A Pipeline Runs Through It

Part of the proposed PennEast pipeline route

courtesy of The Cost of the Pipeline

8 September 2016

I

The Draft Environmental Impact Statement for the proposed PennEast pipeline dropped on Friday, July 22. Hours later, the FERC online docket library went down and stayed that way for most of the weekend. FERC had set September 12 as the comment deadline. The document was over 1100 pages long, the meat of the thing 417 pages, and the rest of it maps and appendices.  Like a good little enviro-nerd, I got cracking, putting trivial things like paying bills, mowing the lawn, and blogging aside.

One sham of a public hearing and 34 written pages later, I'm finished commenting on this massive National Environmental Policy Act violation. It's in FERC's docket now, to be ignored, right along with thousands of other comments like mine.

I hadn't planned to blog about the pipeline, but three days before my scheduled August 28 ride, I found myself staring at my Hunterdon County map, looking for a spot I hadn't been to in a while. 

Riegelsville. Miles of river, train tracks, road and cliff. 

And, if PennEast, a consortium of natural gas providers who want to build their own pipeline and claim that there is demand for the pipe as a result (it's called "self-dealing"), has its way, a 36-inch natural gas pipeline cutting across the river south of the bridge and snaking its way through forests, preserved open space, preserved farmland, protected streams, and past the front doors of rural New Jersey residents who refuse to give in to PennEast.  70%, to be more or less exact, and they're holding fast against surveyors and easements.

II

So there I was, plodding away on ridewithgps, flipping back and forth to NJ Bikemap because Warren County is terra ingognita. Our destination would be Asbury Coffee Mill, smack dab in the middle of five miles from nowhere.

We started in Frenchtown, where the Bridge Cafe seems to add another vintage-looking coffee poster every few months:

(Source: PennEast DEIS)

Tom was on vacation, which must have been a relief for Jack H. Jim made the long drive, as did Ricky (rapidly becoming a Hill Slug regular). Blake was back after missing a week by taking an epee to his palm.

We warmed up along the river to Milford, then headed up the ridge on Kappus Road. Every now and then we'd see a yard sign: Stop the PennEast pipeline.

(Source: PennEast DEIS)

We also started seeing "GF" painted on the road, and we appeared to be following it. Uh-oh. Terra incognita and all that.

"What's that stand for?" somebody asked.

"Gran Fondo."

"Gargantuan fuckery," I suggested.

"Good food?"

The GFs stayed on Michelin Corner; we turned west, then north onto Baptist Church, because there's no way I'd come all the way out here and skip that descent.

I'd been on Charlestown Road before, but it didn't look familiar. We took a right on Hackett, and that's where the climbing began. First, it went up. Then it went up some more.

At the top, we were greeted by a yuge, hand-carved, wooden American flag, topped by the letters T-R-U-M-P in blood red. I refused to take a picture; to do so would have given this white nationalist, homophobic, mysogynistic voter attention he does not deserve.  At that moment, I wanted a suction dart with the word "loser" on a little white flag.

Farther on, there was a break in the trees, and we could look south towards the ridge that hides Spruce Run Reservoir.

At the bottom of the hill was a sign that told us we were next to the only quaking bog in Hunterdon County. We took a left around it, onto Black Brook (I'm typing all these road names with the hope that I'll actually remember them for next time), and when that met Charlestown again, there was this magnificent example of whatever it is:

Enter the town of Hampton, take a left, left again, and cross the Musconetcong River into Warren County:

Gradually, we made our way out of the valley towards the next ridge. When we turned onto Cemetery Hill Road, there was a sign for the Blue Army Shrine. In the distance, poking out of the trees at the top of a hill, was the tip of something that vaguely resembled a church. As we ascended, the shrine disappeared into the trees, but the little blue signs continued to point the way.

Less than a mile in, there it was, poking out from behind a wall of trees. I stopped for a picture.

Everyone else went ahead except Blake. "I'm gonna go check it out," he said. I turned around and followed him in, up a steep hill, onto a long driveway dotted with sculptures.

OK, this is so weird. There's, like, a Jesus and some other dudes and the Grim Reaper.

Oh. It's just a pope.

The shrine:

Don't blink?

I'd have to look this up later.

We coasted back down the hill, figuring that if one of the guys hadn't already doubled back looking for us, I'd get a call. Fortunately, we came upon Jack H before he'd gone past the shrine. "We had to go see it," I said.

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

Next stop, the Asbury Coffee Mill.

It's on a mostly residential street. The place has been open since Memorial Day. They serve Homestead Coffee, have a well-stocked deli counter and pastries, and are decent enough to have installed a bike rack out front.

This place had better stay in business now that the general store in Bloomsbury is a thing of the past. It seems a strange place for a hipster outpost, but I'll take it over a fascist yard sign any day of the week.

"I have a confession," Blake said. "That Trump killed the hill for me."

"Yep."

We climbed a little more on Asbury-Bloomsbury Road. We weren't anywhere near as high up as we'd been in Hunterdon County, but here we could see for miles.

Yes, this is New Jersey. Now go home.

Whoops. Sorry about that hill on Winters. Have some cows on Snyders as a reward.

"I'd better make your blog, woman. I've got things to do, you know."

Then the Delaware River at the south end of Alpha. It looks like this for miles, all the way to Riegelsville,

where this could happen:

(Source: PennEast DEIS)

Blake and I kept an eye out for the Gilbert power station, where part of the pipeline will jut out to make a connection. Two scars for the price of one.

(Source: PennEast DEIS)

Blake said, "This ride needs to be part of the canon."

And it will be.

III

My legs were too tired, and John K's ride too early, for me to bike over to Allentown from home for John's recovery ride, so I drove.

John noticed the field on the 539 Spur on his way in, so we stopped for pictures. John said it encapsulated summer.

We both were riding 30-year-old steel bikes. We were passed by a rider on carbon with wide tires. We didn't care.

Rowlf, in front, with the Cool Blue Halo behind the tree, at Baird Road Park:

IV

Then it was September, the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. Blake suggested we start in Yardley. Tom was still away, Plain Jim was traveling, and we never heard back from Jack H or Snakehead. 

Nevada and I met Blake at the Park and Ride. The air was cool, with wind out of the north and metallic gray clouds, ahead of a tropical storm that might or might not wash out the rest of the weekend.

We rode along the Delaware River to Washington Crossing and walked across the bridge.

We wound our way out of the valley from Titusville to Harbourton to West Amwell and Ringoes. We passed this house on Boss Road:

When we got to Alexauken Creek Road, I showed Blake where the pipeline would cut across the stream. And I told him about how PennEast double-crossed the City of Lambertville and plans to cut off their water supply.

At Rojo's, a flier posted on a bulletin board gave a clear picture:

We walked across the bridge to New Hope.

And I was in terra incognita again. Blake tried to explain the roads to me, from north to south perpendicular, more or less, to the river. Aquetong. Street. 202.

Holicong:

And Eagle, the "easy" way.

V

I finished the DEIS comments on Sunday. If you want to slog through 34 pages, the link is here. That is, if the FERC site isn't down again.