The Gang's All Here

Prallsville Mills from the Towpath

30 November 2025

Tom invited the Insane Bike Posse for a Black Friday off-the-books ride on the Lawrence Hopewell Trail. In a rare event, the entire posse of regulars, minus one who was traveling, plus one visiting guest, made it to the start.

I rode in from home on Fozzie. I was in full winter gear as the temperature hovered around freezing. I stuck to the road past the Lenox Drive and Brearley House entrances to save time. I must have had a tailwind.

Martin and Pete had ridden in from Pete's house. The parking lot at Maidenhead Meadows was so full that Blob had to move his car over to give a truck the last possilbe space. Rickety and Our Jeff were there, as were Heddy and Ginger (who had never seen the LHT). Even Plain Jim made a rare appearance on his newish Motobecane gravel bike.

Tom had told us we'd be going counterclockwise, but when we started out, he said he'd changed his mind. Some folks in the group were riding over the Maidenhead Meadows boardwalk for the first time. It's more of a causeway; it's about a quarter mile long, hovering a few feet above the surrounding wooded wetlands. 

With lobster-claw gloves, there was no taking pictures with my phone. I didn't think to bring the years-old, semi-functioning, PowerShot stored on the top shelf of a closet. I could have managed that with no fingers. Next time.

There are still some places on the LHT were signs are lacking. The route through the Lawrenceville School campus is something less than clearly marked. There are no signs at all through the Pennington neighborhood between Wargo and Moores Mill-Mount Rose Roads. We've been doing the LHT long enough to wing it in those places.

By the time we got to the Province Line Road bridge over the Stony Brook, we were getting spread out. The road surface south of the bridge is deteriorating. It's a steeper climb that way, too, but at least it's easier to avoid the mess at low speed.

Tom still avoids the trail section on Old Mill Road. It's been improved, but he still takes the road. I think the section through Carson Road Woods is much worse. There's no way to avoid that easily, though. It comes toward the end when riding clockwise.

Crossing Province Line at Route 206 and again at Bannister Drive is annoying, but it's better than fighting with heavy traffic on the narrow road.

There were still a lot of cars in the Maidenhead Meadows lot when we trickled in. Next to us, the Christmas tree farm was blaring music. Their lot was full. 

I rode home in the woods, over the causeway again, to avoid the wind and traffic. 

My plan was to list a towpath ride for the next day. When I sent out feelers, some of the folks who'd been enthusiastic about the idea on the LHT ride bowed out. It was so late in the evening at this point that I decided it would be easier to keep the ride off the books than to hound everyone into signing in. There would only be five of us anyway.

Saturday was warmer than Friday by a few degrees, and less windy too. However, we wouldn't have as much protection from what wind there was.

Pete rode into Washington Crossing from home, as did Martin. They met me, Heddy, and Plain Jim (again!) there. 

We stayed on the New Jersey side all the way to Bulls Island. Jim had misread my description as 18 miles, not 28, and, in Stockton, asked "Where are we going?" 

"Lumberville!" I said. I was wearing my decades-old winter jacket with the giant back pocket. I'd promised Jack some cookies from the Lumberville General Store.

We did have a headwind. I could tell it was coming by looking at the surface of the canal. Sometimes it was glassy; sometimes it was rippled.

The canal, a feeder for the main one on the PA side, peters out to the north of Bulls Island, but near the south of Bulls Island, the grade is so steep that the feeder is hard to see.

One is supposed to walk one's bike over the Bulls Island bridge. I don't always. There were pedestrians this time, so we half rode, half one-legged it.

In Lumberville, we sat outside to keep ourselves from the shock of warming up too much indoors then stepping out. When we left, my figers were cold. It didn't take long for them to warm up again. I had a pocket full of cookie ballast, but we had a tailwind so it didn't matter.

Pete and Martin were lobbying for the western towpath detour around the center of Lambertville. They didn't want to have to dodge pedestrians like we did on the way up. I don't enjoy the detour route as much. It's not well maintained. It can get muddy and rocky, and then there's a lot of on-street riding through parking lots and behind the smelly sewage treatment plant. But we did it anyway because I wanted to get pictures of the old rail car. 

I've passed it many times this year without stopping for pictures. This time I did. The train is a palette for graffiti. The work looked relatively fresh.

Today is rainy. I'll be a good bike club leader next week and post something official, if Tom doesn't beat me to it.

