A Big, Icy Ball of Suck

25 January

Six Mile Run State Park's MTB trails were a sheet of ice. I wasn't on my bike five minutes before I said, "I don't like this at all." Mike B wasted no time agreeing with me, so Chris turned us around and found something more suitable to our wussiness and inexperience.

We played snow plow up in the fields until we were tired and bored.

Then we put our bikes away and our sneakers on and hiked along the edges of the icy trail. We did this until Mike got cold, I got hungry, and Chris went off to pee in the woods. After that we followed an underground gas line clearing, then bush-whacked a little bit towards the power line right-of-way. From there we followed our tire tracks back to the parking lot.

I collected some new bruises and some new pictures.

We definitely want to come back and ride this thing.

In, like, October.


This is, I assume, Six Mile Run:





Here's the power line from the Red Trail:



This is the fun, flat part of the Red Trail. We got nowhere near here on our bikes because before this point there was a lot of climbing and roots on a narrow trail, all of it covered in ice.



You can see some of the ice at the bottom of this picture. The rest of the ice was covered in a thin layer of cedar needles.



Here's the ol' power line again, from higher up the right-of-way:

Slugsicles!

24 January

A SNAFU in the Freewheel had me leading from the D&R Canal parking lot in Kingston today. It kinda sucked because Mike and I usually ride to Pennington from home, but this was too far and too cold for that. The gravel and dirt parking lot was an icy, muddy mess.

The temperature was dropping from the mid-thirties, but the sun seemed to want to come out.

A handful of hearty Slugs showed up: the Mikes and Chris; and Honorary Slugs John D. and Jane on their fixies. This was a good crew to ride on a too-cold day with.

Overnight the forecast had changed to include 34-mph wind gusts. We headed for the Sourland Mountain anyway, pushing against the wind out in open fields for a small forever until we found the trees on Hollow Road.

As with nearly every other body of water around here, the Back Brook was covered in ice. I stopped near the bottom of the hill for pictures.

Looking upstream:





And downstream:



Mike B stayed back with me. I wondered if every road with the word "Hollow" in it in central Jersey runs next to a stream. Every one I could think of does.

I apologized to the crew waiting at the top. "I stopped for pictures," I said. Jane was excited about this. "It was so beautiful back there!"

The Fixies sped past us all the way up Long Hill. They braved the steep and curvy downhill of Zion. John said, "I kept it between 15 and 20 miles per hour."

Passing through Neshanic Station, Jane said that I should stop for a picture of the old bridge over the icy river. I thought about it, but there was nowhere safe to stop that would offer me a good vantage point, so we rode on. "There's more scenery up ahead," I told her, and we followed River Road eastward to cross the Raritan River's South Branch.

Before I could shout, "Stopping!" Jane called out, "Picture!" and we all stopped.

Here's the South Branch from the bridge, facing upstream:





And downstream:







That's Jane in the red jacket:



The scenery wasn't too great after that. My goal was to get to the Bagel B.O.P. (it stands for "Baked on Premises") on Amwell Road. I was looking for the most pleasant way to get there, which is no easy task considering it's nearly at the intersection of Route 206 in the middle of Hillsborough. I kept us away from the traffic, save for a quick quarter mile on Amwell Road.

Mike M wanted to try John's fixie. He rode it around the parking lot for a few minutes. Mike B and I lamented the potential loss of a Hill Slug to the Dark Side, the Fixie life.

He dismounted. "Whadja think?" we all asked.

"That was unnerving."

"Are you gonna get one?" I asked.

"Dunno."

"Uh-oh. He didn't say 'no'."

We were just about the only people inside the B.O.P. and we took our time.

Chris was the only one sitting down when I brought my muffin to the table. Still with his sunglasses on, he leaned across and peered onto the top of the muffin, his face inches from it.

"Cockroaches," I said.

"Chocolate chips. Not blueberries?"

Someone else said, "Mouse droppings."

I said, "Too big. Rat droppings. I know my mouse droppings."

Mike B felt bad about finishing off my muffin so he bought me another one to take home.

At least we had a tailwind on Amwell Road until we turned off onto Willow.

I was riding next to John, asking him about his gears. We both admitted we're clueless about calculating gear ratios. I never could work out why a smaller front chain ring makes pedaling easier but a smaller back gear makes pedaling more difficult. "I can't do all that physics stuff."

"Just remember E equals MC squared," John said.

"Sure. Energy equals Muffins times Caffeine squared." There's your biking physics lesson for the day.

We got back to the Canal at the Griggstown Causeway. The Millstone River, running narrow and fast, wasn't the least bit frozen. But the canal, in its lazy, slow way, was covered in ice.

"Coppermine! Coppermine!" Mike B was shouting.

I asked Jane and John, "You guys okay with that?" Stupid question.

"Feel like another climb?" I asked Mike M.

"I could be talked into it."

Mike B said, "Say 'yes,' Mike.

Mike M said, "Yes, Mike."

So we climbed Coppermine. The Fixies whuped our freewheelin' asses. Again.

We got back to the canal via Old Georgetown. I think the Fixies were riding their brakes on this one. It ends in a steep way.

I took more pictures at the canal by Old Georgetown.

Somebody made some "art" here.



Ice on the canal:






Chris went for his camera while I was shooting. I beat him to it. From left to right are Chris, Mike B, Mike M, John, and Jane.



After that we had only a quarter mile to go before getting back to the parking lot.

Mike and I stopped at Cheryl's on the way home and left the muffin in her door.

Even More Random Snapshots

22 January

Shots of the Delaware River at sunrise in Trenton from a moving train:






Sunrise from the speeding train as we pass a landfill:











Wow. Those are so blurry it hurts. Guess you just have to be there to see it for yourself. 7:16 a.m. from Trenton.

Here are some that are in focus.

A closed sidewalk at the edge of Drexel University's campus had me walking beneath the railroad bridge at 31st street, where a tree is wrestling with a mass of rusty cable:







The Schuylkill River frozen in the morning:



You can just make out the shadow cast on the ice by the railroad bridge and our train on top of it.



That's the West River Drive on the left:



For my next trick I'll try to catch the sunset as our train pulls out of Philly. Don't hold your breath; the days are getting longer and I don't like to stay late.

More Random Snapshots

22 January

I'm still carrying my little camera everywhere.

I was walking through Penn's campus on January 12, on my way to the train, after spending 5 hours in HUP's emergency room with an optical migraine, when I saw a student taking a picture of Penn's resident red-tail hawk. I was still doped to the gills and not quite seeing normally, but I had to stop and miss my train for this picture:



Four days later, the sunrise cast shadows of winter trees on the cement ramp to I-95 at Cornwells Heights train station:



January 17 was too cold even for mountain biking. A trip to the gym had me home early enough to catch morning sunlight filtering through Jack's wine collection:






Burnaby played with his toy while I played with mine:

MTB in Clayton Park

18 January

I've only seen Clayton Park in the winter. Today we were riding on a dusting of snow.

I think I managed to get a snapshot of one of the few flat spots in the park:



It doesn't look it, but this is sort of downhill:



There, see? We're on top of a hill.



Here, just off the trail, you can look out on a frozen pond:



Clayton Park surrounds Doctor's Creek, which flows into the Delaware River south of Crosswicks Creek.



Mike and Theresa are waiting for me while I take a picture of a twisted trunk:





Ah. Here's a big little hill. There's Mike B trying to get up it. The Mikes and I took repeated stabs at this climb. It's steeper than it looks. The trick, it turns out, is not to go into our lowest gears, and to get all the way clipped in before the descent.





Today was another welcome break from all the jostling and jarring of Mercer County Park.