Pulpit and Pinnacle and Recovery

The Pinnacle

25 May 2024

Every year, Our Jeff tries to get to the Pinnacle and Pulpit, two rock outcrops on the Appalachian Trail near Hamburg, PA. It's a nine-mile hike. He set the date for yesterday.

I decided to start my vacation a day early to join him and Heddy.

I'm not a hiker. My left ankle's outer ligament is stapled to my bone after 12 sprains in 11 years more than 30 years ago. My ankle's proprioceptors went away with the shredded bits of ligament, so I have to wear a complicated brace every time I do something not on level ground.  The immobilized ankle tends to send torque to my left knee, and then on up to my hip. After experiencing this on a hike up to Mount Tammany a while back, I hadn't been on a hilly hike at all. 

Two winters ago, I bought a set of hiking poles, hoping I'd have a chance to use them properly. They're good for protecting knees on descents. They'd help with my ankle, too. I used them once on a fairly level surface; they weren't very helpful there.

They stayed folded in a closet until yesterday. 

Heddy and I parked our cars at Jeff's and he drove the hour and a half up to Hamburg, PA.

Somewhere along the way, I noticed a little spider making its way across the back of Jeff's headrest. Of course, I took a picture and sent it up to iNaturalist for identification. The best I could get, zooming in on a cell phone photo in a shaky car, was enough to say that the critter was something in the crab spider family.

It was barely past 9:00 and already the little gravel lot at the base of the trail was almost full.

I unfolded my poles and, to my dismay, could not get them to lock in place. I handed one over to Jeff. He wasn't sure how he did it, but the one he was holding stayed put. There was only one lever to tighten. That wasn't working on the pole I was holding. As we walked towards the trailhead, I tried over and over, dismantling it, reattaching it, looking for secret buttons, and eventually giving up. I folded it, strapped it together, and attached it to the side of my pack. One pole would have to do.

At first the trail was gravel. The gravel gave way to larger rocks as we reached the Appalachian Trail proper. Jeff had warned us about this. He said the rocks would get larger as we got closer to the peak of our first climb.

Once in a while, I'd pull out the busted pole and try again to no avail. After stashing it away again for the last time, having noticed that the pole was now in two pieces, I took out my camera to get a few shots of the trail.

As we started climbing, the pole I was using began to come apart. I snapped it back together a couple of times, but after it happened again, I folded it up and stashed it with the other one. As luck would have it, I hadn't gone more than a few steps when, lying across the trail, was the perfect piece of branch. Thick on one end and slightly curved on the other, the bark mostly peeled away, the shape and height seemed perfect for a walking stick. So, there I was, a hundred dollars of useless gear clanging away on my backpack, and dumb old stick in my hand.

Having one hand free helped as we got closer to the Pulpit. The rocks got bigger. We started hopping from one to the next, and then climbing up them. At least I got to see some little orchard orbweavers up close. 

An outcrop called the Pinnacle was our reward. Jeff got there first and gestured towards the view.

Heddy posed for some glamor shots. I decided to ham it up too, next to Heddy's poles. Heddy took the pictures. Only the one not showing my face is worth posting. I told her to delete the others.

I was already feeling tired. We'd only covered 2.5 miles. Most of the climbing was finished, though. Now we just had the rocky trail to deal with.

More than a few times I felt the brace catch my ankle. Jeff said he'd nearly turned his too. I saw Heddy's feet wobble on a few occasions.

Heddy found a snakeskin on a rock. Jeff suspected it was shed by a rattlesnake.

We reached the Pinnacle, a higher outcrop, after scrambling over a few more boulders. Jeff aimed for a rock in the shade. We had our lunch and took pictures.

Vultures circled next to the outcrop. Some of them wound up in my pictures.

"Would you do this again?" Jeff asked. Heddy said yes. I said no. I was aching from the hips down, sticky with sweat, and pissed off at my hiking poles.

Not long after we started down the mountain, I found another stick. It wasn't as good as the first for gripping, but it was sturdy. Now, finally, I had something to help me protect my knees. It was already feeling too late for that, though. I was picking my way very slowly through the rocks. A lot of hikers had blown past us already. Now I felt as if I were slowing things down. I was miserable. Despite having a job that keeps me on my feet most of the day, and despite all the strength training I do, my legs were not prepared for this. I wasn't tired, at least. Just aching.

Finding the vernal pool was an excuse to stop for a minute. The terrain being what it was, I hadn't been able to enjoy the scenery at all. I'd been looking down the entire time. Now that we were on our way down and had plenty of time before our (extremely early) dinner reservation, it was okay to take a little more scenery in.

