Maidenhead Meadows with gloves on
18 October 2026
Fozzie is seeing a lot of the outdoors these days. I'm on Mike V's towpath rides almost every week.
I still thought it was August in September. We had one jacket-worthy day in there somewhere.
One of the towpath rides crossed over the Bulls Island bridge after our rest stop at the Lumberville General Store.
When we reached Boro Bean, I dived in to fill my pockets with muffins and Pete went home. The weather was so pleasant that I took a circuitous route back to my house.
For a ride that Saturday, Tom had suggested a flat route from Mercer County Park. I said I wanted to lead some more rides. He had no problem handing the responsibility for his route to me, so that's what we did. When I looked at the map, I had only vague memories of most of the roads north of Cranbury. I had a recollection of traffic.
The ride filled up within a day. I warned everyone that I was unfamiliar with a lot of the roads, and that there might be traffic. There was traffic. Lots of traffic. More than what Tom had experienced on this route before. Shelve this route until the zombie apocalypse. There's gotta be a better way to get to James Brew, a worthy coffee house around the corner from Thompson Park.
We did ride into Davidson's Mill Pond Park, which I always enjoy.
Pete and I had both ridden in from home. I'd caught him at the Route 1 light at Franklin Corner on the way in. As we headed back together, I followed him towards his house far enough so that I could wind up with a metric, my first, and probably only, for the year. I used to do so many metrics that I didn't keep track. These days, the folks I run with are into shorter, more vertical adventures. I miss the long rides. I don't miss the backaches.
One Wednesday, Pete and Bob proposed a ride. When Tom and Martin said they could go, I rearranged my work schedule to join them. The plan was to start from Pete's house and meet Bob at Boro Bean. I misread the 9:00 start as being from Pete's house. Nope. He wanted us ready to depart at 8:20 a.m. Yikes!
It was in the mid-40s when we started. Bob had left his house at 7:00 a.m., in the 30s. By the time we reached the top of the Sourland Mountain, my pockets were full of stripped clothing.
As we were riding across Mountain Church, Martin's chain flew apart. Fortunately, Tom was carrying a multi-tool with a chain tool on it, and Bob has been volunteering as a mechanic at the New Brunswick Bike Exchange. My job was to dig through my various bags to find my quick-link. I didn't find it, and remembered that it had been a casualty of too many encounters with rain in Janice's old top tube pack. Martin's job was to take pictures, "for Strava," he said.
My photo only has the shadow of Bob's bike wheel leaning against a post.
Bob got the chain back on. A few hundred yards up the road, it exploded again. Martin picked it up off the road as if it were a dead snake. "That chain looks really clean," I said.
"Yeah," Tom said. "Because all the grease is on Bob's hands."
We had to leave Martin at the top of the mountain. Bob offered to leave the ride when we got close to his house so that he could take Martin back to Pete's.
The three of us stopped at a deli on Route 206 at Dutchtown Road. The bathroom there rivals the one at the Clarksburg Deli.
Heddy, texting from Spain, had just send a photo with a funicular in the background. I sent this back to her as our version.
We went south and crossed over at Washington Crossing, where we ran into some of the the Glow Riders group on their own unofficial ride. Our rest stop was in Stockton. I hadn't been into the gourmet market; the last time I was in that space was many years ago, when it was more of a farmers market. Now there's high-end coffee. I got my go-to towpath snack: a mocha latte.
I had enough time on Saturday morning for a short ride. I dusted off Beaker and we did our usual penance route. Beaker, not having been outside since July, and this being only her third ride of the year, did not miss a beat.
On Sunday, it poured. Heddy, home from her trip, inquired about the status of my backyard lake. It was worse than when we'd had the nor'easter the week before.
When things dried out the next day, I checked on Hitchhiker, the souvenir spider who made a home on my passenger side mirror while we were in Maine. Yep, still there.
This past Thursday's towpath ride took us into Trenton, where I had to stop to photograph the orange house. I like this house. I would claim that third floor round room as mine.
Friday I was wearing shorts. Friday night, a cold front swept in. The rain cleared out in time for my ride on the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail. The wind was gusting in the 30 mph range. The air temperature was in the high 40s at start time. I was wearing booties. For the first time, it really felt like autumn. I rode in from home, straight into the wind.
Eight people signed up for this ride. I stopped for a picture in the woods between Province Line and Rosedale Road.
And again at Mount Rose:
I didn't remember what Pete had told me about the flooding in Rosedale Park until we reached the sign that said the trail was closed for repair. Pfft! I rode right past it. Everyone followed me to the spot where the trail, normally on a small berm above the pond, was thoroughly under water.
"There's another path around the other side," Luis offered. We doubled back. The path was grass. Most of the group waitied for us to figure things out.
"It's flooded all the way around," a man standing by the water said. I took a picture before we turned around.
We took the Maidenhead Trail towards Blackwell Road. The surface was not maintained for bikes. We rumbled over ruts and found ourselves in a field with a mowed path in either direction. We could see Blackwell Road on the other side. "This way," Luis said, turning left.
The grass disappeared in a short, very steep decline that ended in a stone rut I dismounted to walk across. This felt like mountain biking. On the other side of the dip was the driveway to the Hunt House, which put us back on course.
In Lawrenceville, we detoured to the Gingered Peach. The line was out the door and moving fast. Or so we thought, until we had to wait a surprisingly long time for our specialty coffee drinks. The space inside being meager, we huddled by the door, making sure to be part of the waiting-for-drinks line while not blocking the salon entrance in the same vestibule.
Four of the guys decided to head back while we were still waiting. There were only three miles left anyway.
I pass the Brearley Oak on my way to and from work. We stopped to read the plaque next to the fence. This tree is estimated to be "anywhere from 255 to 410 years old."
Today, Our Jeff led a ride from Mansfield Park, passing through Arney's Mount Park on the way to Old World Bakery. I ordered a mocha latte there, too, and for the second day in a row had to wait far too long for a group ride rest stop. It's the perfect drink for a not-too-strenuous ride, but the time it takes to make one can be problematic.
The weather was cool but dry and sunny. The sky was clear blue. There wasn't much wind either. Today was only the third time this year I've taken Kermit out for a spin. Kermit takes more work than Janice to keep moving, but we managed.
