The Cog Blog

Last Monday was meant to be the day. Mondays are my days off, and I was so looking forward to a great bike ride to rid my mind and body of all the distress garnered at the hands of a busy work week.  Yes, that was to be the most miles I would put in this season to date. Nothing was going to stop me.

I spent any free time I had on Sunday plotting my route. I figured I would wind up north of Peddlers' Village. A friend suggested she could even meet me there for coffee sometime Monday morning. The weather even seemed like it would cooperate. Then the Responsibility Gods began conspiring against me. Perhaps this had been their plan all along.

It was only 9:15 Monday morning and I had a good jump on the day. I was already clad in my stupid-looking cycling clothes, had already slathered my legs with chamois cream (google it) and had even thought of appropriate MP3 accompaniment. I was ready. But not for that phone call. The caller ID announced Council Rock School District.

At this point a parent can't help but think the worst, and plenty of bad things cross one's mind. I hate to say it, but it was a bit of relief to hear my son's voice on the line saying he was sick and in the nurse's office at South. Of all the things that can occur at the other end of the phone call from the school district, a sick son, while distressing, isn't that bad. I knew what I had to do. That was, get out of my stupid-looking cycling clothes. I told my boy that I would need a few minutes. He surely didn't want me showing up looking like THAT.

There was no hesitation. The well-being of my son far outweighed the desire to ride that day. I picked him up and remained home to care for his needs. I was happy to do so. But oh how I needed a ride. Tuesday would afford me enough time to ride before I needed to report to work. And it looked like the weather would cooperate, too.

Right. Tuesday. Okay Responsibility Gods. Enough already. It seems previously mentioned son was to begin his first night of work at The Brick Hotel the next day and was a few items short on the wardrobe list. Namely, he needed black slacks in order to report for duty Wednesday to his busboy assignment. It seemed a good idea to work in a day's margin for error when fitting a teenager for clothing. Tuesday morning had me at Kohl's in the men's slack section, wondering if this generation of teenage boys preferred pleated fronts or flats. I went with flat. The size was wrong. The day's leeway was a good idea. I wouldn't ride until Wednesday.

It seems that a few extra days to think isn't a bad thing. The bike route I had spent Sunday plotting was, without question, uninspired. I had biked right up one of lower Bucks County's spines, Street Road, 100 times. I needed something different. Having Monday and Tuesday to let my cycling thoughts incubate yielded remarkable results.

I had wanted to do the three climbs for a long time, but just never put it all together, for several reasons. Most of which had to do with my thighs and their general disdain for serious hill-climbing days.

The Pocket is an area of lower Bucks County where I do the majority of my bike riding. I call it The Pocket. I doubt anyone else does. It's the area between Swamp Road and the Delaware River, south of Route 263 and North of the Newtown/Yardley area. For mid-level rides, it suits me just fine. When I want to break out for a major ride, I'll go further north to Nockamixon or Ralph Stover State Park, but 90 percent of my rides happen in The Pocket.

There are four big hills in The Pocket. Go ahead. Use the TERRAIN feature on Google Maps. You'll see four big bumps. They are Jericho Mountain, Solebury Mountain, Buckingham Mountain and Bowman's Hill. My ideal dream climbing ride incorporates all four of these. However, somewhere in a US Park Service office, someone decided that the road to the top of Bowman's Hill is too steep, too narrow, and overall too dangerous for bicycles. In my never-ending quest to be compliant with the rules of the road, I have not biked up Bowman's Hill. I want to, big time. I've done all the other climbs, but never all on the same day. Wednesday would be that day.

I set out to hit the southermost of the climbs, Eagle Road over Jericho Mountain. She has become my normal fitness test. Check. Feeling good.  I headed up Lurgan and Pidcock out to Street Road. I took that a bit north and made my way to Stoney Hill Road (note to my Yardley peeps: no, not THAT Stoney Hill Road), which I took to Aquetong (note to my Mountain View peeps: no, not THAT Aquetong) and hit Low Road which soon became Solebury Mountain Road, which soon became Lungs-in-my-throat Road. Nice hill ya got there, Solebury folks. Solebury Mountain? Check.

The pain still ringing in my quads, I backtracked and looked for more. I soon found myself on Lower Mountain Road, looking for a climb I'd never done before, but had always wanted to do. Brooke Drive goes up from Lower Mountain Road, right up the northeast end of Buckingham Mountain. It's a ballbuster. I struggled past a landscaping crew taking a break along the road. They expressed understanding. Even my limited Spanish understood what they were saying, "Better you than us, Hombre." We chuckled at each other. I laughed again on the way down as I whizzed past them, they were still overheated from the morning's work, taking in Gatorade, and I was flying like Rickenbacker down the glorious route I had ascended.

Buckingham Mountain? Check. One.

I continued along Lower Mountain road, which teases up and down the southern slope of Buckingham Mountain. Surely, it provides a bit of risers and fallers, but it isn't the main even of that mountain. No, soon I found myself at Holicong Road. A left would take me to long-descent joy. A right could put me in the hurt locker. Right it was. It's not a long climb at all, but Holicong Road up Buckingham Mountain has some steep moments. No worries. Done. Check 2. Photo op at the top and time for a nutrition bar. Then, it was all about getting home.

The way home provided it's share of hills...Smith Road had some risers. Swamp Road has some fun risers, too. And just about every ride I do finishes with a trip up Richboro Road out of Newtown and what I call The Bear. That climb is a 1/2 mile or so of big shouldered pain at the end of a ride. Some days I attack it, and some days I survive it. Wednesday I attacked it. Check.

So, what could have been an ordinary ride on Monday turned into a seminal ride on Wednesday. Thank you, Responsibility Gods. And one final footnote: if you happen to be at The Brick Hotel for dinner, take it easy on the new busboy and let me know how he looks in flatfronts -- or should I have gone with the pleated?