Cobbles

Today we scouted out the ride we were thinking of doing on Paris-Roubaix day, and it was an awesome, awesome ride.  My Garmin, being a Garmin, is stupid and didn't record any of it because I loaded a course.  It may be the last time I do that.





Anywho, we started the ride in Conshohocken.  I was there five minutes early, at 12:25p.  No one else showed up until 12:57p.  It was about 57* and immediately after I left I realized I should have brought arm warmers with me, so the half hour wait was a little chilly.

We rode the SRT until it ends at River Rd and Port Royal Ave, where we made the almost 180* turn up Port Royal.  It's a nice 12% average for a little over a half mile and most of it is cobblestone.  And not that nice cobblestone stuff they have in Manayunk either, it's broken up and just rough on a road bike.  I stood for most of it and even in a 36T-25T my rear would slip out.  It's a tough little climb, and it completely caught out our buddy Joe.  For the record, Joe HATES bumpy road surfaces.  His day would only get worse.

After the Port Royal climb we zipped over to Bells Mills and bombed down to Forbidden Drive and then climbed out to Germantown Ave.  I've driven this road countless times, so I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I just got my ass handed to me.  I got about half way up in my 23T and was trying to stay in touch with Drew, but I dug a little too deep.  I stood up for maybe two pedal strokes and just sat my ass back down and geared out.  When we reached Germantown I forgot that the hill continued in that direction and I just slowly spun up trying to recover.  Joe caught up to me and we just gasped next to each other until we reached the top where Drew was smiling and laughing.  Fuck that guy.

At this point we realized that we really dropped Isaac.  I couldn't even see him at one point, and I've never  had that happen before.  Partly because we don't usually do climbs that long with turns in the middle.  When he reached the top he started making a whole bunch of fat guy jokes.  It was kind of nice because it meant that I didn't have to.  We topped off on some food and started the ride into Chestnut Hill.

Remember that bit about Joe hating bumpy road surfaces?  Germantown Ave in Chestnut Hill is all shittily maintained cobblestone with a cement center section with trolly tracks all up in it.  In a car it's terrible.  There are cracks over an inch in between each stone and there is barely enough room in between the cobbles and tracks to ride on the smoother part of the road.  As soon as we crossed over Bethlehem Pike we just heard the worst noise in the world... a bike crash.  We looked back and saw Joe on his ass in the middle of the road.  Isaac and I felt terrible.

After a quick inspection, Joe seemed to be okay and wanted to continue.  A tear in the ass of his bibs and the shoulder of his Euskaltel jersey (his mother is Basque) were the only visual signs anything had happened.  Ironically, he is renting a Roubaix from the shop until he goes back to California and his Tarmac.  The saddle suffered a slight tear and the chain had popped off, but it was fine otherwise.

Once we were moving again, I was absolutely alarmed by how violent riding on the cobbles was.  My hands were bouncing all over the hoods, and sometimes off of them completely.  All I could hear was my chain slapping against my chain stay and if I sat down for long enough my head would bobblehead all over the place until I could barely see.  We reached Springfield Ave (Wissahickon Cyclery  is right there) and Isaac pointed out to me that my water bottle cages were loose.  The shaking was so bad that all four of the bolts holding the cages to the bike had almost complete threaded out.  I couldn't do anything but laugh.  Joe and Isaac stopped into the shop to fill up on water (Schuylkill punch) while Drew and I laughed as I tightened everything up.

When the guys came back we started down Springfield and just flew down the descent into Valley Green.  It's a nice, long, twisty hill and Isaac and I were tire to tire the whole way down.  It was so much fun, if a little cold.  We hit Forbidden Drive at the end and started towards Kelly Drive.

Joe was kind fo shook after his fall, and riding on gravel wasn't helping his confidence.  There are periodically rocks that stick out of the gravel that I never notice on my CX or MT bike, but I was more than happy to hop over on my road bike.  There was one down hill section where Isaac, Drew and I took like we would on pavement and we looked back and Joe was riding his brakes the whole way down.  It's moments like that where I realize I'm not a true roadie; I'm a guy who loves riding bikes.

As we rode into Manayunk Joe was asking about how close we were to the Wall.  I think partly because he was excited and anxious to tackle it and partly because his hip had to be killing him.  Isaac had never riden up the Wall before, and my advice to both of them was to pace themselves on the steepest section because when you're on that section, it looks like you can see the top, and most people, seeing the light at the end, gun it to make the pain stop.  That crest isn't the top, it's just where it goes back to 6-8% from the 15-17 you were just dying on.  there's about four more blocks of hill left after that.

Drew crushed it.  He started the climb first, and I started last, but he still would have pantsed me to the top.  I passed Isaac right at the start of the steep section, and caught and passed Joe right as the steep section was ending.  As I passed, Joe noted how tough the climb was.  I just said "yup!" and got back to pedaling because I couldn't believe I managed to get a properly formed word out of my mouth.  That shit hurt.  A lot.  My legs hadn't burned like that ever.

We worked our way back down into Manayunk and dined of burritos before heading back towards home.  Joe opted to take the more direct route home because he rode from Swarthmore.  Drew, Isaac and I slow pedaled down the Tow Path, getting passed by impatient people on hybrids.  As we crossed over the last bit of cobbles and over the train tracks, we made note of how awesome our ride was.  My rear tire chimed in with the always wonderful *PSSST!* noise that is a pinch flat.  How I pinched 20yrds from the last bit of bumps I had rode over, or how I didn't pinch flat at any point where I was violently riding my bike over cobbles, rocks and other things a road bike has no business riding over, is beyond me.  With a pump and CO2 I was able to get an astonishing 70PSI into my tire and limped it home.  With that 70PSI I made it over 4 sets of train tracks without issue.  Pinch flat, you are a fickle bitch.

On Easter we will be redoing the ride and I'm going to make sure my Garmin is running, and I'll use the Strava App on my phone to have a redundant system so there is no issue with record keeping.  Joe will be back in LA then, but Peter might make it out, and I'm going to try to drum up some more interest and see if we can get a decent turn out.  I'm getting psyched just thinking about it.