Halloween in Lambertville

30 October 2011

Going to Lambertville for dinner and to see the decorations on Union Street was Terry's idea.  He came up with it towards the end of last week, before there was even a possibility of snow in the forecast.

Dale and Sean picked us up late in the afternoon.  Our plan was to give Dale and Jack a used book store fix before dinner.  I guided them through my usual route to Lambertville, one that avoids Route 29.  Traffic was light on Route 31.  Sean and Dale gaped at the snow-covered farm fields that line the hills of 518.

We were almost there, just about to make the descent into the city, when the barricade stopped us.  Switching into biker mode, I turned us around and directed Sean back to Mount Airy-Harbourton Road.  "I can show you Dinosaur Hill," I said. 

But we didn't get that far.  Just past Rock Road we encountered another barricade.  So I directed us left onto Rock, figuring we'd take 518 still further east and try again.

But we didn't get that far.  Halfway down the road we met with another barricade.

We turned around, crossed 518, and headed down 579.  We turned right onto Pleasant Valley-Harbourton.  The road was loaded with gravel.  As pebbles pinged off of the wheel wells, Sean professed a sudden craving for popcorn. 

We turned onto Valley.  I almost took us up Goat Hill but I had second thoughts.  We turned onto 29 instead, arriving in Lambertville with 20 minutes to spare before meeting the rest of the group.

So, instead of looking at books, we looked at ducks and geese along the towpath.

The lead duck is going as a punk for Halloween.

The spillway near the sewage treatment plant:

Lawn chairs next to the plant:

Our fashion-forward duck again:

Snow on posts at the edge of the towpath:

Carved pumpkins on the patio of the Inn of the Hawke:

Now this is a carving!

We were too late to see the high-heeled drag race in New Hope, so we wandered over to Union Street to look at the decorated houses.  Last year, Terry told us, the neighborhood was lit up on Halloween. 

We were here a day early.  Most of the block was dark.  Terry, Dale, Sean, and Jack stopped walking.  Terry, Cheryl, and I went on one more block.  The yard we were looking for was in darkness, but the flash on my camera provided all the light we'd need to show the others what they'd missed:

This little guy is my favorite:

Now, I know all you out there have seen the next picture, but for the six of us left on the planet who still don't do Facebook, here, for your viewing pleasure, is the barfing pumpkin.   We did not see this in Lambertville:

Back Yards

29 October 2011

One last post for the day before I declare myself all caught up.  Phyllis and I had an email exchange this morning.  Lamenting the early snow, one thing led to another and she ended up describing her yard.  With her permission, here it is:

Of course, the deer ate most of the flowers and are here now, foraging beneath the snow for all of the fallen apples that have come off of the 60+ year old apple trees that still exist here on my property.

Between my neighbor and I, we allow no hunting on our 14 acres, and the deer lie down beneath the white pines I planted 20 years ago. Lots of wildlife, from foxes to hawks, hang out here. Have yet to see a bear, though!

It is rutting season for the deer, so I enjoy seeing the bucks in the early morning and early evening. I know they are not long for this earth as the hunting season approaches, so enjoy them while I can. Last year I had visits from an eight-pointer and a six-pointer but not any of that age yet this year.

Meanwhile, Dale is enamored with all that is New Jersey, including this freakishly early snowfall.  I asked for a picture of her back yard.

Ours, in the middle of an extreme makeover, looks like this, through the screen porch because I had no shoes on:
 

OK.  I'm finished blogging.  I'm all caught up.  It's 4:30.  I'm going to exercise now.  Really.

Commuting Adventures

Princeton Pike with No Cars, 29 August 2011

 
29 October 2011

Now that I finally work close to home, I can ride my bike into work.  Over the winter I fitted Gonzo with a rack, a pack, puncture-resistant tires, rain gear, and a handful of lights.   The goal was modest:  ride to work once or twice each week as long as the weather and daylight allowed it.

I started in April and went until a few weeks ago.  Most weeks I was able to ride to work twice.  The route is almost a straight line:  up Princeton Pike, past Princeton Battlefield, and onto the back roads through the Princeton Theological Seminary to Princeton University's campus.  It's 6.8 miles each way, mostly uphill going into work and mostly downhill coming back.

