge was out.
As we hit the bottom there was an apparent altercation with a motorist/self proclaimed cyclist who felt justified in taking a serve at the MRC ranks. He then pulled over and began lecturing us about how he could freak out and crash, killing his wife and child (guess he's a really shitty driver) and trash talking with our largest (and I mean 6'3" and fully able to kick this 5'7" whiner's ass) rider Rich (and he had a look in his eye that indicated a medivac might be needed for this jerk). Cooler heads prevailed, I cut a massive fart, and everyone got back to the job at hand - rolling down the road.
Hitting the parking lot is was a quick check of the ancient scriptures and Fat Chick, Top Chef and I were off to an amazing roadside BBQ trailer and some fine IPAs.
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