Hot Mess Part Fifty-One: Herding Cats

Don't like it? Smash it and  try again.

28 November 2025

When the bean counters at Bucks County Community College abruptly canceled our fall glassblowing class in early June, mere days before tuition was due, it was a dick move. Of 20 available seats, 12 were already taken, and there was an instructor in place. To make sure that the 12 of us knew to go pound sand forever, the powers that be declared that the entire contents of the hot shop were to be sold, boxed up, and/or discarded. 

I was left with a dozen glass bars and dozens of containers of frit, some new, because, more fool me, I thought I'd be blowing glass for at least another semester.

I was also left with three crates of student sale glass that I'd been told could go back to campus in the fall. Now what?

This wasn't my glass to sell nor to discard. I tried to find out what was to become of the student glass and of the nearly $2000 that we had in our glass club account. I emailed a handful of administrative contacts and got nowhere. 

At the end of July, I finally got through to someone at the student life office who was willing to take the crates off my hands. I drove them to campus on July 31, and that might be the last time I'll ever set foot there. 

Meanwhile, I'd rejoined a local organic farm, and a perk of my weekly share was flowers. With the cats now old enough to leave a vase alone, I experimented with some of the ones I liked little enough not to be sad if the cats had other plans.

What I learned was that the long-neck vases that I like making the most look the worst with flowers stuffed into them. The tall vases from the final semester don't do the job well either. It's the medium-sized ones with wide openings that hold flowers the best.

The farm had straw flowers, which are pretty much dried when they're open, so I cut the tops of a bunch and stuffed them into a semi-reject clear bowl that had been used as a cat water dish for a while.

I stuffed a bunch into another clear vase, and they looked great in there until they got moldy. I hadn't dried them out quite enough. Forunately I got a photo before the fungus set in.

But that's not what this blog post is about. This blog post is about how 8 of us tried to blow glass somewhere else.

Sage called me in August. She'd found a studio all the way out in Reading that seemed to be charging reasonable rates for bench time. "That's too far," I told her. "Sometimes and I were looking into a place in Newark," I said. "But they charge for everything, and it's far too."

We settled on East Falls Glassworks, a bad hour's drive away, in Philadelphia. It was the closest thing. 

I'd been there once before, in December 2023. Sage had been there years ago as well. We decided on who we'd want to work with from our class. There were three benches. We could get six people in and take over the place. We picked six other people we felt comfortable with, basically everyone but Murano and the Saturday morning hotshots. No offense to them and their talents; we just work better with each other.

Of the people we asked, only Rose said no. She'd taken up ballroom dancing a year ago and was deep into it. 

I contacted East Falls, and ended up talking to the manager who I'd met the last time I was there. H had heard about the BCCC shenanigans and offered us a 10% discount for the rest of the calendar year. She gave me a handful of dates that had all benches free.

The cat herding began. I set up a Doodle poll for everyone to fill out. There wasn't a single date everyone could make, but there were several where six of us or four of us could. I picked those, got back in contact with H, and reserved 5 dates. It would involve me taking a few days off from work to blow in the morning, but I had vacation days to burn.

Our first day was October 1. Days before, Sage called to say she'd come down with COVID but that she'd pay for her share of the time anyway.

I drove to the Yardley Park and Ride to meet GGP. We gave ourselves almost an hour and a half to get down there, and we wanted to arrive early for orientation. At rush hour, that meant leaving Yardley at 7:45 a.m.

The studio is at the bottom of a hill, on a narrow road with on-street parking, in a building that could once have been a factory. A small sign hangs near the entrance, which is in a breezeway. We dragged our equipment up the three cement steps to the door of the studio. I was carrying the most: a wheeled tool bag, my pipes, and a backpack full of rods, frit, and water.

Sometimes was already there when we arrived. R gave us a quick run-down of the equipment and showed us the annealer we'd be using.

"Bucks Crew!" it said. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The raw glass here was a different brand from what we were used to. The Bomma cullet we had worked with was thick and gooey. The Kugler Clear in this furnace was thin and runny. There was no yoke in front of the furnace either. It was off to the side. Everything felt hotter, even though it was set to the same temperature as before. I had a hard time getting a good gather; I couldn't stay at the furnace long enough without feeling as if I were roasting my arm. 