I brought a washcloth, a towel, some soap, deodorant, a comb, and a few other things to keep in my drawer at work.  The rest I took with me:  a change of clothes, my wallet, keys, phone, and lunch.  The pack already contained rain gear, a heavy cable lock that I've had since 1983, and the usual collection of tubes and tools that a cyclist carries.

I started off the year packing as little as possible.  I'd find the lightest clothes and buy lunch at work.  By mid-summer I'd said to hell with the weight and started packing a no-spill mug of coffee along with a bulky lunch and whatever clothes were on top in the drawer.  Semi-loaded, Gonzo was a tank already; what was another pound?

I figured out when to leave in the morning so that I'd miss most of the traffic.  Getting started at a traffic light was a bit of work, like starting an 18-wheeler, but once I was moving, I'd hammer.   Except for the climb up the battlefield hill, I'd stay in the big ring.  I'd leave work after rush hour so that I'd have the battlefield hill to myself.  Then I'd drop it into 53/11 and "let the horses run," as Mark "Mad Dog" says.

Stomping on the big gears with all the bike's weight, I think, made me stronger on weekends.   All I know is that I'd hop on Kermit or Miss Piggy and feel as if I were riding on air.

I learned pretty quickly how to maneuver in what passes for traffic around here.  There's a wide shoulder and a bike lane for almost the entire Princeton Pike trip, so I feel safe.  When traffic stacks up at Province Line, though, people like to veer into the bike lane to get a good look at what's ahead and to go around people making a left turn at Fackler Road.  I'm always very alert and looking ten cars ahead, so when some yobbo decides to cut into my space, I'm ready for it.  Twice I've stopped and politely told drivers that they were in the bike lane.  Once I wasn't so polite.  On the Stony Brook bridge, most drivers stay behind me, giving me a clear path all the way over.  Only twice have people passed me on the bridge, unable to wait the ten seconds for me to get over first.  I don't fancy taking a dip in the river on my way to work.  I don't pack shampoo.

On my second day of bike commuting, I played chicken with the weather and lost.  Cheryl had been emailing me all afternoon, insisting that she give me a ride home.  I finally gave in.  This was wise.

Later in the summer I decided that I should test my rain gear.  The rain was coming down so hard that I took the bike path across from the battlefield rather than take the road.  I stayed on the path until it ended at the bike lane.  I made it home safely, the rain gear having kept me clean.  But not dry:  I was soaked in my own sweat instead.  And, I forgot to remove my cycle computer, which drowned along the way.  I got caught in rain twice after that, neither as bad as the first.  My spare light, at least a decade old and hardly used, didn't survive the season.  My bright, expensive, rechargeable light did.  I'm going to get another one, even brighter, so that I'll have one to alert drivers and one to light the road.  My rear light, bright and blinky, outlasted the weather, as did the bar-end blinkers.

There aren't many of us on bikes on the Pike, but I did see a few regulars going in the opposite direction.  One was a woman who never seemed to notice me.  The others were men who would wave.  One looked to be a serious cyclist.  He'd always raise his hand in greeting, and I'd do the same.  On driving days I'd see him biking to work.  On rainy days he'd be out there.  I saw him just yesterday, riding with a headlight that would fit a motorcycle (that's what I need).  He puts me to shame.

When I get a light that big and bright I'll be able to see the road at dusk.  Then maybe I'll be brave enough to extend my commuting season.

Meanwhile, here are some pictures from my commute:

 I get a lot of vegetables from my half-share at Cherry Grove Organic Farm.  I started bringing the unwanted ones to work -- eggplants, mostly.  Sometimes I'd have extra basil...

...so I'd load it onto Gonzo.

In September we had a few foggy mornings.  I biked in on one of them, stopping on the battlefield hill for pictures of the Mercer Oak's progeny (the original having fallen, to much mourning from people who mourn these things, a handful of years ago).

Here's Gonzo in his parking space, in the breezeway of our building, that only serious commuters know about.  I used to lock Gonzo farther in, but there's an electrical manhole, just out of sight in this picture, that would send my new, wireless, cyclecomputer haywire all day long.  On this day my pack is as full as I'd ever had it.  Denim jeans take up a lot of space.  I probably had a container of roasted potatoes in there, too.