"Tadpoles!" I said, and pointed them out.  (This is a zoomed-in section of the photo above.)

I was in so much pain at this point that I slowed way down. Heddy was ahead, bopping along, the pain-free athlete that she is. Jeff was starting to feel the miles. When I saw a rock that looked like it needed to be sat on, I did, if only for a minute. Then I took pictures of all of our poles.

When we reached the helipad at the intersection of the Appalachian and Furnace Creek trails, we sat on the ground for a real break.

The Furnace Trail was, supposedly, a road, but it would have taken a tank to navigate some parts. It was rocky, still, but at least the rocks were generally smaller and the larger ones easier to avoid.

Now that we had plenty of time, Jeff was starting to notice the little things, like the tulip poplar petals that were scattered across the trail. 

We were following the creek, which we could hear, and, once in a while, see.

The trail led to a reservoir. I collapsed onto a rock.

"How much farther?" I asked. Jeff figured we'd be back at the car before 4:00.

"What time is it now?"

"3:10."

I blew a rasperry and heaved myself up again.

It was Jeff who found the asters growing around a dead tree branch.

And then we could see the gate, and behind it, the parking lot. "I'm keeping these sticks," I said, and laid them on the floor by the back seats of Jeff's car.

We cleaned ourselves off, changed into dry clothes, and got back into the car, soaking up the air conditioning. With extra time before the 4:30 reservation (I told you it was ridiculously early), Jeff gave us a tour of Lenhartsville, where his mother, aunts, and uncles grew up. He showed us a couple of houses they'd lived in, one of which still had a smokehouse out back. 

I wasn't hungry, which was weird because I'm always hungry. But I wasn't. The restaurant, Deitsch Eck, was part of Jeff's pilgrimage. He'd even ordered a shoo-fly pie in advance to bring to his sister. German cooking being what it is, and me being vegetarian, I ordered a small salad while Heddy and Jeff got proper German meals. I was more interested in all the hex signs scattered around. Having grown up close enough to Pennsylvania Dutch country to have been on a handful of trips, I'd wound up with a little hex sign of my own as a kid. I'd forgotten all about it until now. Something about one of them on the wall looked familiar. The artist credited on the menu cover was the same name as the one on my little hex sign: Zook. 

We each got desserts to go. We made it back to Jeff's house around 7:15. Having been scrunched up in the back seat for an hour and a half, I found myself with legs so stiff it hurt to walk to my car, which I had to do twice: once for all my gear, and again for the sticks. 

I knew that if I moved around some at home, on level ground, in my socks, I'd loosen up, so I spent time cleaning things off and putting my gear away. I got a shower, popped a couple of naproxen, ate some yogurt, and shared the slice of apple cobbler pie with Jack. 

I got Janice ready for Tom's Saturday ride. This included fitting her with a new Janice, a big-headed keychain that is such a far cry from the Muppet Janice is that I'm barely hanging onto the tradition at this point. Nevertheless:

Janice's new Janice accompanied me on Tom's ride this morning. He put all the hills first, and I felt them on tired legs. I was relieved that all I felt was a little bit of soreness. My knees didn't hurt and my hips were fine. I did much better after the rest stop, which was at a Wawa. Not wanting to hold up the group by standing in line for a cold brew, I got an iced coffee out of the machine. Their "regular" iced coffee comes out with cream and sugar. It tasted more like the latter and barely at all like the former. Whatever was in it, though, gave me what I needed for the rest of the ride.

Later in the afternoon, I took the busted poles, the worst one now fully coming apart, back to REI. After some discussion, because it had been more than a year since I purchased them, but they'd blown up after only two outings, I was given a full refund. I bought another pair, the same kind that Jeff and Heddy have. They telescope, but they don't fold. 

At home, I set them up and realized that my two prized sticks were actually too short for me. Perhaps that contributed to some of the pain I felt by the end. I'm relieved that I didn't actually get hurt, only severely sore for a night. I don't like this sort of intense hiking nearly as much as I like bike riding, that's for sure. 

Now, Jeff is contemplating a trip back to the Pinnacle and Pulpit in the fall. I said I'd go, but only if we can avoid the worst of the rocks. 

Middle of the Pack

 

Central Jersey Weather

19 May 2024

What prompted me to catch up on bike blogging is that Janice has lost her hands. More about that later.

