John K, Blake, Bagel Hill Barry, and I were en route to Clinton from Lambertville. I was repeating the route we'd done in March because the weather hadn't looked promising enough for me to bother coming up with something new. As it was, the sky was mostly clear. The humidity, however, was as beastly as it ought to have been for the entirety of July and August.
Anyway, we had to stop for pictures when we saw the sculpture.
Getting to Clinton from Lambertville is a slog no matter what route I take. Along we slogged until the big payoff: the descent into the Raritan River valley on Baptist Church Road. We turned onto the Route 78 frontage road, which is much more scenic than the name implies, and then crossed over the highway onto Rupells Road. It was there that a pick-up truck came roaring up the hill behind us. As it passed, the driver flipped a switch and rolled coal on us.
Through the smoke, John raised his middle finger, which is probably just the reaction the driver was hoping for. The smoke was thinner than I'd seen in the videos, and it dissipated quickly.
What, exactly, had the driver achieved? Did he assume we all must be dirty hippies because we're on our bikes? Given the number of right-leaning cyclists in our midst, clearly this fellow had not done his homework. To me, it was a sign that his side has lost the war against global warming denialism. John didn't get it either. "They go after cyclists, Priuses, joggers, women, anyone they think is doing good." It's schoolyard behavior from adults; it achieves nothing. I said, "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt." If it makes him feel like a man to temporarily blind people behind him, a coal roller is one sad, sad person.
Clinton was peaceful:
"Raritan River Ribbon," beaded wire, by Katherine Daniels:
We took a long break at Citispot. Blake took over the job as muffin-stump eater, as Cheryl and Jim were absent. This one was chocolate. Blake looked as if he'd been shot to the moon.
Leaving Clinton took a little longer than expected in part because of the iguana out for a walk on her leash:
"Where did you find the leash?" an observer asked.
"eBay," the owner replied. "I typed in 'iguana leash.'"
John wondered if there'd been something in that diesel exhaust. "Could be that none of this happened," I agreed.