Nice bike rides this weekend. Did you know that there are still some places, and apparently Poestenkill is one, where the highway department's idea of "repaving" involves laying down a boatload of hot tar and then throwing gravel down on top. Let cool, scrape off the loose gravel and move on down the road (there's about a 90% reuse rate, there). Hadn't seen this since I lived in Scotia, but there it was, on what was until now my favorite ride of the summer. Acres and acres of loose gravel, and I could even deal with that, but it's on a wicked hill, and the descent would just be deadly. So I went as far as reason would allow and turned back. What brought us to the title was that I thought, "I'd like to offer a big turkey dinner to every single person who slowed down as they passed me on this road, so as not to spray me with gravel." Number of turkeys I need: zero. In fact, an even half of the drivers sped the f up, just to kick up even more gravel at me. Turkeys.
Conditions were favorable, if a bit cold yesterday. It's August, and the high got up around 65. Pull the sleeves up, pull the sleeves down - one of those rides. But hardly any cars, and with a good tailwind on a long clear downhill, I got up to a record speed of 74 km/h. Let's see, in old money (as Phil Liggett says), that's . . . carry the 1, um . . . well, better not say, my spouse might not approve. Oh, okay: 46 mph. I was bookin', baby! New headset means I don't have to worry the front end is going to come apart. Today, a windier ride off in the other direction, a few kilometers less available in my legs, but a nice ride nonetheless.
Otherwise, today was spent getting last weekend off the tent and the shelter. Clay everywhere, baby. Used up all the last of the Tekwash, but I got it all mostly clean. The footprint (ground cloth) will never be the same, but that's what it's for.
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