This spring has been all about trying to keep bike-fit while having neither the time nor the weather to do it properly. I've spent more hours on Rouvy than usual, climbing double-digit European hills at single-digit speeds. I've gone on short, late-afternoon, steel bike rides after 5 hours of morning glassblowing. I've led a handful of hilly Saturday rides, tossing in at least one unnecessarily steep incline each time. I've managed to get to most of the Wedsnesday Premed rides that haven't been rained out. I've been able to haul Miss Piggy to work at least once per week since March; I actually got 3 in last week. Between Rouvy and commuting and outdoor rides, I've cobbled together back-to-back-to-back-to-back days of doing something. But has it been enough to keep me in good enough shape to do two real rides in a row?

Never a B rider in the hills, I've always listed my rides as B to allow for the pace we'd reach on flat stretches. On a fast day, we'd average somewhere in the mid-14s. That's C+. This year, I decided to list my rides as C+. I get the same people, more or less, but I feel more relaxed. On my rides and with the Premeds, I'm in the middle of the pack, which is a comfortable place to be. Convinced that 14 lost Sundays have done me no good, I take the hills as if I'm on Rouvy: by myself.  The new stem adjustment seems to have put me in a good position for climbing.

I haven't taken many pictures this year. Here's what I found on my camera, dating back to March:

Pete G led an invite-only ride on a Friday morning in late March. I have vacation days to burn, so I took one. We stopped at Twin Pines for a kidney break. The soccer goals were stacked at the near end of the field.

Pete took us through neighborhoods and pedestrian paths I did not know existed. We took a short break at Mountain Lakes in Princeton.

I have this photo of a bird's nest in a budding tree from March 30. 

That would have been a Saturday. The club calendar says I led a ride that day. Maybe it's the time we went to Sergeantsville and I hauled everyone up Mine Road again because I'm an asshole.

Then we had the eclipse on April 8. On April 14, I woke up early enough to see the sun rising between the trees in our neighborhood. I stuck the sun filter on my camera and snapped a few pictures through the bedroom window.

So much for that experiment.

Then there was the April 24 Premed ride. I made two unforgiveable errors on that ride: I took some pictures, and I stopped to pee. There's no time for either of those things on a Premed ride.

In my defense, a lot of people had their phones out at the intersection of Van Sant and Pidcock Creek. My mistake was putting my phone back in its bag (if I'd had my camera, this would not have been an issue). I got left behind.

I caught up easily enough, and told the leader I needed to find a tree. I got dropped again. Fortunately, the group had stopped around the corner to intiate some new riders into the kiss-the-cows tradition started years ago by Bob and Norene. One doesn't actually kiss these cows; one feeds them grass from our side of the fence. 

I've since retrained myself to arrive at the Premed ride dehydrated.

Four Saturdays ago, I canceled a Lambertville to Flemington ride an hour before the start because of rain. Three people showed up anyway and did the ride. I'm grateful for this, because Brad reported back that the roads were good and the rest stop worthy.

Two Saturdays ago, I tried again. I like the roads on the ridge between Lambertville and Flemington because of their names. Whenever I'm leading, I aim to get to at least one goofy intersection. It's disappointing that "Rake Factory" has been shortened to "Rake." Nevertheless, Goose Island remains. There is no island and there are no geese on this road,

This was a day with little chance of rain in the morning forecast. As we rode along the ridge, I kept an eye on the clouds, not because I thought we'd get wet, but because they looked like a puffy blanket.

Most of the climbing was before the break. Factory Fuel having gone the way of most of our favorite rest stops, we tried Bread and Culture at the corner of Main and Mine. Brad had warned me that their pastries were gigantic. They were so large that some of our riders took pictures. There was a sandwich that was nearly a foot-wide round loaf of bread cut in half and stuffed with meat. I chose a sourdough cookie, two thirds of which I wrapped up and put in my pocket for later. Martin, meanwhile, staying with our bikes around the back, managed to befriend the owner, who is himself a cyclist. "Did you ask him to put up a bike rack?" we asked. He hadn't. 

Our two steepest climbs were close together as we left Flemington. The caffeine and sugar helped.

We were rolling along the ridge, somewhere above Frenchtown on Route 519, when we felt the first raindrops. By the time we got down to Lower Creek Road, it was full-on raining. Lower Creek is beautiful, even in the rain. I was nervous leading the group down Route 29 between Stockton and Lambertivlle, but we all made it back alive. Next time I lead this ride, we'll leave from Stockton.

Last Saturday it was Tom's turn to lead. He took us from Bordentown to Vincentown. The day started out partly sunny (I slept through the aurora, damnit) and clouded over by the end of the ride.

Naturally, we had to walk across a bridge that was under construction.

