After the pre-ride group calisthenics of changing into cycling kit in a Honda Fit, Bob Bonneau, Time Fleming and Phil Brubaker began the Greasy Joe’s Gravel Grind on a chilly 31 degree morning. With no official group start, riders were starting out in a steady stream onto the course, which began on a long stretch of flat, straight trail. With no cars or technical riding to contend with, we had a nice warm-up and found ourselves passing many riders as we found a nice pace together. We saw the full spectrum of bikes on display: the standard ‘cross and gravel bikes, rigid 29er mountain bikes, the new Salsa Deadwood, randonee style touring bikes, even a few delusional (and hopefully very fit) riders on fat bikes. It quickly became apparent that while the route had less climbing than we were accustomed to in southern Vermont, it did have one new challenge for us: sand. Oh yeah, we’re in Rhode Island. That’s near the ocean. The sandy terrain had us surfing a few times, but on the flats it presented little problem. The route was a 70/30 mix of gravel and pavement and we saw little traffic on either. In fact, when the route left the pavement, we were often on public paths in the Arcadia and Big River Management Areas. After a dozen miles or so, we began to climb more often and the sand presented a bigger challenge. Knowing that getting out of the saddle would instantly generate a rear tire spin out, we put it in the granny and hunkered down. Luckily there were no sustained climbs. It was all very mellow. Friendly. Civilized even. Until, much like biting into an unseen Jalapeno in your mild salsa, we came upon some technical riding. I’m not sure if they were hiking trails or abandoned jeep roads but they were rough and it was a struggle to keep the bike upright on some sections. We all dabbed once or twice, but managed to mostly ride them. At a portage around a puddle in which you could waterski, we heard of a rider just before us who fell in and was fully submerged in the cold water. My heart went out to him, the air temp was only up to 37, so his ride was over, I assume. Right about the time our legs (and hearts and lungs) were reminding us that it was only March, the final 10 miles included a long stretch of smooth, low-traffic, flat pavement. The finish was a casual and unceremonious as the start, but one of the organizers made a point of coming over and chatting with us at the car. And judging from the sign out sheet, we were among the faster riders out there. Go Pickles! Phil had a celebratory donut.
