In Which NJ Attempts to Reclaim its Title as Number One in Weird

We can start with the iguana on a leash.

1 September 2014

We could start with the iguana on a leash, but we'd be getting ahead of ourselves if we did.

We'll start with the anatomically correct metal cow sculptures on Route 519, north of Rosemont, instead.  American Gothic meets nightmare.

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.

Leaving Clinton, we turned onto Sidney Road.  I pointed out the cell tower at the top of the ridge in the distance.  "That's where we're headed," I said.

John whimpered.

It's a three mile climb.  Bagel Hill Barry showed us how it's done.  When John asked, Barry told us his age.  "I want to climb like you when I grow up," I said.  Dude has 21 years on me.  He smoked us.

Now the air temperature was creeping up.  We were going through our water as if it were summer.  We had one of those hot headwinds that isn't at all refreshing.

Towards the end of the ride, as we were all feeling beat, I had the nerve to remind everyone that next Saturday is the Sourland Spectacular.  Plain Jim is getting a team together.  Check his blog later this week for details.