Hill Slug Chronicles: Mid-Autumn Colors in Central New Jersey

South Branch Road, Hillsborough

5 November 2016

I: Round Valley Reservoir

The autumn color is hanging around a bit longer these days. Warmer weather and a lack of rain has stayed with us too, so off we went today to see Round Valley Reservoir under drought conditions.

The Hill Slugs ride was the only hilly B thing going today; I had nine people in tow, including Rajesh and Ricky, back to do penance, or to give me another chance. I made sure to remind people that, if they were off the front and couldn't see me in their mirrors, I could not be responsible for their fates. Ricky and Rajesh backed me up on that one.

When I head out of Hillsborough to go north, I'm partial to South Branch Road. Three miles out, at the top of a small rise, is a view of the hills to the west of the Raritan.

I didn't notice until later that this farm appears to be growing a church, or maybe swallowing one:

The trip around the reservoir is about 12 miles. To get to the top counterclockwise, from Whitehouse station, one climbs in two sections. The first is in the woods, where it's not easy to get a sense of how high up one is until near the top, where there's a break in the trees to the south and one can look towards Cokesbury. The second section is out in the open, a short, sharp, shock, where one can see the top from the bottom. Descending, though, is a wide, curvy blast that ends with two annoying hard rollers at the southeastern end.

I didn't go that way today. We went clockwise, up the wide, curvy road that teases us with glimpses of the reservoir: a berm here, a blocked entrance there, a speck of water through the trees near the top. I tried to remember when my first trip up this hill was. It was more than ten years ago; back then, before the trees got so tall, we could see the water a lot sooner. Now, we can only catch a glimpse when we're nearly at the boat launch.

We were halfway up the hill when Jim's new saddle decided that he should be a soprano. He was having none of that, and pulled off to level the seat again.

We regrouped at the boat launch.

The reservoir is at 67.3% capacity (0.1% away from its all-time low record).

There is not supposed to be a beach at the boat launch.

There was a beach at the boat launch.

There's a launch left center in this picture, but the water level is so low that the edge of the metal ramp is out of the frame:

There's a stretch of mud in front of this launch too:

I wanted to make sure that nobody missed the turn onto Old Mountain Road halfway down the northern edge of the reservoir, so I pulled off and waved everyone through. We got spread out, with Tom, Pete, and Jack H in the front, and Ricky next in line. I did my best to get to the head of the pack. Ricky, seeing that he couldn't see me, stopped at the crest of a roller to wait for the rest of us. Jack, Pete, and Tom kept on going.

Old Mountain ends at Railroad Avenue. I collected the remains of the group. One mile later is a four-way intersection with a stop sign. We usually go straight, which takes us directly into Whithouse Station. That wasn't the plan today, and I hoped that the three in front had enough sense to wait for the rest of us at the stop sign. I could see just enough of them to see them clip out, then clip in again and go straight.

I was a little pissed off. Back in my early days as a leader, I'd give too much away about where I was headed, and I'd lose control of the ride. I stopped telling people where I was going beyond the next turn, and that worked. Lately, I've let up on that. Today, I told Tom we'd stop in Whitehouse Station. He knew where I was going. He didn't know how I planned to get there. I'll have to go back to my old ways, because there's no chance I'm ever going to get any faster.

We turned right, over the bridge and onto Mountain Avenue, where I haven't been for a bunch of years. I forgot how pretty it is.

The three who went ahead got a mild scolding when I got to Jerry's Brooklyn Grill.

I've never had trouble in there. We've always been treated well. Not so today, I'm told, although I personally had no problems. There's nowhere else to go, really, if one wants to keep the miles down and not have to ride on Route 22. And anyway, they've got big muffins now. Not Stanton General Store (may it rest in peace) big, but a few rear gears shy of it. Not as tasty either, but that didn't stop me from wolfing down the entire top and some of the middle too, before handing the remains off to Jim.

Next stop, Thor Solberg Airport in Readington, where we saw this bright beast at rest,

and this little number coming in for a landing:

Tom said, "That's what I flew into Barrow."

"Geez! It's got, like, four seats," I said.

Across the runway, we could see the hill that holds the reservoir:

From there, we followed the South Branch of the Raritan for a while, then veered off towards Pleasant Run, crossed that, and turned east into Neshanic Station.

I hadn't been there in a while either, so I stopped on the bridge for pictures.

Jack H asked, "Are we in Three Bridges?" We weren't; that's off to the west. But I could see why he asked that. We were in between two railroad bridges.

Beyond the downstream bridge is what looks like an old mill.

Andrew pointed out that we were turning onto Mill Road, so my guess about the building was probably right. That somehow got us onto the topic of historic road markers he's seen, and about Province Line Road, and Old York Road, and then I spent the rest of the five miles back trying to figure out where the northern end of Old York Road is in Somerset County. (Raritan Township, as far as I can tell, now that I'm at home with Google Maps.)

II: Maidenhead Meadows, the Dyson Tract, and the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail

Once in a while, Jack is OK with me taking him for a short walk in the woods. Today, I wanted to explore Lawrence Township's newly-opened Maidenhead Meadows (go ahead and cringe -- it's the original name for the township -- everyone does, which is why we're Lawrence Township now). It's an old nursery and a former dredge spoils site (the Dyson Tract), with Princeton Pike on one side and the D&R Canal on the other. There are no paths down to the canal; it's too wet. There aren't any marked trails through the rows of planted trees yet either. The only obvious path is the old dirt road that snakes down and around the uplands from the nursery to the edge of the former dumping ground.

We stayed on the wide paths. I took pictures.