My back started to hurt towards the end of the ride. This was the first truly flat ride I'd been on in months. My position is different when I'm in the big ring and trying to go faster. I also had less sleep than I needed, which always makes things worse. Now I'm not so sure I'll be able to do a flat century without having to stop to stretch at regular intervals. I've stepped up my PT again. Tight hamstrings pull on my bad disc.

It rained the next day, making this the 15th Sunday in a row without a real ride. I hopped onto Rouvy, which served up some hilly Italian nonsense with a few double-digit climbs. I've spent so much time on Rowlf this winter that the gears are starting to slip already. I've pinged Plain Jim, fresh back from bike mechanic certification.

Speaking of Plain Jim, I did his ride today, breaking the Sunday absences, finally. But before I get to that, I need to describe Marty and Bobbi's Hill Slug ride yesterday.

I didn't feel like leading. The forecast had been on the cusp of iffy all week. When Marty listed a last-minute Sourlands ride out of Hopewell for 8:30 a.m. Saturday, I signed up. The ride filled shortly after that. I made sure to get plenty of sleep.

The route was 48 miles with something more than 50 feet per mile. There weren't any truly obnoxious ascents in there, just a lot of them. Having adapted the route from Tom, who adapted it from me for his book, Marty's roads were all familiar ones. 

We looped southwest out of Hopwell and got stuck at the intersection of Main and Delaware as a  Pennington Day foot race came through. I steered the group out of the morass, using my usual Tree Farm Road detour that was new to Marty. He and Bobbi decided they like that way better. There's less traffic.

We climbed Woosamonsa, and got ourselves over to Goat Hill. I was in the middle of the pack, doing my own thing. I got to the top thinking that the climb wasn't really that bad. This is what the right amount of sleep and the right attitude gets me. 

Unfortunately, it was also raining. It's been so wet around here that I watched raindrops hit a puddle that has clearly been around for a while, as Bobbi and Marty decided whether or not to cut the ride short. The road was wet.

They decided to cut the ride short. I was fine with that, having been caught in the rain once already this week during a commute home from work. "No need to be a hero," I said.

One rider replied, curtly, "Everyone can make their own decision." I took this as a retort to me, and it's been rattling around in my head all weekend. This rider continued along the planned route, along with two others.

The rest of us headed for Route 518. The rain petered out. When we got to Route 579, I suggested we could go south and back up Woosamonsa, retracing our steps, adding elevation, and getting us off the busy roads. Everyone was on board with that, save for the two fastest riders, who decided enough was enough and stuck with 518.

We got separated at the end of Woosamonsa, when I saw what I thought was Marty (it wasn't) signaling a turn onto Burd. I was in the middle of the front pack then. We turned, and, when Marty and Bobbi didn't show up at the end of Burd, I called Bobbi. She'd gone straight, realized she was making a bee-line for Route 31, and turned around. A few minutes later, we were back together again and heading for Pennington. In all this time, there was only a smattering of drizzle.

In the end, we had almost 40 miles and 50 feet per mile, a good enough distance with a typical Hill Slug ratio. I drove home in real rain. Later that afternoon, I learned from Bobbi that the three full-mileage folks had made it back dry. I regretted my choice to bail. On the other hand, I wasn't nearly as tired as I thought I ought to be.

Again, I got enough sleep and felt pretty good as I drove up to Jim's ride. 

I was setting up Janice when I noticed that both of her hands were gone. Weeks ago, I'd removed the pinwheel she'd been holding because it was no longer spinning. In the process, her left hand came loose. I'd popped it back in. That it would have fallen out again wasn't much of a surprise. But her right hand? How did that happen?

I was about to unpin her from the saddlebag when Rickety told me I shouldn't. "You have to hava a Muppet," he said. He's not wrong.

"Look, Ma! No hands!"

The thing is, though, that for the past year, I've had too many people ask me if it was Barbie I had pinned to my bag. I'm so sick of that question. 

As we rode along, I considered my options: One, pin the spare Janice to the bag (I always have a spare) and assume she'll be decripit a year from now; two, replace her with Gonzo, which is the Muppet from bike Janice displaced, but still call the bike Janice; three, find a new sort of Janice to hang from the bag; or four, "Hey, Jim. I think you need to sew me a Janice."

I went with option three, buying a pair of Janice keychains on eBay. They're less her likeness than the current model is, but they'll hew to the spirit of the thing.

As for the actual ride, again I feel as if I didn't do much, and I survived two biking days in a row. I guess all that early spring panic did its job. I'll keep at it. Nova Scotia is three months away.