Tropical Storm Irene (source: Wikipedia)
28 August 2011
Tuesday's little earthquake was entertaining enough. Hurricane Irene promised more excitement. By the time she reached us, she was a mere tropical storm.
On Friday evening, Mike M. and I were painting bike route arrows on country roads between Crosswicks and New Egypt. The sky looked, well, wrong. Black clouds were pushing in over a pink sky. Saturday morning's forecast had the rain holding off until around noon. Cheryl, via email, coaxed me out of bed and onto my bike. She led eight of us over the Sourland Mountain. Every so often we got drizzled on; I cajoled her into keeping the route short.
We got home well before the rain came down, and boy, did it come down. Our back yard became a pond, our street a river. A current of water made its way slowly across our back porch, never quite reaching our door. I checked in on the spider that's been living for weeks between the glass and the screen in one of our front windows. She was curled into a ball. Once in a while the lights would flicker. I knew that soon enough they would go out; they always do when we have a storm.
Given what anyone living near the Raritan, Assunpink, Delaware, Passaic, or any other NJ river, is experiencing right now, we got off easy. Our power went out for a few hours around four in the morning, but it was back on in time for Jack's breakfast tea. I spent the day in front of the computer, first working on the Ride for McBride routes, and then doing work for my day job (which, I assure you, was far worse an experience than watching the rain blow sideways during last night's tornado warning).
While I was engaged in the self-torture known as data analysis, Mike B. and Theresa, having no power in their house, hopped into their car and headed towards Belmar in search of flood damage. Crazy and a little bit stupid, yes, but I was jealous anyway and insisted on pictures.
Theresa couldn't have known that the pictures she sent were of Big Joe's favorite rest stop spot in Belmar, nor that I'd been texting Belmar-fond Rebecca in Jersey City all day long; she was almost a refugee at our house but decided to hunker down instead.
Here's Mike in front of the Dunkin' Donuts. He's standing next to where we often lean our bikes. I think we sat at that table the last time we were there.
Here's a bit of gallows humor from a pizzeria:
Honestly, I think the beach looks much more interesting in this shot than any other time I've wandered across the street to take a look:
Theresa told me that Route 1 was flooded at Franklin Corner Road. That's about two miles from my house and maybe a mile from where Mike and Theresa live. She took the picture on the return trip, from the I-95 bridge. The barrier in the center is approximately three feet high.
A few minutes later, she sent me another one. Here, Mike is wading across the parking lot at Michael's Diner on Route 1 at Franklin Corner.
Every so often I checked Princeton University's home page. Usually a slight breeze will send trees toppling around there, so I wasn't surprised to read that every major road between home and the lab was closed. Power was out in some university buildings. The administration, still deciding what do do with us "nonessential personnel" on Monday, told us to check back at 7 p.m.
By 7 p.m. my brain was fried, so I headed outside to clean up the yard. The air was cool and dry, with a pleasant breeze. Crickets were chirping. The sky was turning blue again.
Here, after a few minutes in the yard, is the pile of damage wrought by Irene. Save for the leaves, it could be the pile of branches I drag to the curb at the end of each winter.
I went inside to open the windows. That's when I saw the branch on the garage roof outside of our bedroom window. I thought I'd heard a dull thud last night. It was too dark now to try to drag the branch down.
The phone rang. Jack answered and then called up to me: "Princeton's closed tomorrow."
I guess I'll have plenty of time to talk this branch off the roof.