The pack comes off the rack.  Here it is, in the corner on my desk.  I'm lucky enough to have space to hang my washcloth and towel to dry.  Under my desk is a wire rack for hanging folders.  I use it for hanging clothes instead.  Readers of this blog will notice two things on the bulletin board that have been mentioned in these pages this summer (click to zoom in).

I have a few tales from commutes that I emailed people about as soon as they happened.  Here they are, in chronological order.


8 June:  Best.  Commute.  Ever.

It was nearly 100 degrees today, so I decided to leave work late and avoid the heat.  By 7 pm the air didn't feel like an oven any more.

I was tired and taking my time on Princeton Pike north of Province Line when a black SUV slowed down beside me.  Theresa was hanging her head out of the passenger window, making sure I saw her.  Pretty cool, but it gets better.

After I crossed Franklin Corner, I saw two riders climbing the little hill.  They looked like serious riders, but they, too, were in no hurry.

I was in my big ring and planning to pass when I realized who it was I was about to go by.

"That isn't MATT!"

"Hellooooooo!"

"You gotta stop 'cause I gotta hug you!"

Yep, Matt, who last month was paralyzed for two days after his front wheel found a sinkhole, who had surgery on his cervical spine, is back on his bike, under Heike's supervision.

"I'm OKAY!" he declared, and,"I've got NINE people looking after me!" I suggested an ankle monitor.

Four weeks out of surgery, there's no visible scar, just the inability to move his neck to the right, for now.

Matt's back on his bike....  All's right with the world.


10 June:  Well, THAT Was Interesting

The heat wave broke last night, in a strong cold front that I beat home by seconds.  I could feel the temperature dropping as I turned off of Princeton Pike.  I had just enough time to take out the garbage and compost before the rain started.

A phone call at 6:17 a.m. woke me up.  A robotic voice said, "This. is. an. emergency. alert. from. Princeton. University.  Princeton. Pike. and Route. Two. Hundred. Six..."  You get the idea.  Here's part of what was in my email inbox:

"The Department of Public Safety is advising that the thunderstorms that traversed the Princeton area last night impacted road conditions in and around Princeton University.

 In response to these road closures the University is having a delayed opening for non critical, non essential staff members until 10am this morning. All critical and essential staff should report as usual.

Currently at 06:00 am the following roadways are closed, and blocked, due to power lines and trees down in the roadway:

                       Route 206 between Province Line Road and Lovers Lane

                       Route 206 between Herrontown road and Ewing Street

                       Mercer street/Princeton Pike between Province Line Road and Quaker road

                       Cherry Valley road is also closed in several areas.

There may be also several secondary roads in the area affected by downed trees and power lines. Estimating when the roads will open is difficult to determine.

Many area residents are still without power, including Millstone apartment residents. We have no estimate on the time it will take to restore power or to clear the roadways.

Travelling to campus will result in a slow commute. Washington road and Harrison street are open and accessible from route one. Alexander remains closed due to the current ongoing construction.

The dinky is operating but the gate control was damaged causing the train to stop completely before crossing faculty road and putting the gates up and down by hand. This will further impact traffic. NJ transit reports they must dispatch a computer technician to the unit to replace computer parts to put the gate back in operation. It is not known how long this will take to effect repairs."

I'd planned to bike in anyway, and I did.  I was passing traffic on Princeton Pike.  We all had to turn onto Province Line, where, for the eastern section, there is no shoulder.  I was part of the traffic jam there, one foot in the pedal, one foot on the ground, in the long line of cars, snaking past them on the right when there was enough space to move. 

Rosedale Road was no different.  I started to wonder if I'd have to walk up the hill between cars.  Fortunately the road gets wider on the hill, and I had more than enough room to haul Gonzo to the top before the shoulder disappeared and traffic jammed again.  I snaked into town on the back roads and made it to the lab in 48 minutes.  It usually takes 25-30, depending on traffic.  

I bet a lot of those drivers wished they had a bike!