Any sensible person would have spent their first day working with the clear glass, making simple things like flowers or cups or maybe an ornament or two. Not us. We dived straight into color. My goal, after all, was to use up as much color as possible before running out of shelf space. GGP and Sometimes went for frit and molds right away. I cut up rods (on a crude guillotine rather than a wet saw, which had its own learning curve).

Because there were only three of us, I ended up putting four pieces in the annealer. I made three little cups and one screwed-up vase, whose center had collapsed because a) I was using a rod, and b) I had no clue how to manage the heat with this cullet. Sometimes did well and banged out three tall vases. GGP was as flummoxed as I was and worked small.

We weren't scheduled to return for another three weeks. I didn't want to burden the studio with our work for that long. Jack and I had dinner reservations with a friend in Philly that Saturday anyway, so we drove down early. I offered to sand down everyone's pieces so they'd stand without wobbling. Back at Bucks, there was a flat wheel sander in the classroom, and anyone could use it as long as the room was open. Here, the sander was in a cold-working room and had to be reserved for $25 an hour. East Falls takes good care of their equipment, though, so the extra charge was worth it. That, and I didn't have to worry about jockying for time on the wheel. 

Our work was on a shelf in a dark corner, with tape under it reading, "Bucks Crew."

My first cup was made with frit. Not enough frit. Uneven. Thick.

Cerulean Blue is one of my favorite glass colors. I really wanted this rod to work. Instead, I made this hopeless mess.

Not having the hang of using a guillotine to cut rod, I'd wound up with a thin slice that I used as a wrap for a clear cup. Had I stuck with working in clear, I'd have ended the day with more than once piece that was worth saving.

But no, I had to get fancy and pick up two slices of rod at once. Both were Cherry Red, one from Gaffer and the other from Reichenbach (who owns Gaffer now but keeps the two colors because whatever). I've always liked Gaffer's Cherry Red better. It looks like a Charms lollipop. You want to lick it. The Reichenbach version is a little more opaque, but also a brilliant red. I picked up both colors and twisted them together. I was hoping they'd end up different enough to show up as swirls. In the light of the cold-working room, I could barely see any difference at all. The walls were thick and the top too narrow to be a comfortable drinking glass.

I set it on the window sill at work, where I hoped the direct afternoon sunlight would show something. Not so much, but there it sits anyway.

I lined everything up on the table. Not horrific for a first try, I figured. Still, I knew I could do better.

The collapsed vase lasted less than a day at home. I took it out back, folded it in newspaper, and went at it with a hammer.

I put the thinner shards in a plastic bag and dropped the bag into my backpack. Better luck next time, I hoped.

A few days later, Pumpkin Master dropped a handful of photos of the old classroom into our spring workshop group text. Everything had been labeled for sale, for storage, or for the trash heap. 

The flat wheel sander and furnace control panels were for sale.

The tools and molds were boxed up for storage. 

The annealers were for sale.

Our poor, decrepit glory hole was marked for sale.

The big oven wasn't worth saving, apparently.

We learned that the instructor who had been hired to teach us was now being paid to gut the classroom. She made quick work of it. Four days later, our text chain received another batch of photos.

"It's like watching a decaying corpse," I wrote. If any one of us had been holding out hope (I wasn't), this should have ended that for good.

When October 22 rolled around, half the people who had signed up for the morning had canceled. Fortunately, I was able to alert East Falls with enough time not to get charged for the extra bench.

It was only me and GGP working together that day. Thinking I might have a handle on the cullet, I warmed up the blue shards on the hot plate I'd brought with me. This was the hot plate I'd purchased for the Bucks workshop when our usual one went missing -- the interim Dean being all about clutter reduction -- and I had never asked for reimbursement. On the last day of the workshop, I took it and the metal disc we'd set on top of it to give ourselves more surface to work with. I figured it might disappear over the summer if I didn't take it with me. Of course I'd counted on returning all of it in the fall, but, well, I guess the disc is mine now. Anyway, I used the hot plate and made a wonky bowl. The sides were uneven. I knew I could do better.

In my early color-buying days, I got a full rod of Canary Yellow. A few years later, when I thought I'd used it all up, I bought another. This spring, when I was reorganizing, I found the first rod. It had slipped under some bags of frit. Now I had two rods, and I was determined to use one of them up.

Losing control of a soft color helps with that process.

Gah.

Ugh.

Before things went to hell, I'd bought a sample pack of aventurine rods. Thinking I could handle it, I picked up small slices of all three colors and mixed them together. The setup was fine; the blowout was a failure. The walls started collapsing, and when I transferred to a punty and went to the glory hole with it, half the piece exploded off. I saved the rest because why not.

