Fresh raspberrys on a training ride

"Look," I said. "Raspberries."

We had pulled over to the side of the road near an organic farm on the South Glastonbury/Portland border. Through the trees one could see the Connecticut River. Across the street from the farm were wild Connecticut raspberries. We helped ourselves to a few and hopped back on the bikes.

"I don't want to go back up that hill!" Nicole said as she started pedaling. I slowed down and turned my head towards her.

"We have to. It's a one way street."

"Ugh!" said Nicole, followed by "okay," and pedaled through it. It was one of our days off, and we had planned to do an epic ride, starting at Bicycles East, down route 17, through Portland and East Haddam, all the way to Gillete Castle. We had planned to take the ferry and ride north into Rocky Hill to take the other ferry back to South Glastonbury.

But it was not to be. Around mile 20 we ran out of GU and clif bars, stranding us in East Haddam. I knew I could ride through it, but I knew what would happen to Nicole if she over-exerted herself. We turned around at Hurd State Park, pedaling back the way we came.

The heat was beating down on us, and we were also out of water by the time we reached route 17. We stopped at a local farm stand to purchase some bottles of water. I grabbed some Raspberry elephant ears as well.

"For home," I said. "A little motivation for after the ride."

We got back on our bikes and pedaled north on 17. At intersection of route 160, we met up with a group of 20 or so cyclists. The temptation to race them, however foolish while riding a touring bike with an extra 5 to 10 pounds of gear, was overwhelming.

"Go," she said. "I'll catch up to you."

"No," I said. We've got to finish this together."

The last few miles were the hardest for Nicole. As we pedaled, each stop at every stop sign or red light resulted in her asking the same question: "How much further?" Succeeded by "Are the hills over?"

It was disheartening to explain that the hills are never over in Glastonbury, and the remaining distance would always seem longer because of the grade. We resumed pedaling until we reached the intersection of Chestnut Hill and Hopewell. It's a hill that made her lose hope.

"It just keeps going!" Nicole exclaimed.

"It's the last one." I replied.

"You said that last time!"

If you're not familiar with the area, picture yourself riding about a mile on an incline that varies between being relatively steep and relatively less steep. The hill crests after mile one, then dips down to meet Hopewell Road, after which you have to climb another 50 feet on a relatively steep grade. I tried to explain that it was one continuous hill, but it was hardly any consolation at that point. Nicole simply slid forward off the saddle to put her feet on the ground and take a swig of water, before getting on the back and continuing upward.

We we got back to Bicycles East, it was late, and Nicole was stone faced after going through such horror.

"How far did we go?" as her heart rate returned to normal and her quiet rage towards me dissipated.

"40 miles," I said.

"My odometer says 38."

"Laid out flat we did more than 38," I said. "If anyone asks, we did 40."

Nicole smiled. We loaded up the bikes, and at night enjoyed some fine pastry for desert that we obtained on the ride.