That one perfect spring day
Yesterday was that day, that one perfect spring day when everyone comes outside. I rode through Washington Park, and it was full of people. Crossings in Colonie, full of people. Corning Preserve, full of people. Westland Hills Park – well, to be fair, I didn’t even know it existed, but even there there were at least a few people. Bright, sunny, warm, wonderful day. People were friendly. I had a long chat with some folks at the boat launch, which almost never happens, while watching the rowers come in off the river. A guy who almost hit me actually (and sincerely) apologized, and I was in such a good mood I brushed it off like nothing had happened. (And in fact the sun was definitely in his eyes). It was that kind of day.
Craziest ride route ever, covering some of the most dangerous streets in Albany, hills just for the hell of it, back streets I’d never been on before, all because I had to run to the Down Tube to get a patch and tube, having forgotten my saddlebag when I changed bikes. The Roubaix now has a new chain, two rings, cassette and brake pads (odo 8374.6k) – you’re supposed to replace them every thousand miles or two, and they had five on them, so it was definitely time.
Some of those hills between Pearl Street/Broadway and Van Rensselaer are disturbingly, unexpectedly steep. I’ve ridden MOST of your crazy route . . . since I start in Latham, most everything I do is crazy, one way or the other.
In other news, I just finished the last Ginger Altoid from a pack of them I’d found at a drug store in Great Barrington probably two years ago. Thinking of you as the last one goes down the hatch . . . hope your Ginger Jones is okay.
Yeah, Latham is a tough area – I tend to ride up Johnson, Miller, Swatling, St. Agnes, and stay as far from Route 9 below the Boght as possible. Above Boght, it’s just fine.
I cannot imagine a tin of Ginger Altoids lasting two years. If I’m ever stopped by the police in my truck, I’m going to have to explain the many empty ginger tins that spill out of the back seat.
You actually ride right by my house then . . . I live a block back off of the curve where Haswell becomes Miller, opposite the little farm house with the big hay field behind it. All of the “Hidden in Suburbia” off-road rides are within 2.5 miles (as the crow flies) of that spot. I usually begin my road rides by essentially rolling all the way from my house east on Haswell, all the way down the steep Elm Street hill to Route 32 in the ‘Vliet. Of course . . . coming HOME that way is much less entertaining.