23 June:  This Morning's Commute

I had an appointment with Dr. Levandowski this morning for a follow-up on my back.  He gives me an "adjustment," which, from what I can figure out, is a bunch of things in my spine that go "pop!" when he pulls on them.

Anyway, I was on my commuter bike (Gonzo), weighted down with my day's lunch, clothes, cable lock, and, of course, my mug of coffee.  As I was pulling out of the parking lot I saw another fully-loaded  bike commuter pass by, going my way.  By the time traffic cleared, he was already on top of the I-95 overpass.  I didn't figure I could catch him, but I wanted to.  He's the first one I've seen commuting my way; the two other regulars always wave to me from across Princeton Pike.

But, despite the fact that I'd be a sweatball by the time I got to work, I decided to catch him.  I hammered.  I thought I'd get him at the Province Line light, but it turned green for him.  I'd gained on him a little by this point, but it wasn't enough.  By the time I got to the Stony Brook bridge, he was just going over it.  Next was the Princeton Battlefield hill.  No way.  Not on this tank of a bike.

Then I started gaining on him.  By the time I was within talking distance, I recognized his bike as one of the handful that I see locked in the breezeway outside of my building.  Now I was feeling all fast and shit.  Not only did I catch this guy; I also caught him on a hill.  That's when I noticed his gearing.  I rode along side him and said, "Single speed up the hill!  Awesome!"  So much for my mad skillz.

We talked the rest of the way.  True to form, I've already forgotten his name.

Other People's Misadventures

29 October 2011

These little stories come, with permission, from emails sent by the guilty parties.  Read on.

First, from Norene Barish:

Had a biking incident over the weekend which sent me flying over my handle bars onto the tow path with some nasty road rash as a souvenir.  

Big deep scrapes & several bruises but otherwise I am fine with no broken bones to speak of.  

 

Bob was out painting on Sat so when Terry Masters called to see if I wanted to ride along the river towns I jumped at the chance as I haven't done it since last year. We rode ten miles out  & stopped for a rest to slurp down a fruit popsicle at the tow path  cafe  in Stockton.  

 

When I hopped on my bike for the return trip I rode several feet & noticed that it was not quite right & felt funky. (This part of the story has nothing to do with the accident but pretty funny in itself).  I noticed my handlebars were pointing downward instead of in an up & outward position.  I got off the bike & Terry thought I had picked up someone else's.  We were pushing buttons that weren't even buttons to see if we could turn the handlebars in an upright position.  

 

Just then two very handsome guys with their wives stopped to see if we needed help. They assessed the situation & we told them how we think someone tampered with my bike, yada yada.  Just then one of the guys turned the front wheel around in the right direction..so simple.   

 

We had such a good laugh & the men said that they would have a good story to tell on the way back when they caught up with their wives.

I was so embarrassed to think that I have been riding all these years & have never done anything so stupid as this.    

 

We headed back to Lambertville where the path takes a sudden jog & you have to navigate thru those pain in the neck stanchions.  Just then I was telling Terry that this was the very same spot where Hank made that legendary ride right into the canal.  Just as I turned I had a panic attack judging the small space & flew over my handlebars.  I felt my body go into shock waves & slight pain with some bleeding & was concerned that I broke a bone or two or three.  

 

Out of nowhere arrives another hunk of a young man with an ice pack & first aid goodies.  He bandaged me up to stop the bleeding & I ambled back down the path on my bike.  This young man was just getting into his car in an adjacent parking lot when he saw me take a spill.  Such nice people (bike angels) willing to help..and hunks at that.

We were laughing about our misadventures saying that despite it all we were having the best time.  I then mentioned to Terry that I had hoped we wouldn't bump into the first two guys who turned my wheel around as I didn't want them to see me looking like a bike victim with my bandages.  Of course there they were having just fixed a flat for someone else on the path & then they couldn't believe I showed up with those bandages.  

 

What a day out..20 miles with scrapes & cuts to show for it.  You should have seen us loading the bikes onto the car, pumping the tires, assembling the bike packs & hooking up the brakes.  Terry at one time was an emergency room nurse so it was good to have her along  for medical advice only we need to take a course in bike mechanics otherwise we will be labeled "Laverne & Shirley of the Towpath."

