Larry's Bloomsbury Boogie

6 June

Y'all missed a good one.

I was supposed to be leading a ride at the same time but I sent the Slugs up to Larry instead. Larry's ride started from Mine Brook Park just outside of Flemington off of Route 12. Tom sent me a cue sheet he'd used last year so I had some inkling of what we'd be doing. Being a Flatlander, Larry plotted a course that managed to miss all of the big hills between Flemington and Bloomsbury. Pretty impressive.

We started out on Old Croton Road. Larry had told me we'd be passing Hardscrabble Hill Road. How could I pass that one up? It's even mentioned in the Garden State Stomp.

"It's too big, especially without a warm-up," he said to all of us before we pushed off. I suggested we could ride down it on the way back. Rich K. (what he, an A rider, was doing with us B people was a mystery to me) said the road was too beat up for that.

But when we came up on it and Larry gave me the choice, I turned left.

Four guys, including Rich, followed me, passing me, of course. Yeah, it's a hill, but it's a lot easier than, say, Goat Hill. By the time I got to the top the rest of the ride was just coming around the bend on Old Croton.

As they approached I called out, "We can so go down this road! It's not bad at all!" I pulled in behind Hilda. "You could do it, no problem." Larry is too much like me: we both put The Fear into people about upcoming hills.

In Quakertown we turned onto Route 579 (which goes on forever, starting near Trenton, winding its way northwest through Mercer and Hunterdon Counties, and ending in Bloomsbury). Now I've been on both of Quakertown's main roads and I can state, with confidence, that there's nothing there but a hairdresser and a "Maid Brigade" storefront. And a firehouse half a mile down the road.

The best thing about Quakertown is the descent between it and Pittstown. The best thing about Pittstown, if you're not stopping at Perricone's for food, is that building with the mysterious sign I've mentioned before: "Do not enter. This is not an exit."

We turned onto Everittstown Road after that. This brought back memories of our first attempt at the Double Reservoir Ride (pre-blog days, but it's in the Hill Slug Chronicles if you want to wade through that). Suffice to say that's where we started calling it the Bataan Death March. Today it was actually pleasant: the air was only a little humid and it wasn't quite hot.

We didn't start climbing again until we turned onto Sweet Hollow Road. We were in the woods with streams on both sides of us.

"This is like Rockaway Road!" Ken called out.

"This is nothing at all like Rockaway Road!" I called back. He's still learning the turf up here; he'll get it eventually.

Larry stopped us all so he could put The Fear into us again, this time about Myler Road. I remembered Tom mentioning it last year, but I didn't remember the context. Maybe this was going to be a real hill.

Yeah, it was a hill, and yeah, it had a few spots where we needed to work. But compared to the stuff I routinely drag the Slugs on, it wasn't much. Just a little long. We were in the shade, though, and the road was pretty. If this was as bad as it was going to get then we'd have nothing to worry about.

At the top Hilda was relieved too, and happy that she wasn't fazed by the climb. We were at the top of the ridge now; Bloomsbury was on the other side. The ride down was so steep toward the bottom that I almost did an endo grabbing the brakes. I wasn't the only one.

I've been to Bloomsbury twice before, so I knew about the general store there, with its goldfish pond, picket fence, and umbrella tables. I'd just begun the ritual of taking off my helmet and gloves, and putting my cleat covers on, when Larry said, "Do you know about the waterfall?"

"Waterfall?" Nobody mentioned any waterfalls when I was here before.

He pointed to the bridge a few hundred yards down the road. "It rained a lot this week, so it should be good."

"I guess I'll have to get a picture then," I said and got back on my bike. Hilda followed me.

Well. It was a waterfall the way Hardscrabble was a giant hill.

Hilda told me what I should put in the blog: "This is Larry's Niagara Falls."



Yep. A spillway on the Musconetcong River.




Being next to the river, Bloomsbury is in a valley. The only way I've ever gotten out of here before is up, but Larry found the way out that didn't involve more than thirty seconds of climbing. Somehow he got us following the Musconetcong to the Delaware.

Musconetcong. That's fun to say. Roll it around in your mouth a few times: "Muss-conn-ett-kong."

It got narrower farther downstream as we rode along it on River Road. At a small bridge over the river I followed the road sign over it, but everybody else went straight. I stopped for a few pictures anyway, figuring I'd just have to chase everyone down. I tried to be quick about it and was just packing away my camera when everyone came back. They'd made the wrong turn.



Musconetcong. Musconetcong. Musconetcong.



Soon we were riding along the Delaware River. We stopped at Riegelsville, New Jersey, across the river from Riegelsville, Pennsylvania. The two towns are connected by a miniature Brooklyn Bridge.



It took me a while to get these pictures. I didn't want any cars getting in the way of my view. I eventually gave up.



Here's the Delaware just north of the bridge:



We continued south along Riegelsville-New Milford Road, where, to our right was a jagged wall of rock. Once I saw a tiny waterfall -- as if someone were pissing over the edge -- and later a bigger one.

"Look, Larry! A waterfall! A real one!"

He nodded.

"He's learning!" I told Hilda.

Here it is, from back in April. There was about five times more water today:



We thought someone was off the back and stopped to regroup, so I got this picture. Somehow it's too peaceful to be full-out tacky.



In Milford we crossed the Delaware. I took this picture before we went over:



Larry was taking us to Upper Black Eddy because none of us had been there before. He led us to a general store. "Quick stop," he said. "Five minutes."

This is the Delaware Canal (they don't seem to call it the Delaware and Raritan Canal on this side of the river) at Upper Black Eddy:






The Homestead General Store:



Inside was a surprise. Directed to the bathroom, I found myself standing in front of shelves laden with small bags of coffee beans and in front of a roaster. Better still, many of the bags were labeled "fair trade organic."

If I finished the remaining quarter sandwich in my pocket... I felt around. Yep. There's room.

The bag read, "Dead Man's Brew. Only If You Dare. Fair Trade Organic." Good thing I'd shoved some extra cash in my jersey this morning.

Meanwhile the five minutes stretched to ten or so. Outside two terriers kept a park bench safe:



We stayed on the Pennsylvania side until we reached the Frenchtown bridge. There was a little more climbing to do after that, to get back on the ridge again, but Larry found the most benign route.

Ridge Road lived up to its name. We certainly felt very high up when we got to the top, where open fields let us see to the hills north of us.

Our last treat was the descent down Hardscrabble Hill Road, where Larry hit 40 miles per hour.

*****

7 June, 9:45 a.m.

I just had a taste of Dead Man's Brew. Downstairs there's a travel mug full of it waiting for the train ride into New York City. I can't figure out what the blend is, so I've decided to call Homestead and ask. "It's our most popular blend," the woman at the store says. But as for what's in it, "We're not gonna tell you." I'll just have to come back, she adds.

I will.