Bicycling

It was May 1993. I lived in Merchantville, New Jersey at the time. I endeavored to take a bicycle journey—going a longer distance than ever before. Friday was a perfect day—quite warm, and Saturday promised to be the same. In the middle of the night sometime, I promised myself I’d get an early start in the morning and ride as far as I could. Maybe even down to the shore. This was about 60 miles away.

I arose at 5 a.m. and by 5:20 I was out the door into the cool morning air. It was just light enough to see and be seen but the sun wasn’t up yet.

The birds were warming up their vocal chords for their daily songfest, and it was a bit brisk as one traveled along. I was dressed in a green long-sleeved sweater, assured that later I would have to shed it n the exertion of pedaling.

I knew the route I wanted to take; the only question was if I could take it for the whole day or fade along the way. Route 38, just a mile away, runs east for about 18 miles to Route 72, which goes to points south all the way to the shore—to Ship Bottom if I crossed the bay to the outer island. Would I be able to make it? I had traveled to 72 before but had turned around from the growing exhaustion. It was almost halfway to the seashore. The distance from Merchantville to Ship Bottom is about 56 miles.

I had 10 gears to keep me occupied on the grades and levels of the route. My idea was to stop here and there along the way for some refreshment. About 4 miles along the way, I came upon a Texaco station and had a meager breakfast of a bologna and cheese sandwich and cranberry juice. I was becoming more aware of unused muscles that hadn’t seen much action for quite awhile but the refreshment and short relaxation gave me new strength. I continued on toward Mt. Holly. Traffic was light and I was able to speed along at 10 miles per hour or more.

I became pleasantly aware of the fragrance of the air. The fresh clean smell of grass, of newly plowed fields, was in itself invigorating. On the other side of Mt. Holly the fragrance decayed to the faint odor of a landfill. On my left was a huge mound that spread over half a mile well outside of town. In the middle was a power station that supplies electricity from within the bowels of the thousands of tons of refuse that lies buried. The landfill is closed and sealed.

The road was rather smooth traveling. The shoulder was wide enough to travel without fear of being sideswiped by a passing car. I kept my ears open and the rearview mirror was useful for analyzing the situation behind. One had to be careful.

Although New Jersey is relatively flat, you could easily sense the lay of the land by the upgrades and downgrades. The gentle slope of the route by Mt. Holly attested to the fact that surely Mt. Holly is indeed a mountain. You could tell I was not too used to long rides yet; my second wind hadn’t kicked in yet. But I had 10 gears to choose from, like I said, and I therefore was able to continue the cadence without difficulty.

It must have been at the 12-mile mark when I came to a Cumberland Farms mini-market. I needed more refreshment to sustain myself. But when I got off the bike I really felt the strain of the miles I had already traveled. My legs felt rubbery. Clearly I was not going to be able to accomplish what I thought I might set out to do. Every 100 feet I traveled was another 100 feet I would have to retrace so I became more conscious of how far I was going.

Route 38 ended at a turnoff to points toward the seashore, and Route 72. I had traveled this route before but I didn’t remember how many miles it was to Route 72. However, the route was quite pleasant and I passed a blueberry field with bushes ablaze with blossoms in the morning sunlight. Somewhere to my right a bobwhite called. I imitated it and it answered back. I was fast becoming attuned to nature.

Farther on was a swamp and as I passed by, from somewhere within came the unmistakable resonant sound of bullfrogs. Maybe they were answered the mating call of my bicycle chain softly clicking in the sprockets.

But I was beginning to tire. I had more second thoughts about going too far. I would have to retrace the whole route back so it would not do to travel too far. Then it hit me! Breakfast! I hadn’t had a substantial breakfast! I probably had long ago drained out all the nutrition (if indeed there was any) from the bologna and cheese sandwich I had earlier. I hoped there’d be a place to stop along the way now, but I was getting into no-man’s land. The state forest was all around me—the Pine Barrens, they call it.

But I eventually came upon a restaurant in the middle of the forest. Not having a lock for my bike, I parked it by a window to keep it in view from inside. It was a rather small place, made of logs. It was now about 9 a.m.

Another couple was also entering the restaurant and another couple was contentedly feasting on their breakfast—but not a waitress in sight. It was small dining room with a decided frontier atmosphere. We waited.

A couple of waitresses finally appeared. “My goodness, there are more people here!” Typical of country humor, someone remarked in return, “That’s what happens when you keep the door unlocked.”

They hurriedly distributed the menus and poured the coffee. It’s surprising (maybe not so surprising) how much addiction is prevalent in society. Most people need—no, demand—a cup of coffee to get started in the morning. I declined. I don’t drink coffee and that was the time I didn’t drink caffeinated sodas. The last time I was in the hospital, I went cold turkey off of caffeine. It was a miserable couple of days of withdrawal but I hadn’t drunk any Pepsi or Coke since about seven months before, which is a record. I remember drinking Pepsi years before, sometimes a 6-pack a day.

The menu prices were quite reasonable. I picked the eggs-over-medium with sausage for $3.75 and orange juice and waited. Every once in a while I glanced out the window at my bicycle.

Waiting for the order, I took advantage of the time. I got up to use the restroom and was chagrined to find out I could hardly lift myself off the chair. I wasn’t sore, but almost paralyzed it seemed. Hurry up with that breakfast!

By the time breakfast was over, I was more relaxed. I could feel my legs returning to normal. And it wasn’t long before I was out the door again. But my mind was made up. I would take Route 70 west toward home as soon as I came to the Route 72 circle.

By this time the day was quite warm. The sky was cloudless and flowers were in full bloom here and there. The Pine Barrens was on either side of me, the Red Lion Circle (New Jersey still has circles at many intersections). I was approaching Medford Lakes where my sister lives.

I could not envision finishing the final 15-20 miles of the run so at the Evergreen Dairy Bar just outside Medford I called my sister Jane. She borrowed Dad’s station wagon to pick me up and we went to her place. I had traveled 34 miles. Later Dad took me home to Merchantville. Everything was still intact—I wasn’t the worse for wear.

I felt good after that…more invigorated. I had ridden my bike before in the mornings before going to work and it always set the tone for the day, full of energy, even after a 5- to 10-mile run. I never did ride bike to the shore.