Strade Quintonia

It started out as as brilliant scheme not to have to drive anywhere this weekend. Grab a couple of hammer heads and show them the best (and worst) of what New Kent cycling had to offer. In the spirit of the Spring Classics, 80 miles with 10-12 unpaved sections should do the trick quite nicely, I surmised. I had seen VDOT out earlier in the week "improving" the local gravels, so I new it would be a bike handler's wet dream out there this weekend. I'd been trying to lure T. (not team) Green out this way for a while, and I thought for sure he had taken the bait and I had him on the hook this time. Scottie D., as always, was in, and typically has an influential way with the Green. I considered expanding the group of invitees but then realized that some of these routes aren't exactly public, and a few amount to downright blatant trespassing. Keeps the blood flowing, I say, but a string of potential stragglers would be a liability.

Well right out of the gate practically, I knew this day would be one best forgotten. Mile 6 saw us onto a short 1 km section of soft clay, and boom, Scottie has dropped out of the rear view right away. A little heavy over the rear wheel, that one is. Founding him digging mud out of his tires, in what will one day be some retirees front yard. Coupla' miles later we are on the gravels of Criss Cross and boom again, Scottie has a puncture. And by puncture I mean "catastrophic sidewall tear." Apparently, this only cost one dollar to repair, which I begrudgingly surrendered in order to salvage any sort of ride for the day. By this time dude has no spare tubes, no CO2, and very little patience for the antics of one F.Leghorn. I thought the whole ride might be in the gutter, but he is convinced to go further. Now we come upon Section #3, Shooters Run. As the name implies, not exactly the type of place you want to go mechanical. Hell it is not even a public road. I inhale a wasp and hit the first climb in the big ring, but Scottie D wont play. The gravel just gets deeper and the road gets narrower. We regroup in the flat and I inhale a hornet and hit the second climb. Again, no Scottie. We regroup again on Clarke and there is a bit of a chance to recover. That is until Scottie gets a dog on. I peek over my shoulder and its a like war of attrition back there. Wheezing, coughing, matching black kits with grey whiskers, I thought I was being chased by Scottie and his better looking canine twin!

This goes on for a couple more hours, I throw in a half-hearted attack, Scottie declines to counter or even ignores me altogether. I can definitely sense he is hearing the banjos when we pull in for a little lunch. My offer for another loop is quickly dismissed, however, mention of cold beer in my garage gets the old twinkle back into Scottie's eye. I opt for another pass at Criss Cross, then the quickest, hilliest, busiest & most direct route home to finish him off.





Scottie D. hears the banjos as he tops out on the fresh gravel of Criss Cross Road.