Peace Valley Reservoir

Peace Valley Reservoir

8 October 2014

Note to self:  Prallsville Mills, in Stockton, is not the same as Bulls Island, which is not in Stockton. I figured this out ten minutes into the drive to Tom's ride.  In Stockton I pulled over to call him, unsure if I'd get to the start in time.  I did, but just.

He was kind:  He gave us half a mile of flat warm-up before launching us into our first incline. We stopped at Peace Valley reservoir, where Tom used to start the Lake Nockamixon rides.

A couple of the guys queued up at a porta-potty while Tom and I went down to the paved path around the reservoir.

"Shh," Tom said, motioning me towards him.  I figured he had another devious hill that only I'd be privy to.  It wasn't that; it was a great blue heron, standing in the grass less than ten feet away.

I walked a little closer and zoomed in. The bird didn't seem to care.

The wind ruffled the bird's feathers.  That's all that moved.

I looked away, towards the rest of the reservoir, and up to the guys in the lot.  When I looked back, the heron was still there.

I took some pictures of the reservoir from where we were standing.

And then I turned back to the heron.  Yep. Still there.

I walked back up the hill to get my bike, and walked it back down to the path.  Still there.

By now the guys were heading towards us.  "We're going to go around the lake," Tom said, "and then up a nasty hill."  At least he warned us this time.  As we pushed off, Joe exclaimed, "A heron!"

Jim and I stopped to look a the cormorants resting above the water.

They were all cleaning themselves.

We climbed the nasty hill, heading towards Perkasie.  I don't know where we were when I took this picture.  My camera has GPS built in, but it's no good when I don't remember to turn it on, is it?

We were plodding up a roller when someone called out to stop.  Bagel Hill Barry had dropped his chain clean off his bike.  Joe and I were at the top of the roller.  "Once," I said, "Just once, I'd like to be on a ride where Barry doesn't get into trouble."  We waited a bit. Then I said, "Might as well go back and enjoy the entertainment."

I'm glad I did, because I got to watch Jim replace a link with his snazzy Whippermann chain links.  I really need to learn how to wrench.  Sitting by the side of the road, I got a few pictures:

As long as Barry stayed in his small ring, he was good to go.  For miles we were on Callowhill Road, which includes, at the end, the 400-foot, 20% grade hill that gave Tom his Lying Bastard reputation. I knew it was coming, but Tom had sworn me to secrecy. The best I could do to warn Jim, who hates the hill (which is why Tom put it in), was to say, "You'll wanna be in your small ring soon."

Well, the road has been repaved since the last time we were there.  We were up and over and we didn't even stop at the top.  Our reward was a break at the Down to Earth Cafe.  The coffee is good. I ate the top of a pumkin-chocolate chip-espresso muffin.  Jim had no trouble with the rest of it.

On our way home, we got turned around and around and around again in Ralph Stover State Park.  It was a pretty spot to double back several times; we were in a valley by a stream with a tall, yellowing canopy overhead. We finally found the bridge over the stream and we were on our way to the last nasty climb of the day.  We descended towards the Delaware on Cafferty Road, which is a worthy descent, and pretty, but no good for snapshots.

The Delaware River at Bulls Island is always good for a few pictures.  This is facing north:

And south:

We decided that we're done with hills for a while.