Second is a tale from Mighty Mike about an incident that happened shorty before Norene showed the world her mechanical prowess.  I seem to have deleted the email, so I'm going to have to reconstruct it from memory.

Mike was riding his mountain bike with his wife along the towpath near Alexander Road in Princeton.  "I was wearing flip-flops," he wrote, admitting it wasn't the smartest thing to do, "when a bug flew under my foot."  Distracted, he shook his foot, lost control, and flew over the top of his handle bars. 

Unhurt, but shaken, he sat on the grass near the bridge over the canal.  Alexander Road was closed for repairs at the time.  Down by the barricades were two cops.  One of them approached Mike.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Cause I can't do anything to help you."

"I'm okay," Mike assured him.

"You, uh, didn't hurt your package, did you?"

Months later, at the rest stop for the Ride for McBride, Mike showed us a text from his brother, wishing him well on the ride.  "Take care of your package," the message said.

October's Adventures

 Sunrise over Thompson County Park, 2 October 2011

29 October 2011

It's 11:43 a.m., I'm drinking coffee, it's snowing, the heater we had installed yesterday stopped working in the wee hours of the morning, we're waiting for the repairman, and I still haven't gotten to the gym.  Perfect excuse for blogging.

12:10, the heater's been fixed, and snow is sticking to the street.  Looks like a home workout sometime today.

But first:

Joe, Plain Jim, and I rode together on this year's Pumpkin Patch Pedal century.  It was cold enough that, unlike previous years, I kept my arm warmers and leggings on.

I generally don't take pictures during centuries.  We don't want to stop between food breaks.

Mist rose over the lake before we headed out.

Plain Jim, the latest and greatest addition to the Hill Slugs posse, is a lot of fun to ride with.  Stronger than we are,  he never grows impatient.  Instead, I hear "On your left!" as he hurtles himself up each hill, always waiting for the rest of us at the top.  He also has a bell on his handlebars, which is mighty useful on big rides like this one.

I could use something like this on my commuter bike as I ride across campus.  For the road, I'd need an air horn (more on bicycle commuting in a later post.)

Somewhere between the first rest stop (Plumsted, again, three organized rides this year) and the second (the Burger King somewhere in the Pines), the best thing happened:  Matt and Heike blew past us.  I'm so happy to see him riding again (more on that later, too).

The third rest stop, at Clayton Park, is always the most done-up.  I'm fond of anything with googly-eyes, even if they're just Styrofoam balls with pipe-cleaner legs.

I had some post-production fun with these guys:

Right.  Anyway, Matt let me take a picture of him (I've only managed this once before):

When I'm on a century, I always hit a wall around 70 miles.  Over the years I've learned how to get past it, make it shorter, and distract myself ("Pedal, pedal, pedal," as Matt says; eat something at 65 miles, hungry or not; and look at the scenery.)  This year it was the sky that did the distracting.  All day the clouds hung gray and heavy just in the distance.  It never did rain, but it did keep us motivated.

It's much better in person, with polarized sunglasses.

As for the ride itself, it was the easiest I've had it on the PPP in years.  Last year, Mike B. and I ended up battling a fierce headwind on our own.  Two years ago, I was jetlagged and nauseated for the second 40 miles.  This year there wasn't much wind.  Our pace was slower than it has been, but we've been slow all year.  Our usual engines haven't been riding much, and I think Big Joe had a lot to do with getting a good group together.  My plan for early spring is to recruit and return our crew.  Jim, Mighty Mike, Steve K. and Steve B., I'm looking at you. 

Now, one of the best things about the Pumpkin Patch Pedal is the long-sleeve t-shirt we get for doing the ride.  My favorite designs have been the thin-line drawings of cyclists and ghouls.  Others have featured wheels and pumpkins in clever combinations.

This year's, however, was, well, you decide.  Jim's reaction is one of the milder ones.  I've taken great joy in showing innocent people a photograph of the shirt and watching their mouths form a perfect o.

Put it this way:  In the morning, as I was getting my bike ready for the ride,  a woman near me in the parking lot said, "It looks like a man giving birth to a pumpkin!"

I took a look and told her, "Let's hope that's all he's doing."

We can now add "pumpkinfucker" to our library of curses.

