Calhoun Street Bridge, Trenton, NJ
5 May 2018
Last summer Blake led an off-the-books ride from Yardley. Cheryl, visiting from Florida, said, "I'm surprised you didn't ride over." I shook my head. "No way. It's too far."
Not that far, it turns out.
I had no intention of riding to Yardley when Tom posted a hilly loop for Saturday. It was Bob N who made the suggestion of extra miles from Pennington. I wasn't keen on that. It would take me as long to drive there as it would to Yardley. He suggested we could leave from my house instead. Taking the scenic route to avoid traffic and traffic circles would add over 14 miles each way; going through the Pennington circle would shave off about a mile. I wondered what would happen if I were to ask ridewithgps to plot a route for me. I clicked on my house, panned across the river, and clicked on the Yardley Park and Ride.
And there we had it: a 10-mile ride through Trenton with two turns: one from Princeton Pike to Calhoun Street, and one onto River Road in Pennsylvania. And it was relatively flat.
Expecting red lights and traffic, Bob and I left home with more than enough time. I'm used to these streets during weekday mornings when I drive down to get my car washed (it needs washing again; it's covered in pollen), or on the rare weekend to visit the Trenton Farmers Market.
As we coasted downhill on Princeton Pike, I noticed that my tires were turning green from pollen.
"I've never been down here on my bike," I confessed as we approached the intersection with Route 206. (As I write this I realize I was wrong: I once sold an old car to a used car dealer near the car wash. I had Kermit in the back seat. The dealer looked the car over, looked into the window, and said, "Your bike is worth more than this car." I agreed, took $1100 for the car, put the license plates in my jersey pocket, and rode my bike home.)
"Even the busiest streets are quiet if you leave early enough," Bob said as we passed the Trenton Farmers Market. The car wash had just opened for the day and it was already bustling. Past Olden Avenue we turned onto Calhoun Street, where we pretty much had the road to ourselves. Our tires went back to their usual color.
In no time at all we were walking across the Calhoun Street bridge. The pedestrian deck is wooden; we didn't bother with cleat covers. We had plenty of time for pictures. Looking north I couldn't see the next bridge up at Washington Crossing.
To our south was the Trenton Makes bridge.
Behind that was the railroad bridge, where a New Jersey Transit train was crossing. I think they have a storage yard on the Pennsylvania side.
As we were clipping in again, Jack H came down the hill across from us. He moved to Yardley last year. "I figured I'd find you guys here," he said, and the three of us went up Route 32 together.
Never having been on 32 this far south, I spent much of my time gawping at the mansions along the river. Jack explained that a lot of the houses needed to be raised above flood level. Some were up on stilts; others had ugly, bare, cement foundations. Some of the foundations had windows and fancy doors. The whole point of raising a house above flood level is to not be living at flood level. Whatever. Maybe all the furniture down there was inflatable.
The railroad bridge that carries the West Trenton Line out of New Jersey, yellow in the morning light, stood out above the water. I didn't want to break our rhythm by stopping for a picture from a distance. I caved in at the bottom of it, though. Jack said he was surprised the thing was still standing. "The cement is crumbling," he said.
We arrived at the Yardley Park and Ride so early that Jim didn't know what to say. Ricky was there too. Pete showed up, and then Tom. Ken coasted in; from his house in Pennington he'd come almostg as far as we had.
Bob requested the blessing. Tom dug into his car and retrieved the Holy Kickstand, its continued presence in his car being comic in its own right.
Tom even remembered the litany, the gist of it being that it would protect us from mishaps but not from stupidity.
As is custom, he doused the Holy Kickstand with Brita water from his Camelbak
before dousing us with the kickstand.
Tom promised 50 miles with 3000 feet of climbing and without any nasty hills. For the most part he stuck to it, which is to say that I only went into my granny gear once, on Holicong Road.
My back bothered me for the entire first half, for no good reason. I must have been slouching yesterday.
I'm beginning to get a sense of direction in Pennsylvania. I'm not ready to lead a ride, but the road names are starting to look familiar. I knew enough to know that we'd be in southern Bucks County, where the hills aren't as nasty as they are above Carversville.
We stopped in Carversville. There was barely room on the bike rack for our group. The general store had iced coffee in an urn. With last week's temperatures reaching 90 degrees it was no wonder.
I had more energy after the break (16 ounces of iced coffee and my cappuccino peanut butter sandwich from home will do that). It helped, too, that we'd dispensed with most of the climbing in the fist half.
I can pinpoint the exact moment when the 24-hour allergy tablet I'd taken 14 hours before, and the prescription eye drops I'd used 6 hours ago, stopped working. It was when we crossed Windy Bush onto the lower half of Pidcock Creek. Instantly, my eyes started burning and my nose started running.
I must be allergic to pidcocks.
Behind me, Ken and Pete were having a protracted conversation about some sport -- hockey, I think, but it might have been basketball -- and I didn't understand a word of it. In front of us was Jericho Mountain and we went around it.
Ken left us at Washington Crossing. Bob and I decided not to go with him; the Trenton route would be shorter, I had a time constraint, and I still didn't want to go through the Pennington traffic circle. We went back to the parking lot for the post-ride hangout.
Then, with Jack, we headed back towards Trenton. Jack turned on one of the Yardley side streets.
On the bridge I paused for a zoomed-in shot of birds on a tiny island to the north,
and for a zoomed-out picture of the river.
We had a tailwind back up the gradual hill from the river to Olden Avenue. I thought that traffic would be a problem near the farmers market but it wasn't. We weren't the only ones on bikes in the city either.
The Trenton-Lawrence boundary is on Spruce Street. Route 206 comes in 0.7 miles to the north of that, and there the boundary becomes painfully obvious. To emphasize the point, our tires turned green again.
I went inside and doused my eyes with saline. Halfway through my shower I finally stopped sneezing.
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