View of my neighbor's window from mine at 6:35 a.m. on Thursday.
Three days later I'd be up at the same time, phoning Winter Larry with the weather report. It's not easy looking for ice on the street when it's dark out.
17 March 2013
"I love a French braid!" the biker exclaimed as he passed me at the entrance to the Clarksburg Deli.
I dislike the Clarksburg Deli enough already without some rude stranger from a coastal bike club expecting me to drop trou at the declaration that he loves a French braid. Too bad I wasn't wearing one, not that he could possibly tell under my balaclava.. Who has time for all that first thing in the morning before a bike ride anyway? Rather than deflate his ego by giving him a piece of my mind, I ignored him completely. That's worse: his sure-fire way to get a cyclist chick into his bed was totally wasted, and in front of all of his friends, too.
No wonder I was grumpy on our way back to Cranbury. That, and the fact that we had to sit outside at a table covered with snow while my feet slowly froze.
Anyway, aside from that, the cold, and getting snowed on, it was a good biking weekend.
It started yesterday, with me and Plain Jim riding up to Pennington, where we picked up five more riders and took what Tom calls "the inland route" towards Kingston. The forecast was for rain later in the day, the chance of precipitation increasing linearly from the time we started until mid-afternoon.
I used part of the old Friday night C+ route, the one that Bikers Bob and Babe used to lead Back In The Day. We peeled off from it on Cleveland and onto Pretty Brook. This road had Ed and Jim ecstatic, with its swoopy turns, rollers, and view of the Stony Brook.
I took a detour onto the Princeton University campus. "Trust me. Just follow me," I said, as we dove onto a path under a dormitory, down towards the open playing fields, under the Icahn building's breezeway, and over the pedestrian bridge. We climbed up Washington Road and turned on Prospect, where the monstrous eating club houses loom. Pete said we were getting the 1% tour. I lamented that, for all of the university's wealth, research labs still have to scramble for their own funding.
We made it to the Main Street cafe, where Ed insisted on buying a cake to share with all of us, his birthday having been the day before. As a trickle of snow began to fall outside, we got jumpy on sugar and caffeine. Somewhere in there we were talking about indoor workouts. Pete (I think it was Pete) said to me, "Show me your guns," and I did. That almost makes up for the French braid thing.
By the time we were suited up again, it was snowing, enough for Jim to say, "This is
real snow." We made a bee-line back to Pennington. On Blackwell Road, where it intersects with Federal City, Jim and I split off. Dave and Pete went their own ways, too. Cheryl led Ron back to the parking lot. Ed, always in search of extra miles, went with me and Jim as far as Lawrenceville-Pennington Road.
The streets were just getting wet when we reached my driveway. Jim dismounted and looked down at his pants. He was wearing snow. So was Miss Piggy.
The snow continued to fall well into the evening, but it was gone from the roads by this morning. I was on the Phone with Winter Larry at 6:35 a.m. It took us five minutes to decide if riding was worth it. We decided it was, and I dutifully emailed Plain Jim and Ed.
We started the Cranbury ride at 33 degrees. It didn't feel much warmer four hours later.
I did stop for a couple of pictures on Woodward Road. My camera was acting sluggish. I attributed it to the cold, but when I got home I found that one of the setting knobs had been nudged so that it was taking video and photos simultaneously. Who knew it could do that? I've never bothered to read the manual. I'll keep this in mind for later.
Ah, the Clarksburg Deli,
Le Chateau de Ptomaine. It's been years.
This is not a good place to stop, as our nickname implies. One feels dirtier after using the bathroom than before using it. Expired food has been known to line the shelves. One cannot drink the water. The coffee is only drinkable if it is cut at least 50:50 with hot chocolate, and that's only safe because both involve water hot enough to be sterile.
In the winter this is a worse place still. There is nowhere to sit inside, let alone stand. When the braid-obsessed biker and his pals left, we took over the lone table and snow-wet chairs.
At least the chocolate pound cake, made in Cliffton, and wrapped, no expiration date printed, was good. Not as good as the cake Ed fed us, but this was, after all,
Le Chateau de Ptomaine, not
Kingston.
Then the frozen toes and general grumpiness and "Brr! Thanks! 'Bye!" to Larry and Jim before I cranked up the heat in my car and headed towards a hot shower.
*****
So, anyway, I have some more pictures:
Bike commuting started for me this week. I no longer have evening darkness for an excuse. My goal is twice each week until September. On my way home on Wednesday I passed by a flooded field at sunset:
I have a thing for Stayman winesap apples. Around here I can only find them at the Trenton Farmer's Market or at Terhune Orchards. Now that our battle against the Lawrenceville Wal-Mart is over, won, and several years ago, I feel less uneasy about being in the same room as Pam Mount. She's no longer an elected official anyway, and her farm does do a lot of good for the community. I went in on the pretense of handing over some stamps for our Lawrence Township Conservation Foundation mailings (we raise money for open space preservation) and just happened to leave with a hefty bag full of winesaps and a snapshot of a sleeping kitty.
We were on our way to a wine tasting at the Corkscrew in Princeton. I was a good sport about trying a couple. Jack says my rating scale is from minus 100 to zero. I do like looking at the bottles, though.
Back home, enough snow had fallen to cover the grass. The crocuses tell me it's spring.
Just a few more days...
