So This is Pittstown (I Wanna Go Home)

Pittstown Road

24 June 2018

"Where's Pittstown?" Andrew asked.

"Go to the middle of nowhere and hang a left," I told him. 

If you were to put your finger in the center of Hunterdon County you'd only have to scooch over a little to your upper left to land on Pittstown.

Why Pittstown? Because we got wind that a new coffee stop has opened up in an old house at the intersection of Pittstown and Everittstown Roads, the center of town, as it were.

I'd come up with a less than inspiring route out of Lambertville. It spanned a narrow band along the ridge between the river and Flemington. Somehow I found nearly 3000 feet of climbing in the 54 miles it would take for us to get there and back. There would be two unknown ascents: Leffler Hill on the way up and White Bridge Road on the way back. Both, it turned out, would suck.

I was leading the regular crowd: Tom, Jim, Jack, Pete G, and Andrew; and two newcomers, Pete R and Brad. Brad is a new ride leader whose first Saturday listing sounded as if Tom or I had written it. Over email we decided to join forces this weekend after his ride was rained out.

As strong as I'd been feeling all season, last weekend's century took a toll. Or, rather, the fact that I didn't rest after the century took a toll. I was trashed by the end of the week. Despite two days off the bike I didn't feel as if I were running on full power today either. 

To get from Sergeantsville to the top of the ridge near Flemington there are a handful of choices. Last time we were up here I picked the half mile of torture where Routes 579 and 523 meet, Croton Road. This time we went farther north on 523, turning up Leffler Hill instead. The ascent was longer but not as steep. What made it suck was the patchwork of patches and cracks in the blacktop the entire way up. 

The route took us past my favorite dilapidated barn at the corner of 579 and Boars Head. Jim called it "classic Adirondack Sag," a term of art he'd learned while living in upstate New York. For that I had to doctor the photo with a sepia filter. It seemed only fitting.

Eventually, after some needless zigging and worthless zagging to add distance and be on some of my favorite road names and intersections (Whiskey and Boars Head; Stone Signpost; Senator Stout and Hog Hollow), we arrived in Pittstown.

Here, in a historic house, sits Brew 362. There was already a large group of cyclists milling about. They were Team Ox, training for the MS City to Shore charity ride. They cleared out as we settled in.

I hadn't even stepped inside yet (I'd been pulled away by Team Ox to take their picture) when Jim asked, "Can we come back here?"

The staff at Brew 362 went out of their way for us. They filled each of our water bottles from a sink in a back room. They served Homestead coffee, hot or iced (cold brew, Americano, nitro, or with coconut milk). There was a small selection of pastries. There was plenty of room to sit, indoors and out. Erica, one of the owners, encouraged us to take pictures.

The sign behind the counter, hanging in the window, says "So this is Pittstown." It's for sale.

There are several rooms with giant fireplaces.

Against a wall, next to another giant fireplace and out of the way of a row of tables, was this bench carved from wood:

Against the far wall are packages of pancake mix and Homestead coffee for sale:

The bathroom is off of the kitchen:

Erica said that within a week this room will be ready for their make-your-own grilled cheese customers.

Outside, the Slugs were in no hurry to leave.

Andrew and Brad

Brad, Andrew, Tom, Jim, and Pete R

The entrance to Brew 362 is on Pittstown Road. The exit is on Everittstown Road.

We'd come in through the out door, as Pete G said, and we left through the in door.  Tom and Jim decided to take a more direct route back to Lambertville. They missed the climb up White Bridge. Lucky them.

We stayed up on the ridge from Quakertown to Raritan. 

I noodled about a little more so that we could be on the intersection of Rake Factory and Goose Island.

Then we took the steep descent on Croton Road to 523. I stopped where 579 splits off again. This is one of my favorite scenic places and I try to take pictures of it every time we pass. We'd gone by in the morning too, but there had been too much haze to make a stop worthwhile. Now I had plenty of time because Andrew had a flat. He turned down 579 and into a driveway to fix it.  I took a few pictures from the intersection.

Then I coasted down to the driveway and took one of Jack H, who, not ever wanting to stop, circled down then up again.

Andrew didn't want any help. He was taking a long time working by himself. Some of us were getting impatient. I suggested he forego his hand pump for a CO2 cartridge. I handed one to Pete R, who inflated Andrew's tube. We got rolling again.

In my rear view mirror I saw Andrew pull off to the side, then turn back towards the driveway. Ricky and Brad were with him. The two Petes, Jack H, and I waited down the road. "If someone offers you help fixing a flat," we agreed, "take it."

Eventually Ricky came coasting down with orders from Andrew and Brad for us to be on our way without them. So we did.

"Laura, I'm tired," Pete G complained.

"Me too."

"I wanna go home."

I started singing the chorus from Sloop John B, which I haven't heard in decades. (Here's the song's backstory.)

So hoist up the John B's sail

See how the main sail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, yeah yeah

Well I feel so broke up

I want to go home

Great song and all that, but it's not a good earworm to have when your legs are starting to hurt.

Fortunately we came across a small herd of longhorn cattle on Lambert Road so that I could stop for a few pictures. Imagine having to carry that rack around all the time. Makes a 54-mile hilly bike ride in 90-degree heat seem like nothing. Thanks for the pep talk, cow.

"This is the last of the hills," I said as we turned onto Seabrook Road from Brookville Hollow. "I think. Never trust the ride leader."

Ricky laughed because he didn't believe me anyway.

"It's the last one until the next one," I said.  There were, in fact, at least two more next ones until, at the intersection with Lambertville Headquarters, it really was all downhill from there.

Even Jack H, who has been overly cautious on descents since his crash on Federal Twist, let loose. I was happy to see him fly past me. He was too.

I took my time loading the car and then wandered into CVS in search of a drink. Nothing there looked worthwhile and I wandered out again. Everyone else had left. As I was pulling out onto Route 29 Brad and Andrew were rolling in. "Everything okay?" I asked. They called back that they were fine, and I went on my way.

So, we have a new rest stop. I need to figure out a less brutal route to and from Pittstown that doesn't involve driving an hour to a starting point. Jim posted the route he and Tom took home. They shaved off 8 miles and a few hundred feet of ascent. Now that I've got the county maps back on the wall I can stare at Hunterdon again while I brush my teeth. I'll figure something out. We'll be back.