Kudos to Plain Jim for noticing that the bottom spokes are missing.  Here's his reaction to the design; you can read his PPP blog entry here:

For a while I couldn't decide if the shirt was the best thing or the worst thing about this year's ride.  It took a few days, but I figured out that the shirt is getting more mileage than anything else.

A week later I led a hilly metric from Hillsborough to Clinton and Oldwick.  I hadn't been up there all year, which is just wrong.

We're not having a good fall (did I mention it's snowing?).  The leaves have gone from green to off without much in between.  Still, the view from Fox Hill Road north of Oldwick did not disappoint.

 

My camera still overexposes.  I've been too lazy to fix the problem and all of the pictures.

Horse butt across the street from the valley view:

Every year since I started riding, I've been asked, "Are you doing Covered Bridges?"  Every year I've said, with no regret, "Nope.  I'll be in Boston."  Every year I go up there to visit my college roommate and go to an annual bead show with her.  This year, though, the Covered Bridges ride date was moved to a week earlier.  I had no excuse.

It's the Central Bucks bicycle club that hosts this ride.  PA's hills are relentless.  I've always been afraid.  Now that I have Miss Piggy and a handful of years with only minimal hill fear, I figured I could handle it.

The ride starts in a park across the river from Frenchtown, a 45-minute drive when there's no traffic.  I was guided into the park, into a thick fog, onto a field.  I couldn't see more than a few yards in any direction, let alone anyone I knew.  I scrambled in the morning chill to get my gear together and started walking in the direction that everyone else was walking.  There seemed to be hundreds and hundreds of people.  The ride hadn't even started yet and I was already in a bad mood.

A row of trees faded into view.  I tried to memorize the pattern so that I'd be able to find my way back to the car.  "I'm not doing this again," I thought.

Fog and trees:

It was just by dumb luck that I found Joe and Jim.  Joe had with him a neighbor, Dave, who proved to be quite entertaining, and quite the trooper, having just spent six months recovering from a serious lung infection.

Early in the ride we found ourselves on a descent overlooking a ridge.  Someone flew past me calling out, "Yeeeee-HAAAAAAAAAA!"  On our way up the next hill, I found him and said, "That was brilliant.  I'm going to put it in my blog."  He laughed.

At the first rest stop he said, "You're not going to blog about me sucking wind on that next hill, are you?"  I said something like, "I didn't see that."

Jack H. found us then.  "I'll ride with you," he said.  If by "with you" he meant for five minutes before disappearing off the front, then yeah, he rode "with" us.  We didn't see him again.


Soon after, we came to a covered bridge with wooden slats laid in the same direction as the road.  This is bad news for cyclists:  Unless we can line ourselves up with a slat, in the sudden darkness of a covered bridge, we can easily find that one of our wheels has lodged between slats, throwing us over and our bike into the repair shop.  At the entrance to this bridge, though, the bike club had the presence of mind to station two sentries who commanded us to dismount.  Off to one side was Yee-Ha, with a serious dent in his rear rim.  I heard him say into his phone, "I'm finished."

My memory becomes muddled after that.  Climb, descend, climb, descend.  We had a big one that stands out, though.  It was called High Point Road.  As we re-grouped at the top, Jim pointed behind me and I turned around.

What struck me was the layer of brown haze over what looked like a city.  Where the hell were we, and what were we looking at?

I didn't think to pull out my phone, which has a compass on it.  I just took pictures and made a mental note that we were facing west-ish.

More hills, more valleys, streams, bridges, maybe we're near Perkasie?, another rest stop.  Everything was starting to look the same.

When we came upon this strange little place, it seemed perfectly believable that none of us was really awake anyway.  "This reminds me of the book, 'The Secret Garden,' for some reason," I said.  Someone else agreed.  There must have been a picture on the front cover.

Perhaps this is a better interpretation of how I was seeing things at that point:

It wasn't because I ate this funky mushroom in my front yard.  I didn't.  Honest.

OK, that wraps up another episode of blogging.  The snow has changed to rain and I still have not worked out.  But now there's a cat on my lap.  I'm stuck here.

By the way, I think we were looking at the outskirts of Bethlehem, PA.