Schooley's Mountain

12 July 2009

Everything about Tom's Schooley's Mountain ride was pretty except Schooley's Mountain. We busted our butts to get up that thing but there was no view from the top. Which is good: it means the trees haven't been cut down.

In a previous blog post I talked about a particular view on Rockaway Road that I didn't photograph but wanted to. Well, now it's four months later and the trees have obstructed the line of sight. I stopped on the bridge and took my obligatory stream picture instead.


You'll have to imagine a slope full of cows off to the left. There were no cows this time but they were there in March.

The road we took up the mountain is called Naugtright. Living up to its name it began with an 18% grade around a curve. You know it's bad when a car coming the other way is hitting the brakes.

At the top there's a park. No view there either.

A little farther on, at the intersection of Springtown and Schooley's Mountain Road is a church: Our Lady of the Mountain.


Phyllis got the title for the day. She popped up each hill as if it hadn't been there.

Tom made sure we stopped for the statue. We think it's supposed to be an eagle.


Four Bridges Road has a descent so steep I hung my rump off the back end of my seat to keep my bike in control. Farther along the road I had to stop for yet another obligatory river photo:


I wondered aloud which river we'd just crossed.

Glenn said, for no particular reason, "The Raritan."

When I got home and looked it up I sent him an email:

You were right. The pictures I took of the river were of the South Branch of the Raritan. I am now convinced that any picture I take of a river makes that river become the Raritan, no matter where I am nor where it is. In fact, I think every river in New Jersey is the South Branch of the Raritan River. Even the Delaware (I have lots of pictures of that, too).

Minutes later he wrote back,

I am sure you're right. South Branch of the Raritan River is the generic name of not only every flowing body of water within New Jersey, but of every river in the whole world. In fact, the name might even apply to bodies of water that don't flow--lakes, swamps, oceans, toilet bowls, cats' water dishes, laboratory carboys, and so on.

By the way, here's a picture from our rafting trip in Colorado (on the South Branch of the Raritan River, of course...)...

I wrote,

If that's a picture of the Raritan then surely the rafters are navigating a sewage outflow. That takes some skill.

Yeah, I'm taking a cheap shot at Jersey. I've lived here long enough now; I'm allowed.

Anyway, here, take a look at a few images of the Raritan River watershed. This one is a bunch of USGS quads strung together showing the entire river. This one is just the Raritan River's South Branch. Now it all makes sense. No matter where we ride west of Route 1 in central New Jersey north of the Sourland Mountain we're in the Raritan's watershed. And, because of the Delaware and Raritan Canal, even the Delaware River, on the western boundary of the state, is connected to the Raritan, which flows east to the Hudson.

We had one little hiccup on the way back.


But we went on anyway. It wasn't too bad. There used to be a road under the gravel, and the rough stuff didn't last long.

Tom took us down Black River Road. This is a hill you have to concentrate on. It's very pretty, though, with the river in a ravine on the left and more or less a forested cliff on the right.

At the intersection of Black River and Vliettown a woman crossed by us on a white horse. Tom and I were shooting into the sun. Even with my camera's visor I couldn't quite tell what I was looking at. It looks like I timed it exactly wrong: I've lined up the horse and rider with the barn behind them.

Ta-da! Making its seasonal debut, the first hay bale photograph of 2009.

It's those dots in the distance.

Chris and I had carpooled up together, Phyllis and Mike following behind. We reversed course in the afternoon, trying not to make the same wrong turns again but only partially succeeding.

We unloaded at my house. Jack came out to talk and we all sat on the front stoop, talking about everything and nothing. Before any of us knew it, two and a half hours had gone by.