I was back the next night. We were supposed to have all three benches this time, but Sage was still out and Iron Maiden was running late. JS didn't fire up the third hole and let us cancel it after the fact, which was overly nice of her and H. Every employee I've interacted with at East Falls has been a pleasure. They're all young and full of tattoos. 

GGP and Low Key, who I'd carpooled in with, worked at one bench. Sometimes and I took the other. Iron Maiden, when he arrived, wanted to watch us for a while instead of leaping in. He did eventually, with a Moody Blue bowl. The kid's good. GGP and Low Key, on the other hand, to hear them tell it, were not having  a good night.

I, meanwhile, was using up more Canary Yellow rod. I wanted a simple bowl I could eat big salads from. Instead, I lost control again. 

At this point, I had to remind myself that we were not in a class. There would be no critique. There were no hotshots to be embarrassed in front of. On the other hand, I knew I could do better than this.

I'd picked up a Smoke Blue Light rod. What I ended up with looked nothing like the pale, transparent blue from the online pictures. This was a thick, uneven mess.

We were using an upright annealer this time. The top shelf, I didn't notice, did not go all the way to the front. When I helped Sometimes by putting her vase in, it tipped, rolled off the shelf, smashed somebody's work on the bottom of the annealer, then shattered on the floor. She took a few minutes outside. When she came back, I implored her to take two turns to make up for my mistake. Between this and yesterday's glory hole explosion, I was losing faith in my ability to blow glass.

Sometimes made two more vases, both better than the one I'd dropped.

There was time for me to try one more thing. I mixed two frit colors and, not trying anymore for symmetry, swung a tall vase.

My office mate was out of the country on vacation. I brought the wonky blue shard bowl in to serve as a pot for her "crinkle pink" plant.

I gave her Christmas catctus the second failed yellow bowl.

At home, I took a hammer to the first cup and the dense blue cup, picked up the thinner shards, put them in a plastic bag, and dropped the bag into my glassblowing backpack.

Our next session was a week after the previous one, at night again. Low Key met me at my house again, and we picked up GGP in Yardley. The two of them worked together. Sometimes, preparing for a craft fair, was banging out mushrooms and roses. 

I made a bowl with the pink and blue shards. My first try was thick and heavy, and fell to the floor when I went to transfer it. I ran and got another punty, then picked it up. I introduced it slowly to the glory hole, like one is supposed to when something like this happens. It didn't matter. The bowl exploded in the hole and we had to dig the pieces out.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" I asked Sometimes. "If they have a bench open, you wanna work again?" While I was trying again with what remained of the shards, she checked and secured us a spot. "I need more time," I explained.

I worked more slowly and thinner this time. The colors came out muted (the blue looking smoky after all). The shape wasn't what I was after. But at least it was in one piece.

Next up, more Canary Yellow. I let the rod cool too much on the pipe, apparently, because when I went into the furnace to gather over it, the yellow exploded and I had to fish the color out. I had never had that happen before. I burned my hand in the process by being to close to the furnace for too long. There was enough color left on the pipe for me to make something from it.

Ironically, I made a thin, straight cup, finally. And then broke the bottom out when I knocked it off the punty at the end. That's what glue is for. I fixed it at home and put it on the top shelf of one of my display cabinets, where the light makes the color pop.

Once again I tried picking up two aventurine rods and mixing them together. This time the sides only collapsed a little, near the top. It was late and I was tired. The thing was in one piece. I put it away wonky.

The indentation made for a good hand-hold as a drinking glass, but the top was thick. I couldn't decide whether to keep it or smash it. I put it in the cabinet instead, where it sparkles wonkishly. 

On our drives to and from the studio, GGP and I complained to each other about our frustrations. "I feel as if I've been set back two years," I said. "Two years!" she exclaimed. She felt like a beginner again.

I was lying awake at night stressing out over glassblowing. This was supposed to be fun, yet here I was, feeling like I did back in the beginning, when Jack would tell me to stop telling him how much I hated my stuff. I was keeping that more to myself this time, but still. 

I had loads of photos ready to be blogged about, but I didn't know what to write. I had nothing in reserve to give people for the winter holidays. I wasn't filling the shelves. I was smashing things.

The fifth and final session was the following Wednesday morning. With Sage still out, I asked CP if he wanted to jump in for free. Low Key had to cancel too, but Sometimes was able to take her spot. 

I picked up the aventurine shards from the first exploded vase. With CP helping me, I did the best I could to make a bowl from pieces that each seemed to want to move in a different direction. The top was wavy. The body was bulgy. I couldn't tell how bad it actually was until it came out of the annealer.

The bowl lived in the Cabinet of Judment for a few weeks.

It didn't grow on me. It didn't sparkle right. There was only one side that was close to presentable. It got smashed on Thanksgiving Day. If something is to come out of this pile of shards, it will have to be called "Third Time's a Charm."

(But I'm getting ahead of the timeline.)

CP had his turn struggling with the new glass. 

I decided to do a reactive color experiment without worrying about form. I made a cup that has different colors depending on which side you're looking at.

I still had two rods in the oven. I was too frustrated to try anything with them. I decided to make a couple of tiny cats instead. The first one turned out better than the second, but at least the aventurine one didn't explode.

When I got home, Sometimes texted me. She was swamped at work and needed to cancel our last-minute reservation. 

So was that it? Was it over? None of us seemed to think we were done. Did I want to herd cats again? No. But I could send a text to the Bucks Crew asking if anyone was up for another night before Thanksgiving. Iron Maiden was. I snagged us a Wednesday evening.

My office mate was still away. I swapped yellow bowls, taking the floppier one home. I moved the Christmas cactus into the blue bowl, which I now no longer hated.

In the display case at home, there was barely room on the floppy bowl shelf for the yellow one.

By placing these pieces in the cabinets, I was simultaneously accepting my current level of skill and lowering my expectations.

It was now Wednesday night, the week before Thanksgiving. Iron Maiden knew he'd be a little late. I arrived early. All the benches were being used. People were banging out ornaments. I set up at the far bench and laid out frit. I was going to make ornaments too.

But I was going to work with clear glass first. I went back to basics in my head, too. I got my own soundtrack going, a thing I always used to to before as a way not to focus on anything but the glass. 

I made a clear ornament. It was tiny. It was thick. The hook was messy.

I made a second one. It was thinner and bigger. The hook was subpar.

I made two more clear ones, failing on a couple along the way.

I loaded a gather with a green frit mix. I heard the telltale clang of the rod guillotine behind me. "Hi, Iron Maiden!" I called. The ornament came out smaller, but it was round. 

"Do another one!" he said. His rods needed time to warm up anyway. I did another one, which collapsed, then another one, which didn't.

He made a Moody Blue bowl. 

I lost my ornament mojo but got another one in before giving up. I finished the night with seven in the annealer (the first one ended up cracked, but the rest survived).

At the middle bench, one of the employees was making ornaments too. His, which he was blowing from a difficult mold, didn't always work, which made me feel a little better. I remembered Thread Sherpa telling me it takes a dozen to get back into the groove. Well, I was halfway there. 

I lost the soundtrack in my head when the ornament guy bluetoothed his playlist into the speakers. I decided to try another bowl, with frit this time. I got closer to what I wanted. It was thinner. I tried to spin it out, not into a floppy, but straight. I lost control of it at the end. It didn't flop, but the top went wavy. I liked the shape, even if it was a bit hat-ish (a sign of failure in the classroom days). Unfortunately, I spent a little too much time trying to fire-polish the punty after break-off, and the bottom started to crack. I put it away anyhow. It survived the annealer. I ran some glue over the crack at home. I put it in the Cabinet of Judgment. I can't give it away because of the crack. I can keep it until I do better.

At the end of the night, I figured I'd go for one more ornament. I blew the bubble too thin, though, and it collapsed. "Let's make a cat with this," I told Iron Maiden, and showed him how to bring me a bit for the tail. 

Heddy has this cat now, and she likes the way the blue mix looks when the light hits it.

That night, I made it home in record time, in 50 minutes. I felt better about things, like maybe I was getting a tiny grip on this new glass.

The next day, I sent a text to everyone asking about dates in December because we'd still have the discount until the end of the year. GGP, Sometimes, and Iron Maiden went for it. I'll be taking two Wednesdays off between now and Christmas to work with GGP in the mornings. I'll spend one Wednesday night with Sometimes and one with Iron Maiden. That will bring me to 10 sessions. I'll devote one of them to ornaments so I can sell them to raise money for charity. The rest, well, there's still a lot of color to burn through, and holiday gifts to be made.