Shades of Death and Hope
photo by Snakehead Ed
3 October 2014
Larry is drinking coffee on my toilet. The coffee he is drinking is from the electric stovetop caffeteiere that I brought from home and filled with the good stuff, not the crap out in the lobby that we got for free along with the instant oatmeal, orange juice, and the racetrack owner woman who inserted herself into our breakfast.
"This is good!" he says, but he doesn't have much time to nurse it. We have to be ready to go in fifteen minutes. Today Tom is leading us on his Shades of Death ride, a loop mirroring the shape and distance of yesterday, but pulled southeast off the Kittatinny Ridge and onto the rolling hills that surround the Great Meadows.
We start in Allamuchy Township. Tom promises that today's ride won't be as hilly, which is to say it'll be maybe a thousand feet less hilly.
Today's ride is far less rural, but it's prettier because there are more open views.
We stop at Turtle Pond to ogle the great blue heron.
We follow the Pequest River, which we can see once in a while through the trees. I stop to get pictures of a wildflower border at a farm. None comes out the way I want.
We turn into Kittatinny Valley State Park and follow the walking trail to New Wawayanda Lake. A few of us get off our bikes and walk down a short trail to the lake's edge.
The leaves have begun to turn up here. Ed says he's holding out for the oranges and reds. I'm content with the yellows for now.
Ed spots the chickens in a driveway across the street.
At the edge of the driveway is a desk. Where's Bagel Hill Barry when you need him?
I'm off the back for most of this ride, not so far off that it's a problem, but far enough that I notice. I'm looking at one ivy-covered dilapidated barn after another. I catch the end of a conversation between Jack and Tom. Tom says, "That's the first time that's happened."
"What happened?" I ask.
Jack says, "A bird shat on my head."
A minute later he adds, "A bee just stung me in my crotch."
"We'll call you Three-Balls," I offer. Jack being Jack, neither the bird nor the bee slows him down.
Tom says that there might not be a real rest stop. We're headed for Johhnsonburg, where there might or might not be an open store. On the way I stop for more farm pictures.
A horse looks out of a barn window. I try to focus but I miss it.
Tom wants us to pass under the tunnel for a picture.
We come into Johnsonburg. The only sign of life is a lone horseback rider a block away. Somebody makes the obvious crack about a one-horse town. The rider disappears around a corner. We stop in front of what was once a liquor store. There are two houses across the street that might be inhabited. It's hard to tell.
I take a picture of the sky.
This sign is posted by the door of the former store:
There are more shuttered buildings as we leave town.
At one intersection, Tom says, "Well, this is it."
"This is what?"
"Shades of Death Road," he says, "But they took the sign."
So I take a picture of a mailbox instead.
"This is the Great Meadows," Tom says. We're looking out onto a bowl of farm fields.
We have a real hill as we pass Jenny Jump State Park.
At the other end of Shades of Death we find our road sign. We're at the intersection of Shades of Death and Hope. I lie down at the foot of the sign.
Shades of Death is up there in the list of worthy road names, but it pales in comparison to the one that everyone passed by except me:
I've fallen behind again because I stopped for the picture. I catch up and call out to Tom, "You missed Buzzard's Glory!"
Tom checks his map at the end of the road. I have time to take a picture:
We turn onto Danville Mountain Road. "I haven't been on this one," Tom says. We're at 42 miles out of 50.
There's a collective groan at the grade in front of us. "Trust Tom to put in the biggest hill at the end of the ride," I grumble.
Ed says, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."
Larry deliberately hyperventilates, thinking it'll give him some more air. "Don't do that," I warn him.
To Tom's credit, we do have a righteous descent into Hope, or Independence, or something rah-rah named like that. This time there's a store open.
Apples always taste good, but sometimes an apple tastes even better than that.
What's a general store without a bait vending machine? It's out of order, but still...
The Great Meadows from the other side:
When the ride is over we drive uphill to the deli in Allamuchy for lunch. Snakehead Ed and Winter Larry are going to scope out Castner Road, Fiddler's Elbow, and Merrill Creek Reservoir on their way home. Tom, Jack, and I have a longer trip ahead of us, so we skip the detour. It's 4:30 p.m. when I get home.
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