Author: The Brompton Diarist

(Part One is here.) The toughest inclines on this year’s version  (34 mile/54.7 km) of the Iron Tour seemed to occur before the first rest stop, and though there were climbs after the second stop, there were fewer.  For less-fit riders like me, having the rough stuff up front was a bonus!

Instructions were sprayed on the pavement at several points along the route.  Mr. Diarist, in a bow to my weak navigational skills, had driven the route with me the day before, and we had seen a volunteer stencilling the arrows.

The Iron Tour offers circuits for all levels:  10 mile/6.2 km; 20 mile/12.4 km; the 34 mile/54.7 km that Basil and I did; 50 mile/80.4 km; 64 mile/102.9 km; 75 mile/120.7 km; and 100 mile/160.9 km. The splits were well-marked.  I did have a cue sheet, and the tour offered GPS downloads, but it was very helpful to have these cues along the way.

Basil and I encountered these equestrians, but talked only to one of the riders. According to her, the horse to the left does not like bicycles; this was probably not a favourite day for this particular creature.

This was the second covered bridge of the tour.

This part of Pennsylvania is famous for its covered bridges.  Most of them, like this one, are made entirely, or nearly so, of wood.  They’re prized  for their picturesque contribution to the landscape, and their tourism value, so they are also preserved and maintained.

Basil and I had scaled this hill, and then I looked back; somehow these inclines never look intimidating in review. How could this mild stretch of road offer any challenge at all?

Sometimes I chose to walk the hills because I’d been so sick the day before, and was afraid that I’d burn my personal resources before I finished the tour, but sometimes I walked because it was faster than I could pedal.  We made up the time on the down hills, which, fortunately,  were just as plentiful as the inclines.

This shot is for Mr. Diarist, who is fond of a certain Pennsylvania micro-brewery.  The cyclist in front is wearing a Hop Devil jersey from Victory Brewing Company.  It’s a handsome jersey, and, though not high-vis, high-orange.  Mr. Diarist wears one.  I think the rear cyclist is wearing Victory’s Golden Monkey jersey.  Fine graphics on both.

We were promised two covered bridges on this tour, so this one, the third, was a bonus.  The interiors must be seen in person; they’re not easy to photograph on the fly, particularly as one shouldn’t hang about in a narrow, one-lane bridge.

I took this while riding Basil, and after a thorough check for oncoming travel.  The trusses, and the curve of the side supports, are just marvelous.

The second rest stop, at about 24 miles/38.6 km, was at North Coventry Elementary School.  I took no pictures, probably because so many people wanted to get a look at Basil.  Several  said that they didn’t know that bikes like Bromptons exist, and others were amazed that they’d seen me riding terrain like this on a small-wheeled bicycle.  I had to confess that Basil’s gearing was just fine with the landscape, and that my fitness was the real limitation.

Several people asked me if 34 miles was the longest I’d ridden on Basil. I pointed out that I’d often ridden longer, and had done one 62 mile/99.7 km ride with him — and I mentioned that if I’d continued just fractionally further, I’d have ridden a metric century.

And then — oh awful confession! — I proceeded to lie to several other people I talked to.  Yes, lie.  Inadvertently, but still, it was lying. (I’m horrified, even as I write this.)  I’m going to blame it on oxygen deprivation — all that climbing — but maybe I should just call it was it was:  non compos mentis.  I accidentally shortened “metric century” to “century”  It’s not true, folks!  I have not ridden 100 miles/160.9 km on my Brompton!  I have only ridden a (near) metric century!

The worst of it, of course, is that one doesn’t have to exaggerate what one can do on a Brompton.  I apologize to all concerned, including Basil. He deserves better (though that’s true for the humans involved, too).

The last 10 miles/16 km flew by, in spite of another couple of hills, and another couple of short bouts of walking.  Back at the fairgrounds, we were fed lunch.  I have never been so happy to see greens in my life; also, the hot dog (vegetarian!!) hit the spot, as did that lovely, cool, refreshing watermelon.

I asked to use the top of the caterer’s cooler to take this photo, pointing out that I had a blog, so was mandated to photograph everything I could.  The enterprising fellow asked if I would mention the Yellow Springs Inn, who were responsible for this excellent repast.  Naturally, then,I’ve done just that!

The hall was full of exhausted, hungry cyclists, and cheerful volunteers, who, along with the marshals, helped to make the day go so smoothly.

