I last left you as we were about to embark on our bike trip through the Brandywine Valley. My friend Frank and I, both cyclists (notice I did not say ‘bikers’—‘bikers’ tend to wear a lot of leather, seem to have a few piercings, and can sport some very lovely ‘tats’) and both drunks (I was going to try and make a similar witty distinction with oenophiles and alcoholics, but the distinction between the two is specious at best) figured it would be a good idea to combine the two and visit a few wineries as we rode through the valley. After deciding on a date, I contacted several wineries that were within a reasonable cycling distance and set up a couple of tastings. We both consulted weather.com repeatedly since neither of us particularly enjoy riding in the rain (I actually abhor riding in the rain but I was trying to avoid appearing like a total wuss). The wineries were laid out essentially in a triangle and in order to maximize the number of wineries to visit, we planned on taking two cars.  The plan was to drop one car at the apex of the route and then drive back to the beginning—thus we would only ride two ‘sides’ of the triangle.  Still, this would mean potentially six wineries and a little over sixty miles in the saddle.

We went to the drop off spot and looked for the parking lot.  What we found was a dead end road. My partner in crime swore up and down that we were in the right spot. Finally we found the ‘lot’:

I’m not in Philly anymore….

We decided to leave the Prius and thus climbed back in Frank’s vehicle after putting my bike on his roof rack. The skies were a bit ominous, but I am an eternal (cough) optimist, so I was not concerned.  Besides, weather.com said there was only a 30% chance of rain. Giddy up. We drove back to Galer Estate, one of the wineries on our list and the starting point of the ride. Frank had printed up several mini-‘route sheets’ to get us from one winery to the next without needing to jump on the highway. I’m glad he thought of it since I certainly didn’t–I had planned on getting lost a lot.

When we got to Galer, it was just about 11:00 which means we were only about 90 minutes late getting started, which is about 30 minutes early on the drunken cyclists time clock. We both got out of the car and started to get all geared up.  While I was putting on my cleats, a man approached and asked if we needed any help. I explained that I had exchanged emails with the tasting room manager, Marybeth, and she knew we were coming. I outlined our trip and he looked up at the ever darkening sky and then back at us with a look of ‘Good Luck with that’ as he introduced himself as Brad Galer, the owner of the winery.

Determined to get riding, we said we would see him in a few hours and shoved off.  We made our way out of the parking lot and down the road a bit when it started to sprinkle.  After navigating the light at the end of the road, it started to pour.  Not quite a Biblical better-start-building-an-arc type of rain, but it was really coming down. I like to think there are just a few things that I truly hate: the feel and sound of Styrofoam, getting hit in the head with a bowling ball, and riding in the rain. So I pulled over under a huge tree. Frank kept riding. I just stayed there, figuring he would eventually discover that I was no longer with him—one thing was for sure: I was not going to ride in a downpour. Call me a wuss if you like.

Eventually, Frank turned around and we both agreed that we were not going to ride in a monsoon. We turned back and rode the hundred meters to the car and loaded the bikes onto the roof rack as the rain came down increasingly harder. Given that both of us have a Ph.D. it only took us about 23 minutes to come up with a plan: we were going to drive over to the first winery (Chaddsford), do a quick tasting, and then re-assess the weather situation. Our luck continued when we got to Chaddsford–they would not open for another 30 minutes and it was raining just as hard. After another ‘brief’ discussion, we decided we would go and grab some lunch and then return to Chaddsford.

We found a diner type place right down the road and walked in–we were both looking rather stylish in our lycra cycling clothes, which are great for riding, but not really meant to be worn for any other purpose, particularly to a diner on a Sunday morning in essentially rural Pennsylvania when people were just getting out of church–I was really thankful that I neglected to bring any additional clothes. We had to wait for about ten minutes and took a seat at the counter at precisely 11:52.  I knew the time because we were told that we could not order lunch until 12:00.  I thought they were joking. Nope–they made us sit there for eight minutes until we could order. The day was just getting better and better.

We eventually ate lunch and did make it to several wineries where we met some very nice people and had some surprisingly good wines (much more on that later in the week). We did not, however, get on our bikes again and I wore my lycra for a good ten hours straight.  I was really comfortable. Almost as comfortable as our bikes–they were in this position in the rain all day: