Fozzie at Rosedale Park
2 August 2026
While I was busy getting behind on my blogging, bike rides happened.
1: Mount Holly
Now that he lives near the Mansfiled Community Park, Our Jeff has been leading exploratory rides into territory that is new to him. On June 6, he led us to the Colonial Cafe in Mount Holly. When we arrived, there was a street fair happening down the block.
The cafe was across from a topiary giraffe, which was decked out it patriotic colors, because why not?
The shrub next to our bikes was decked out in sheet-weaver spider webs, their owners hiding.
We passed an old firehouse on our way out of town.
After the ride, Our Jeff had a few of us over to his new house for snacks and cold drinks.
2: Lambertville
I had listed a hilly ride for the next day. It ended up being one of those "what was I thinking?" routes, but the weather was good. We went from Pennington to Lambertville, taking Rileyville all the way up the mountain and halfway down the other side.
We stopped at Union Coffee, which is my favorite Lambertville rest stop. The joint was jumping.
On the way back, we took Woodens Lane. Some of us stopped at the top for pictures.
We got a little spread out on Pleasant Valley Road. I turned onto Pleasant Valley-Harbourton, what Cheryl M and I call the "suckers shortcut," because there was this one time on a group ride where we knew what was coming, were not having it, shouted "Suckers!" and made the left.
As we collected ourselves at the corner, I took a few more pictures.
3: LHT
June 13 was the Morris Area Freewheelers' Revolutionary Ramble, for which the Princeton Free Wheelers were conscripted as volunteers. I drove up to Liberty Corner with Our Jeff and Heddy. Plain Jim was our crew leader. Ginger was there too. We made a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread. The weather was good. The organizers were expecting 500 riders at our stop. We didn't see that many in our morning shift. Free luch was part of the deal, so we drove over to Raritan Valley Community College, where the ride started, and hung out there for a while.
We mulled over what sort of ride I should lead the next day and decided on the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail. I rode in from home on Fozzie and met the group at the Brearley House. We went counterclockwise. I stopped on the Maidenhead Meadows boardwalk for pictures.
We'd had some recent bad weather, and when we reached the path next to Titus Mill Road, we were met with a downed tree.
Martin was, of course, taking pictures of the group.
There was nobody home at the eagle's nest on Old Mill Road.
When we rolled into Rosedale Park, half of us hit the brakes to admire the meadow of coreopsis flowers.
Martin snapped this one because he was part of the group that didn't care about the meadow.
We made two diversions from the trail. The first was through private property, some corporate center that might or might not be occupied, on Carter Road. Luis led us through, and without a GPS recording of the ride, I'd never be able to repeat it.
The second diversion was in Pennington, so that we could grab a snack at Terra Momo. We doubled back to rejoin the trail at Old Mill.
I didn't ride the weekend after that because my naturalist friend was visiting, and we went romping through
open spaces instead.
4: Three Bridges
Tom took the helm on June 28, leading his Three Bridges ride from the canal towpath parking lot in Kingston. Because there were some new folks signed up, he brought out the Holy Kickstand and blessed it with Brita water.
As we headed toward Hollow Road, the sky looked threatening.
It never did rain though.
After our break at the Wawa on Summer Road, we doubled back. I'd seen cows in the stream on the way up, so I stopped on the way down. They were different cows bathing now, but one was giving me the stink eye, so it was worth it.
5: Heat Wave, Backache
Then two things happened: my back injury flared up, and we had a heat wave. I don't know what I did to myself, but when I biked into work that Tuesday, it hurt to sit, stand, and walk after I changed into my street clothes. It felt muscular, although something back there had been popping for a few months.
I hit it with all I had: multiple rounds of physical therapy, topical NSAIDs, and, as I remembered my sports medicine doctor advising me when I was diagnosed in 2010, walking.
The pain was the worst first thing in the morning on Wednesday. I usually put my socks on standing up, my leg directly in front of me. Now I couldn't even do it crossing my legs. Stretches helped enough to get down to breakfast. By the time I was finished with my coffee, everything was stiff again, but now I had energy. So, despite the temperature already in the high 80s with a heat index in the 90s at 10:30 in the morning, I decided that I needed to go out and walk.
I drove to the Brearley House and hobbled through the woods to the canal towpath.
For some reason, I'd thought the section north to Province Line would be shaded, maybe because I only ever do this bit in the winter. Well, it was very much not in the shade.
I was soaked with sweat by the time I reached the underpass at Province Line. I turned around here. I also texted Heddy and Our Jeff to let them know how stupid I was being at the moment.
My reward a slaty skimmer dragonfly that stood still long enough for an in-focus cell phone photo.
My back was feeling better, so I decided to keep going after I returned to the parking lot. I wanted to walk on the Maidenhead Medows boardwalk, in the shade. The trek from my car to the start of the boardwalk took all of two minutes, but in the heat it felt like forever.
It wasn't all in the shade either.
I turned around at the end of the boardwalk and found a tiny peacock fly on the railing.
A zebra jumping spider jumped away before I could get my phone out.
By the time I got home, my clothes drenched, my back was feeling much better. I waited a little while then signed up for the ride again.
Maybe this was stupid too, because AccuWeather was telling me it was stupid.
Jeff shortened the ride. I was able to keep up, but my back hurt on every hill. I took it easy, focusing on posture and spinning. On our way back to Washington Crossing, we gathered on Wrightsville Road and I took a couple of pictures, something I can't usually do on these rides. I wasn't the only one with my camera out.
By 10:00 that night, the temperature had gone down all of 8 degrees.
I went walking again the next day, which helped. Friday, July 3, was the club's All Paces ride. The start time was shifted to 8:00 and many of the routes shortened or postponed to the weekend. I'd signed up for the B- ride. Usually I ride in from home; this time I drove. I did not want to be on the road any longer than necessary. My back still hurt whenever there was an incline, but I was able to keep up.
July 4 was too hot to ride too. I needed a walk, so I went to Drexel Woods, where it was shady.
6: Recovering Too Hard
I was feeling a bit better by Sunday and rode over to Mercer County Park to meet Tom and some Slugs for an off-the-books ride. It was mostly flat and nothing hurt.
I drove from work to Skillman for Mike V's Tuesday ride. I'd been avoiding his rides because they are too fast for me. This one, though, was adapted from Tom's Three Bridges Ride, and I knew that if I got dropped I would know where I was.
The group was aggressive, but we stayed together. I had to work much harder than everyone else to keep myself in the pack. My back hurt a little on every incline. There were a lot of miles to pack in before sunset, and the fully clouded sky was no help. As sunset approached, the western sky cleared at the horizon, which gave us enough light for the last few miles. However, the final stretch was straight into a gunmetal gray bank of clouds. Mike altered the course to get us off of the blind curves on East Mountain. We hammered down Route 601 instead and got home at 8:10, with 20 minutes of light to spare.
Our Jeff's Wednesday evening ride promised to pack even more miles in. We had clear skies this time. He did have a bathroom break planned at the halfway point, but when we arrived at Holicong Park, there was bare ground where the bathrooms and sheltered picnic tables used to be. There were some fast people that Heddy and I overtook on the final 7 macho miles. It might have looked like I had skill, but it was pure luck that the light at Durham turned green while Heddy and I were still moving, and that the car the others stopped for at the 4-way intersection on Wrightstown Road was through as we approached. I ended up in front for most of the rest of the way, pushing much harder than I had any reason to, as the sun went down to our left. We made it back to Washington Crossing before dark, at 8:12 p.m.
In the parking lot, beat, I told Mike V, "If I don't show up for your ride tomorrow, you'll know why."
7: Towpath
Mike's Thursday ride was my second choice, the first being Marty A's Columbia Trail adventure. But the forecast was looking bleak, worse up north than down here, and he canceled. Mike's ride was listed as heading to the Homestead General Store in Upper Black Eddy. That's one of my favorite places and I hardly ever get there. There was a chance of rain later in the morning, but it was clear in Lambertville.
I got a couple of dreary canal photos before the ride started.
Mike had changed plans. We were going south instead, crossing over to Pennsylvania, and then heading north to Stockton after a rest stop in New Hope. We never got past New Hope. That's when I dared mention that I felt a few raindrops.
Our rest stop was at the Vanilla Cafe, where a colorful, sculpted pastry will set you back $8.50. I bought a brownie to go and had a fancy iced coffee. It's a sit-down place, and we took our time. When we finally left, there was rain for real. It wasn't enough to soak us; it was enough to make us hammer after we crossed the bridge into Lambertville. The real rain started after we'd packed up. I had the brownie for dessert that night. It wasn't a brownie. It tasted like a flourless lead brick and it sat in my stomach like one.
8: Blawenburg and Four Green Cats
Two days later on July 11, Tom led a ride from Mercer County Park to the Blawenburg Bistro. Once again there was a chance of rain. I rode in from home. When I got to the parking lot, Heddy said, "I guess it's not going to rain. You rode in." I replied, "I'm cutting off at Cherry Valley." She made a face.
I did cut off at Cherry Valley after the break, and everyone made it back dry. In the end, I had only a couple of miles more than the official route.
Our Jeff led another exploratory ride the next day. Our destination was Four Green Cats Cafe near Rancocas Woods, outside of Mount Laurel. I decided to dust off Beaker, the Tommasini. I was glad I did, because Tony G chose to ride his Tommasisni from his 20-odd bike collection.
The cafe is connected to a labyrinthine, 2-story antiques market. I went in as far as the rest room. When I came out, Heddy and Jeff beckoned me to an alcove. Jeff held a pillow bearing a moose riding a bicycle. For $75 it could have been mine, but hey, I already have an eight-dollar t-shirt with a similar design, including the words "Bar Harbor" underneath. If you're gonna go for tacky, go all the way, and go cheap. I appreciate the art and work involved in the pillow, though.
Before we left, I took some pictures of the grounds and our bikes. That's Beaker on the left and Tony G's Tommasini on the right:
We doubled back, which involved a left turn at a busy intersection. Note that the button one needs to push to cross the road is behind a metal barrier.
9: TSS and Smoke
The following Wednesday, July 15, wasn't a work day. It was going to be hella hot again. I decided to sign up for the Team Social Security ride because it would have more miles and less heat. The leader, Al P, decided to shorten the route because it was going to be so hot.
I saw people on that ride I hadn't seen in ages, including Bob S, who I figured I'd last ridden with two decades ago. A lot of folks were on e-bikes. A local shop got hold of 16 e-Bianchis for cheap; two Free Wheelers were riding them. For once, the traditional Celeste green is pretty, because the e-color has more blue in it and some variation in color on the frame, plus a satin finish. I'm not in the market for an e-bike yet. I'd need to do a ton of research, considering my janky back and wacky setup. Cannondale does make an e-Synapse though. That would be an easy transition.
Our rest stop was in Columbus. I was sweaty and thirsty. The first thing I saw was a Slurpee-type machine with an electric blue sludge that claimed to be fruit juice going around. I got that. It tasted like blue.
Despite my heresy, Our Jeff and Heddy welcomed me to the Wednesday night post-ride dinner at It's Nutts. My original plan was to drive Jack to the Trenton train station in the late afternoon so he could meet his gourmet buddy for dinner in Philly. While the two of them are eating what I now earn in a week, I can get a thin-crust Wednesday night pizza that lasts me two meals. It all evens out.
But Jack ended up doing what I do all too often: screwing up his online calendar. Thinking his dinner was an hour later than the reservation actually was, he missed the only train that would get him to the city in time, and there were no more empty tables for the night. So he decided to come along with me to the dive instead.
In addition to the 90-something degree heat, there was a chance of evening rain, and I figured the group would be shortening their ride. Not much more than an hour after the ride start, I got the text that they were packing up.
Usually a news junkie, I hadn't been paying much attention to the the news until we stepped outside. The air had an orange tint and smelled like forest fire. It was still almost as bad when we left the restaurant. I took a picture from the street at the end of my driveway, trying to capture the color and the haze. It was worse than this looks. There should be a sun setting in the middle right.
The next morning, the wildfire smoke made Marty cancel his Columbia Trail ride again. With the day free, I suggested to Jack that we drive down to Rancocas Woods to visit the Second Time bookstore a few doors down from Four Green Cats. The shop had been on his list. We could get lunch at the cafe first.
Four Green Cats doesn't really have lunch food, it turns out. Jack found what amounted to a fancy pig-in-a-blanket, and I settled on something that was a pastry with cheese and fruit in it. Everything there is pretty to look at, but none of it is anything I'd usually want to eat, on or off the bike. What I got was good enough though.
We wandered through the entire antique store. In an upstairs corner was a shelf full of old cameras and gramophone cylinders. There were at least two gramophones for sale in that room too.
The bookstore was surprisingly crowded for (or maybe because of?) a smoky Thursday afternoon. Jack took his time and came away with a few things.
On the way home, the smoke appeared to be clearing out from the north. I hadn't stopped at the scenic overlook on I-295 on the way down, when it was a wall of white. Now I stopped on the northbound side, left Jack in the car with the air conditioner running on recirculate, donned a KN95 mask, and zipped across the pedestrian bridge to take some pictures of what was left of the smoke.
It no longer looked white with haze, but it wasn't yet clear either.
That night, when I went out for my regular spider hunt, the moon was setting in an orange haze.
10: Round Valley
Friday and Saturday were loaded with canceled rides. By Sunday, July 19, the air quality index was almost good. The ride I listed from Hillsborough to Round Valley filled up.
We were somewhere east of the Three Bears, collecting ourselves at an intersection, when Luis said, "This is a leisurely ride."
"Excuse me? Some of us have to work for this," I replied. Fastboys. Sheesh.
I had been trying to explain what was coming up. The Three Bears are three hills that lead to the reservoir. Papa Bear is the biggest and steepest. Baby Bear is next, in the shade, followed by Mama Bear, less steep and a little longer. I always tell people to wait at the top, across from the puzzlingly-named Valley Crest Road.
We did get a little spread out. The person who was last came up the hill with a smile on their face. That's the kind of attitude I like on Hill Slug rides. For the record, when I'm last, I feel terrible about it; I'm not smiling. Anyway, we coasted into the reservoir parking lot together.
Three people in the group had never seen Round Valley before. I enjoy watching newbies gawp.
Perhaps because this was the first good-weather day in weeks, the water was full of boaters.
When we rounded the side with the ginormous berm, one rider called out, "Wait! I have been here!"
"How can you have been here and not stopped at the reservoir?"
"I don't know."
Jerry's Brooklyn Grill was crowded, every table full inside and out. I'd never seen it like that before. A few of us eventually found a few chairs outside.
On the way back, we stopped for pictures on Thor Solberg Road.
I like to stop on Higginsville for photos too. Everyone ahead of me didn't stop, but at least they waited at the end of the road.
11: Two Lennys and and Alf
In the middle of the following week, Tom offered to list a ride to Emery's in New Egypt unless I had something else in mind. I replied that I'd been thinking of listing Lambertville to Clinton for July 26. He told me to go ahead.
I limited registrations to 8, and the ride filled. One person dropped on the morning of the ride, which was fine with me. It's easy to keep track of 7 riders. When I do these long adventure rides, I like to keep the group small. I tend to stop at small coffee shops that a large group would overwhelm.
There is a lot of climbing on this route. We start in Lambertville, a valley on the Delaware River. We have to climb out of that watershed, descend into the Raritan River watershed, grab a coffee, and then go back again.
Three riders hadn't been on a Hill Slugs adventure in years, if at all. These three were two Lennys and an Alf. The Lenny's seemed a bit trepedatious about the hills. Fortunately, the route was about as straight up and straight back as possible; one could cut across to the return in several places before leaving the ridge.
As it happened, nobody needed to drop out. Nobody pushed the pace off the front either. I was dialing back my effort; I'd reluctantly signed up for a hilly ride the next day. Heddy was playing it safe too, for the same reason.
As we regrouped in the shade at the top of the last inbound hill, I got a notification on my GPS that Tom had texted me.
"What the fuck?" I told Heddy and Bob. "Tom sent me a picture of Ricky and Jack giving me the finger in Lambertville!" There they were, right by my car. "They could've come with us!"
Well, game on. I had a plan.
First, though, we had to ride in traffic. I'd forgotten to edit the route to get us off of 173 (at least it has wide shoulders) and onto the less well-paved frontage road. Then there was the gnarly one-two-punch of left turns from Union Road onto Old Route 22.
"Guys, can you do me a favor?" I asked when we reached the rest stop across from the iconic red mill. "Could you all give me a middle finger?" It took some explaining. There was some reluctance of being seen being obscene, so I blocked out the faces of those who weren't aware of the whole middle finger history.
At the coffee shop now occupying the space of the late, great Citispot, I ordered a frozen mocha cappucino. Apart from an initial bout of brain freeze, it was perfect.
Of all the routes I've used to get out of Clinton towards Lambertville, the one I used on this ride was the easiest. And it wasn't easy. It's never easy.
To make up for it, my front tire went flat at the top of the ridge. We settled in the shade, along a wooden fence. Brian and I got to work on the wheel while Heddy took pictures of "Janice in distress."
Brian found the offending sliver of wire. I carry tweezers now, after advice from Plain Jim, and we needed them. One of the Lennys offered his electronic tire pump. We all gathered 'round to see it in action, and now we all want one of our own, one that can handle multiple inflations, because you never know how many tubes you might blow through.
We made it back to Lambertville as a group. This was my best-led ride of the year. We had a good time, the weather was perfect, and we all stayed together over 49 miles and nearly 3000 feet of climbing.
Later that afternoon, I got an
explanation from Tom. He coulda come with us after all!
12: Self-Inflicted
"I don't want to be here," I told Dave S as we gathered in the Prallsville Mills parking lot on July 27.
Martin's shadow, Prallsville Mills
"Then why are you here?"
"Peer pressure."
If my friends are climbing and I'm not, they'll get better at it and I won't. I don't have the raw talent that most of the Slugs have. I just don't, and I never will. I have to run to stand still.
So there I was, after a day of hills, about to climb more. Dave's ride would be shorter than yesterday's, but he would be packing in more elevation than I thought I'd have the legs for. Anything over 50 feet per mile makes me nervous.
Dave's attitude towards ride participants is the opposite of mine. He'll list the pace as C+, a fistful of B+ riders will sign up, and he'll be okay with that. He lets them go off the front and disappear. That's fine when you allow 15 people into your ride, I guess.
There were four or five impatient people in the group. They went off the front almost right away. The big group got spread out. I'm the sort of leader who keeps an eye on the back of the pack, and I won't proceed from the top of a hill or into a turn until I can account for everyone. Dave, not so much. He'll stop eventually, but it might be a mile down the road. I'd link to how I know this, but I don't remember when it was.
Having inherited his routes, Dave was surprised when our first climb was what Michael H used to call the "Twin Towers" of Locktown-Sergeantsville Road. I was tired enough from the day before that I had to use my bailout gear, the 34-tooth rear cog and 34-tooth front ring. I hardly ever use that gear, maybe once or twice in a season. I used it several times on Dave's ride.
When we reached the ridge, we were on a lot of the roads I took my group on the day before. I relaxed a little. I even had a chance to get a quick photo of the stone signpost of Stone Signpost Road. We were on the road this time; we'd zipped past it on the way back from Clinton.
Turning towards Frenchtown, we took Senator Stout Road, and I had to take a picture of my favorite intersection while we regrouped.
At the Bridge Cafe, I ordered an iced mocha cappucino. I think this is going to be my new summer go-to rest stop snack. It has everything: cold, caffeine, sugar, protein, and some fat to keep me from getting hungry again before the ride ends.
I wasn't the only one in the group who hates climbing Horseshoe Bend, and who hates the climb on Spring Hill even more. I much prefer Fairview or Warsaw, but I wasn't leading this ride. Up we went. I had to use the bailout gear on the steep part of Spring Hill. At least the farm at the top was bereft of its
racist buffalo this time.
I'd been stretching my back at every opportunity. I do this by arching my back while standing with one foot still clipped in or with both feet on the ground. It's the PT my doctor told me to do when nothing else is available. When I do this, I'm looking up. Sometimes I take a picture while I'm at it. The top of Spring Hill gave me the opportunity.
It wasn't quite all downhill from there, but mostly. The fastboys had long since driven away by the time we got back to Prallsville Mills.
They missed the chap who'd come off the towpath on his 1896 steel bike with solid rubber tires.
The badge says "P Lovell Arms Co, Boston, MA."
The single brake is on the front wheel. The lever pushes a plate onto the tire.
The Brooks saddle is a replacement. The original, the chap said, disintegrated.
He rode off. I took a picture of the mill building.
I was expecting to feel completely wasted for the rest of the day, but, oddly enough, my legs felt better after this ride than they had the day before.
13: So That Was a Lot
Sorry. I'll try to keep up now that I supposedly have so much more time.