Basil and I started out a little after 9 AM, and finished just before 1:40 PM.  We had two breaks, probably totalling at least 45 minutes, but we owe what looks like fairly decent travel time — for me — to the fast descents.  (Why don’t road bikers go faster downhill?  Is that a bad idea on skinny tires?  Is it a worse idea than I think it is on a Brompton?  Is there something here I don’t know?  I kept falling back on the inclines, and passing the same people like mad when going down hill, but maybe I shouldn’t have been passing so aggressively?)

Afterwards, my feet were killing me.  My feet never bother me when I cycle; the uphill walking was obviously the problem.  If humans were meant to walk, Andrew Ritchie would never have invented Bromptons.  Clearly, I need to become fit enough to do all my locomotion on two wheels, as Ritchie intended!

Basil and I returned from a trip out of state just in time to ride in this year’s Iron Tour: 34 miles through northern Chester County, Pennsylvania.

Basil was most surprised to see this sign at the entrance to the grounds.  A level-headed sort, he took it in stride.

This event benefits the French and Pickering Creeks Conservation Trust; cycling through preserved lands is a great way to remind us how much preservation contributes to quality recreation.

We hadn’t ridden far when we saw a casualty.

SAG wagons were in evidence throughout the ride; I saw three, which was pretty impressive.  Registration closed at 18,000 riders; it’s likely these volunteers were busy.

I had vowed in advance to photograph each bridge, but immediately  missed the first one, distracted by attempts to orient to my cue sheet.  I was doing better by the time we got to the first covered bridge.

There were hills.  Many hills. Steep hills.

Basil posed while I rested. I have never walked so many hills in my life.  I was not alone, however.  My Garmin claims that we climbed a total of 1420 feet — quite a bit more than the previous highest tally, which was roughly 850 feet on the  5 Boro Tour last month.

I had been miserable the day before the Iron Tour, with the worst allergies I’d had in decades:  18 hours of sneezing, running nose, eyes itching, coughing, shallow breathing, and watery lungs.  It took forever before my body calmed down enough so that I could sleep.  Because of a long-standing medical problem, I cannot take antihistamines, so there was no option but to ride it out.  Worst of all?  The fear that I wouldn’t make it to the Iron Tour the next day.

When I woke up, though, almost all of the symptoms had abated; however, I’d not slept well, and was very tired, so I probably walked more than I would otherwise have done.  Nonetheless, these inclines were more than I could have handled even in my present top form.

It didn’t matter; the day, and surroundings, were beautiful, cyclists were friendly, and it was a fine event.

Covered bridges weren’t the only ones of interest.

This one had unusual slats, studded with steel.

Particularly after my recent New England trip, I was amused to spot this steeple in the distance.

The event organizers advised us to talk to any horses we encountered.  Apparently most horses don’t have problems with bicycles, but are troubled by the silent approach.

These two, and their companion, were having a rollicking good time, and paid no attention to us at all.

Basil was eager to dally a bit in the tall grass himself, though.

Pennsylvania has its share of stone dwellings.

I’m fond of these, where ever they are found. Though they house humans, they seem quite organic in these bucolic surroundings.

Our trees are not quite as dense, or as majestic, as those I had seen the previous week, but they are pleasing, just the same.

Though it may not be obvious from this shot, everyone worked those inclines!

Basil was tolerant of my human frailties, and posed against a fine Pennsylvania rock while I paused stopped to snap a few pictures.

Every now and then, in this part of the world, one encounters an intersection of stone buildings clustered together at the junction of once-busy thoroughfares.  Usually they are the vestiges of a former community, now re-purposed into private homes, or newer businesses.

There’s a third one here, that I couldn’t manage to get into the shot.  We don’t have a lengthy history here in the USA, of this kid of settlement, but I like knowing that these structures have been around for a century or two.  That’s a long time in North American architectural terms.

Our first rest stop was at the Vincent Baptist Church.  Gatorade, water, and a nice (and fulsome) spread of bite-sized foods were provided, along with grapes, oranges and bananas.  In keeping with the experimenting Mr. Diarist and I have been doing lately, I appreciated this real-food approach.

I had half a banana, along with my own provisions: Nutella on particularly dense home-made “French” bread.

I took a couple of pictures, including one of this Bacchetta — a recumbent I hadn’t seen before:

There were two at this event, but they weren’t together either time I spied them.

Another cyclist was riding his Dahon Zero G (?), with serious tires (this must be the mountain bike version!):

Then it was onward. I laughed when I saw this, but a passing road biker called out and said it was a different kind of hill — compared to the killers we’d already encountered.  This one started just after a right hand turn, and was short, but deadly.

That may be him on the left, he may have ridden up. Everybody else I saw ended up walking.

It looks so benign, doesn’t it?  It wasn’t — and there were more to come!