The second day started very early. There were those who got a late start out of the Trade Center the day before and were sagged as a result. Determined not to be sagged again, they started out early. Then there were others, like me, who usually rise early anyway. (My dog is a built-in alarm clock. 4:22 a.m. Every day.) Breakfast was served starting at 5:30 and there were lines by then. The longer you waited, the longer the line. By far the longest line was at the coffee "tank". It froze hard the night before. Frost everywhere. I brushed some "dirt" from the picnic table to eat my breakfast. It wasn't dirt. It was ice.
It was brutally cold. Technological advances in bicycle (and accessory) design can be upended by temperatures this cold. One of the newest gadgets is 'gel' saddles. It's supposed to make riding more comfortable. I wouldn't know. Mine is leather like a saddle should be. Another new accessory is gel shorts. It's more of that blue gel stuff stuck in the business end of a pair of bike shorts. Gel freezes. Leather doesn't.
It was cold, though. Awfully, terribly cold. Fingers, toes and noses are all numb. It's time to stretch. It's hard to tell what is stiffness from the previous day's ride, what's stiffness from the damp and what's stiffness from age. The operative word here is stiff.
After a nice little downhill just to make sure the cold had completely penetrated every thing, the hills started up again. More and more of them. Up and up. With little downs here and there just to freeze whatever sweat you've been generating on the ups. Very pretty country though. At least I think it was pretty. I spent a lot of it head down and pumping.
Everybody's a comedian. Rumor had it that the hills would stop shortly after lunch. After all, we were headed for the seacoast. They said, "One more big uphill after lunch and it's all down to the coast." Everyone was looking for the hill. The last one. Then we found it. It was even labeled. There was a hand made sign saying "From here, it's all downhill...". Then there was the down hill. A good one. At the bottom, the road turned back uphill again. This one was even longer and steeper. There was a sign. It said "...and uphill to New York."
There are no UFO's in Texas experimenting with cattle. They are all in Connecticut playing around with squirrels. The squirrels are disguised as road kill, but there just aren't that many cars on the road. They were everywhere. One of the rules of the road is to let those ahead of you know that you are passing by shouting "On your left!" or "Passing on your left!". The natural extension of this is to warn riders behind of road obstacles ahead like, "Sand!", "Gravel!", "Glass!". By then end of the weekend, these two had merged into "Opossum on your left!."
The story so far: Up, up and more up. Never ending up. The air was getting thin.
Across the Connecticut river around 10:30 in the morning at the Goodspeed Opera House Bridge. Rivers tend to be pretty low, elevation wise. And it's true. There was a nice down hill. A short one.
Then there was more up. The early riders had missed lunch the day before, so I was told that the lunch trucks showed up at this site at 7:30 in the morning. So they were there this time. The food was way too heavy, with meat and cheese sandwiches, candy bars and cookies. It's hard to digest that stuff going uphill. It's not too bad digesting it going downhill, but then, there hadn't been a lot of that.
This is the lunch that convinced me never to complain about missing lunch again. Don't get me wrong, it was delicious, and I like spicy food. But there were more legumes than is proper, or even safe, for thousands of people living in close quarters.
After lunch, more up. I know it sounds repetative. Try living through it.
Then on to the seacoast. Finally. Gentle rolling hills through marshland towards Long Island Sound. Nice cool temperatures. Nice scenery. It was the first time you could actually look up from the head-down hill climbing effort that came before. The road was not crowded with riders as many dismounted and walked up the hills, so they were far behind. But as the road flattened out, speed picked up in spite of the headwind, and the earliest riders got in to camp at Bridgeport around 1:30 in the afternoon. I got there around 5.
The day before, grade schools and day care centers were out cheering us on. On Saturday, it was retirement homes. Or at least one. Out waving and clapping in their front yard with wheel chairs and canes.
The kids were still out though. Trying to get high fives from every rider that passed by. by yelling "Free Energy! Free Energy!" One woman said, "I felt so bad. I reached out to give this one kid a high five and I spun him completely around." There were groups of kids trying to pass cups of water to the riders, but it's hard to grab them when you're going 20 miles an hour. The kids ended up with most of it all over them. But they enjoyed it.
The only real trouble on the whole trip was in Bridgeport, CT where rocks and bottles were thrown at the riders. Now, I'm sure that there were only a few people involved, but it really does take some of the energy and vitality out of an event like this. Not to mention making once city look pretty stupid in most people's eyes. As far as I know, no one was hurt even though several were hit. Once it happened, the police were out in force giving riders an escort through town to the campsite, but there were so many riders that the police were soon overwhelmed. I was one of the ones early enough to be given an escort. Later in the day, once the bulk of the riders started moving through town, the decision was made to start taking riders off the route and bus them in from mile 81. It was very disappointing.
Another night in camp. It was cold. Late arrivals assembled tents that were still wet and cold from the damp frost the night before. The entertainment was better, or at least the stage was closer to the crowd. And it was warmer. You could pay some attention to what was on the stage rather than running around and getting on line for the hot chocolate again. But, just one more day of riding, so it was off to bed under the watchful eye of the Bridgeport Police.
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