Like Another Day Of Riding In Europe--Well, Sort Of

In addition to Paris, I have cycled in other parts of France, including the Alps, Pyrenees, Loire Valley, Normandy, Alsace and Vosges.  I have also pedaled through other European countries:  England, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Switzerland, Germany, Italy and the Czech Republic.  

Something occured to me today:  In all of those places, I never felt as tired after a day of riding as I sometimes do after a day of cycling near my home.  It didn't matter whether I was riding through hills and mountains, through valleys or along sea coasts:  Even the days I spent climbing the Tour and Giro peaks didn't leave me as spent as a day of riding up North American peaks.

Now, you might be thinking that it has to do with the excitement I feel about being in another country.  That certainly is true:  I savored the experiences of riding through medieval villages as well as the streets of the capitals because they were different and because I knew that I might never see them again.  On the other hand, when I ride to, say, Point Lookout, I enjoy it but I know that chances are that I'll be doing it again fairly soon.

But now I realize something else about riding in Europe leaves me less tired:  The sun, even in most parts of Italy and Spain, isn't as strong as it is here.  Most people are surprised, as I was, the first time they look at a map or globe and see, for example, that London lies at almost exactly the same latitude as Calgary, or that Rome is actually a degree further north in latitude than New York City.

Not only is the sun less intense in most of Europe than it is in most of the 'States; it is also more likely (except, perhaps in some of the Mediterranean regions) to be shielded, partially or wholly, by clouds.  

Arielle

Which brings me to today's ride--on Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  It started sunny, but about an hour and a half into it, the sky thickened with cumulus clouds.  They even darkened a bit, but there did not seem to be an imminent threat of rain.

And the day warmed up to 31C (88F):  not a "scorcher", but a couple of degrees warmer than what we normally experience in this part of the world at this time of year.  Normally, that combination of cloud cover and heat means one thing:  high humidity.

From I Love Bicycling

Except that wasn't the case today.  The weather reports said we won't experience high humidity until the day after tomorrow.   If what I felt during my ride is any indication, those reports weren't lying:  Even though I was riding in higher gears and at higher RPMs through much of my ride, I wasn't sweating nearly as much as I would expect.

Back to the sun:  I slathered myself in sunscreen before I started my ride, and I brought a vial of it with me.  But I never used it and didn't notice any burn at the end of my ride.  In fact, one way I know I've absorbed a lot of sun on my skin is that I feel sleepy afterward.  At the end of my ride, however, I had the energy to play with Max and Marlee, and to make dinner rather than order it.

The best part, though, is that I rode longer than I intended:  I turned a 120 kilometer (75 mile) ride into 165 (a little more than 100) by making a couple of "wrong" turns.  Furthermore, I rode up a ridge and over a couple of chains of hills I wouldn't have encountered had I stuck to my original plan, such as it was.  In fact, I spent an hour and a half doing nothing but riding up and down hills.

Near the end of my ride, clouds parted and the sun shone brightly.  Even with my fair skin, though, it didn't sap my energy.  It was almost like extending my European trip by another day!

A Day At The Races, In The Town

Yesterday I rode out to Somerville, in part to see the races (some of them, anyway) and in part for the ride itself.  Also, it’s good—for me, anyway—to re-enact an old ritual every now and again.

Last year, I took a route I had followed several times before, through Newark and Jersey City and Westfield.  From there, I followed, more or less, the paths of the Rahway and Raritan rivers to Bound Brook, the next town over from Somerville.

This year, I decided to try a route I found on one of the map websites.  It looked promising:  It avoided a section of US Highway 22 on which I found myself very briefly but I wanted to avoid because the high point of it was finding a deer carcass sprawled across my path.

Well, I found myself veering off the route on several occasions:  There were series of turns that would have challenged even the best ballerinas.  You can guess what happened next:  I found myself on that very same stretch of 22.  Admittedly, I didn’t have to spend more than half a kilometer on it, but it was unpleasant enough, especially in light of what happened:  A section of my front inner tube bubbled through a cut in my tire and flatted---at the very spot where I saw the deer carcass last year.

A minor annoyance, I admit.  But I decided that this ride was going to be “perfect”—which is not a good mindset from which to set out on two wheels (or for doing very many other things, I’ve found).  I fixed the tube (I had a spare, but I figured the tube was easily fixable) and booted the tire.  During those few minutes, it seemed that the temperature rose by about ten degrees:  What had been a pleasantly warm day was turning into a borderline “scorcher”.  Beautiful as the day was, conditions were draining:  The weather had turned hot, with direct sunlight.  And I was pedaling directly into a 20-30 KPH wind.  I guess if I ever decide to ride across a desert, such conditions would train me well.

On top of everything, I’d forgotten my water bottle.  As I was getting dressed, I popped it into the freezer.  I sometimes leave it in for a few minutes before a ride on a warm day:  The water doesn’t freeze, but remains pleasantly cool for a couple of hours into a ride—by which time I’d need a refill.

What that meant were a couple of stops at local grocery stores for Poland Spring water and Gatorade, which I don’t normally drink.  I made an exception for the latter because I saw that I wasn’t sweating but my T-shirt was turning into a tie-dye collage or batik (choose your metaphor) of salt stains.  

Still, I enjoyed the ride, which I estimated to be about eight or ten kilometers longer than I’d planned.  I didn’t stay for all of the races:  I left just before five because I wanted to avoid riding in the dark through the desolate industrial areas of North Elizabeth and South Newark.  I made it to Penn Station in Newark just as the orange and red and purple of the sunsets (which are so colorful in those polluted areas) were turning into the metallic hues that reflected the new office and condo towers near the station.

Arielle, as always, made it a great ride.  And I am more and more convinced that the Ruth Works Brevet bag hanging from my handlebar is the best piece of bicycle luggage I’ve found in a long time, if not in my cycling life.

Oh, by the way, I rode—from what I measured on my maps—164 km, or a little more than 101 miles.  That means I rode my first non-metric century of the year.

(By the way, I've written a post about the town itself on my other blog.)