The Longest Day

Today is, officially, the first day of Summer in the Northern Hemisphere.

That means every place north of the Equator will have more hours (and minutes) of daylight than on any other day of the year.

Not surprisingly, many rides are scheduled for this day in order to take advantage of that fact.  I have participated in such rides.  In fact, the first remains, to this day, the longest one-day ride, in terms of distance, I have ever taken.

I rode with the Central Jersey Cycling Club while I was a student at Rutgers and for several years after.  I even rode with them when I "visited" (It's kind of weird to say you're visiting your native country.) the US (i.e., family and friends) while living in France.  I did my Longest Day ride during one of those visits.

That's what the ride was called:  The Longest Day.  And, trust me, it lived up to its billing.  Through fifteen hours or so of riding, we encountered blistering heat and sun, gravel, a thunderstorm that reverberated and flashed across the West Jersey farmland, dirt paths that turned to mud, more heat, a sudden downpour and various combinations of these things.

We began at High Point at dawn. As the name indicates, it's the highest point in the state.  It stands near the point where where three states--New Jersey, New York and Pennsylvania---meet. All are visible from the top, where an obelisk to commemorate the war dead was dedicated in 1930.

If your idea of the Garden State comes from The Sopranos, 
Jersey Shore or the stories you've heard about Newark, Camden and suburban sprawl--or seeing the state's current governor (not to mention a few in the past), the ride would have dispelled such notions, even when you thought you were too tired to notice anything.

The ride took us to Cape May, in the opposite end of the state from High Point.  Someone claimed that it's the lowest point in New Jersey. It may well be the lowest land point, at 10 feet, but every guide I've seen lists the Atlantic Ocean--which roils against one side of the Cape--as the lowest.

So how far did we pedal?  According to the Huret Multito odometers some of us used--the state of the art in measuring distance in a day when the first cycle computers were being developed--we covered 234 miles.

I haven't ridden with the CJBC in years.  I must say they haven't lost their penchant for ugly cycling jerseys!  You can only wear such a thing on the Longest Day, when you're too dirty and sweaty to care, or for anyone to notice how hideous it is.  The jersey I wore on my ride was just as bad as the one on the club's website!

My Find Becomes Someone Else's Treasure

In an earlier post, I boasted of my curbside find of  a pair of Hondo/LeFol-style hammered fenders with a randonneur-style rack while riding along Kent Avenue in Brooklyn.

I really liked the look of them, and the quality seemed decent.  However, I wondered how useful that sort of rack would be to me.  And my research shows me that the fenders and rack are actually original equipment from an Electra Ticino bike.  

I don't mean to disparage their quality:  I have never used any of the company's products.  They might well be perfectly good:  After all, people rave about the bikes.

Still, I have to wonder whether using them to replace VOs would actually constitute an upgrade.  If I ever switch fenders on Helene or Vera, I think I'd want Honjos

But a cursory glance showed me that the way the mounting holes were drilled, the rack would not sit level on any of my bikes unless I drilled another mounting hole.  That would mean plugging the original drilling.  It's not only an aethetic matter:  Whatever is used to plug up the original hole will evenutally pop out and have to be replaced.  Also, if the plug is not airtight, it will never be as good as the material that was drilled out of the fender.

And, all right, I'll admit:  I'm just too lazy to change the fenders on my bikes.  So I took my fortuitous find to Recycle-A-Bicycle, who were only too happy to take them.

What Kinds Of Choices Are These?

Be forewarned:  I'm going to whine in this post.  So, if you'd rather read, or simply do, something else (e.g., ride your bike), I understand.

Here goes:  I had to use up some airline miles by the other day.  I didn't have enough to get a ticket:  Indeed, the last long flight I took was to Prague nearly three years ago.  And I didn't have enough for much of anything else.  Hey, they said I didn't even have enough to donate to charity!

But the airline group (Delta) offered me magazine subscriptions.  Wouldn't you know it?  There wasn't a single cycling-related publication on the list.  Nor anything having to do with poetry or literature in any other shape or form.  Or history. Or art.  Or France, Italy or England. The only travel-related publication caters to gazillionaires.

No Atlantic Monthly.  No Harper's Bazaar.  No Paris Review.  And no New York Review of Books.

So what kinds of magazines were offered?  Cigar Aficianado.  (I have smoked exactly two cigars in my life and don't plan on smoking another. )  Wine Spectator. How, exactly, does one become a "wine spectator"?  Now, I've known a lot of whine (actually, whining) spectators in my time and have been one more often than I care to admit.  There were also magazines about parenting and other things I've never done and probably never will do.

I found only three that even remotely interested me. One is The Economist.  While their politics are different from mine, I can rationalize subscribing to it because it's literate, intelligent--and British.  What were the others?  Please don't hate me for choosing these:  Time and Vogue. At least I can tell myself that the latter will help me with my personal and professional image. And, even if I hate the writing, I can just look at the pictures.  As for Time:  I can read whatever I find halfway relevant and donate each copy to my hairdresser's shop.