The Rain in New Albany Falls Mainly on the Bike

Broken record time (again) but with a dismal outcome.  Once again we gathered around someone with a large screen phone, showing every storm cell in the Midwest converging on our ride route. Frequently, we have laughed in the face of the wet threat and in fact, missed the rain.  Not so lucky this time, despite Jeff S's assurance one long and lean green blob was going to slide north of us.  Low turnout, probably 22 cyclists, with Group Killer, Justin of Jeni's racing team (discovered Jeni's is an ice cream chain in central Ohio), Satan Mick, Jeff S. Mark V, Greg Hall and some dude on a recumbent, among others.

We headed out old 161 but instead of continuing on that flatish, desolate stretch of road, we headed south, making our way towards the terrible Col du Alward.  By the time we reached the foot of this monster climb (that's relative to the other climbs around New Albany) we had 6 people, including the recumbant dude who is by far the strongest recumbent rider I have ever seen and he wasn't some 80-year-old guy but maybe 40 (what's he doing on a recumbent?).  GK set a scorching pace that no one could follow up Alward but eased up a bit and we were a group of 4 by the time we hit 310.  Justin maintained a constant 26-27mph pace over the long stretch on Dog Hollow and pulled left at the turn on York (or is that Watkins) where I promptly set a 12mph pace to rt. #16, doing so to allow everyone to recover, including 2 others who got back on the train, including recumbant dude.  We headed south, east and then north on Gale.  GK got to Gale and again set a pace up that hill that had me on the rivet.  As we neared my house I shouted, "Anyone want to get a refill", hoping that might slow things but the pace continued, unabated.  We roared out Granview, down the hill and that recumbent guy whooshed by and attacked at the base of the climb!  BASTARD!!!!!  That's the last thing I needed but clung onto Mick's wheel and soon we reached Silver and discovered a sheriff, motioning us to stay on to our intended route down to 16.  We reached the intersection and found 3 firefighters, who informed us we had to turn around and could not continue into Granville.  I asked what would happen if we ignored them and continued on.  They thought that was funny and told me several sheriffs just beyond the turn would have a taser for me.  I then tried what almost never works, the classic, "Do you know who I am?", which produced more guffaws. 

Jeff suggested we turn around, besides, it was getting very dark to our west, the direction we had to go if we wanted to retrieve our cars.  Somewhere out around Watkins Road it began to rain, hard and cold, really, really cold.  Then we turned west on old 161 and it rained harder, really, really hard but funny thing, the fishtail squeezed from the tires was warm,  Maybe because 161 was heated from the earlier sun, or maybe some warming friction from the turning wheel pressing the water against the pavement before being deposited into my face.  Whatever it was, the water was not too bad, just way too much of it.  I hate riding like this, heavy rain coming straight down, mixing with heavy witches brew off the tires in front.  I hoped whatever I kept swallowing at least had nutrional value.  We kept going but I think at one point Jeff, hoping to keep his new Seven protected, sought refuge under a wide tree limb and I think Recumbent Dude turned his bike upside down so the seat was an umbrella for he and Jeff, so we were 4, forelorn figures on a dark and stormy evening.  We arrived back at the parking lot with 40 miles and a 21.8mph average.

Mark