End

End of the Delaware Canal

31 December 2018

Jack H knew the way. Tom and I followed. 

We started from Jack's house in Yardley and wound through some high-price neighborhoods to get down to the canal, crossing onto the towpath on a little red bridge in Morrisville.

The tunnel under NJ Transit's Morrisville Yard was still an active construction site.

We took a path through the woods, emerging on the side of the Northeast Corridor tracks, where I stopped to take pictures of the graffiti.

Yes, that's a swastika on the pillar. Welcome to America.

The guys were waiting for me on the other side. I emerged as Jack was explaining the finer points of embankment reinforcement.

If you're looking for canal scenery you're better off north of Morrisville. The canal was a murky, stagnant, shallow green. We were never far from the traffic on I-95, buffered from it and trailer parks by leafless bramble.

We were following the highway and the Northeast Corridor. I could tell where we were by the landmarks I remembered from my SEPTA commuting days. We crossed busy roads in Levittown; I could see the landfill across from Burlington. I was looking for the old factory in Bristol, across a pond from the train station.

There it was, but first, a great blue heron, the third we'd seen today, this one with a leaf in its mouth.

The factory has been converted to offices; next to it another old building has become apartments.

Jack led us past that to a path that led to the Delaware River, where the Delaware Canal ended.

We found the dock and rode up it as far as we could.

We were trying to get our bearings. Across from us was Burlington Island. The docks pointed west. A factory billowed something on the New Jersey side to the northeast.

Bristol's main drag looked like a fun place to walk around.

Jack led us back to the towpath. Somewhere north of there I had to stop and laugh at the state park sign at the edge of a large big-box shopping center. Can you say "easement?" The park was the towpath, two ruts of red clay chips between the parking lot and Route 13.

I finally found a spot worthy of a scenic photo. This was as good as it got.

Back along the tracks I stopped again for pictures.

As I was putting my muddy bike away I noticed, for the second ride in a row, that my 11-year-old Camelbak was leaking. This time I was well soaked; even my shorts, under thick leggings, were soggy.

It was warm enough to give Grover a good hosing off when I got home.

So that's that for 2018. I rode about 500 fewer miles this year than last. I put more miles on Grover, my mountain bike, than I did on Rowlf, my 1986 Colnago. That'll have to change next year. I took Gonzo, the Le Mond I'm trying to destroy via fluid trainer, out on the road only once. Miss Piggy, in the hills, barely edged out Beaker on my commute; adding in the few times she got to run free of lights, Beaker beat Piggy by about 50 miles. Kermit, of course, beat everyone else, because I like Kermit the best.

Looking for the Sun

Marshalls Corner-Woodsville Road at Mine Road

30 December 2018

Cold air is easier to ride in when you know the sun is going to come out.  Even if the temperature doesn't change all that much, a few degrees warmth from the sun makes riding near freezing temperatures more tolerable.

Mine was the only ride listed today. Still, the group was small. There were six of us: me, Ricky, Ken, Ed, Racer Pete, and newcomer Sophie. I sized up the talent and knew I'd be leading from the back.

When I lead from Pennington in the winter I usually go one of two places: Lambertville or Sergeantsville. The destination is predictable but the route is not. I hadn't decided where we were going, but when Sophie said she'd never been to Sergeantsville it was settled.

There was a little blue between the clouds when we left, but we were riding in a calm, slightly clammy Sunday morning.

I got very close to being dropped on the top half of Stony Brook Road As payback I didn't warn everyone to shift down when we turned from Snydertown to Linvale. I can be a vindictive bitch when I want to. At least the group stayed more or less together after that.

On Mountain Road near Rocktown the sky looked dramatic enough that I stopped for pictures. It wasn't getting any closer to sunny.

"Wait at the cows," I instructed as we started down Harbourton-Mount Airy Road.

This wasn't a typical Hill Slug group. There was a triathlete and a racer in the mix, and everyone else, with the exception of myself, was a natural climber. While nobody was deliberately pushing the pace, there was a certain amount of jockeying for first up the hill. I figured there might a chance they'd wear themselves out trying to be King of the Mountain. Halfway to the cows I could see that it was starting to happen; I actually passed a couple of people before I stopped in front of the pasture.

One cow stood away from the herd. I pointed my camera at her. 

She saw me and, hay dangling from her mouth, sauntered over to the fence to pose for Bovine Vogue.

When we got to Sergeantsville were the only cyclists at the general store.

Halfway through our break two women wearing Ironman jackets rode in. Geez. All the fast people are out today.

The sun still wasn't out when we left. Ken grumbled that I hadn't kept my promise. We were on Lambert Road. I looked past him, to the north, and gestured. The sun was shining in Flemington.

We took Dutch Lane to Wertsville and climbed up Losey to Rocktown, and then turned on Linvale. At the top the sun came out from behind a thick cloud.

"Look, Ken!" I called out.

Ken yelped in elation.

"Be quiet!" Ed admonished. "You don't want to scare it away!"

We went down the other side of Linvale, across Route 31 to Woodsville Road, and across 518 to Marshalls Corner-Woodsville Road, which, hallelujah, has been paved from 518 to the Pennington border.

At the top, near Mine Road, the view was worthy of a few pictures.

Ken saw the ray of light at the same time I did.

The blue sky, though, was still behind us.

We never did see our shadows again.

South on the Towpath

Not the First Obstacle of the Day

26 December 2018

Tom wanted to explore the Pennsylvania side of the towpath from Washington Crossing south toward Bristol. He wasn't sure how far we'd get.

Ken, Chris, and I went along with him.

obligatory winter sky and bare tree picture 

 Washington Crossing bridge

I didn't see the entrance to the sidewalk on the Washington Crossing bridge. I didn't see that there was a sidewalk at all until I was several hundred feet onto the steel-grate bridge, telling myself not to look down to the river below. The guard on the Pennsylvania side was nice enough about it when Ken and I got there.

This was my first time on the PA side of the towpath south of Washington Crossing. We went under the new I-95 construction -- the bridge deck looks finished -- and were met with a barrier on the south side.

Like that would stop any of us.

Farther along we went under SEPTA's West Trenton Line railroad bridge.

The towpath was in good shape from Yardley north.

South of town, though, it got a little dodgy. As we got into Morrisville the path disappeared abruptly behind a warehouse at Bridge Street. We walked through the parking lot, carrying our bikes over a culvert using a pallet that was in there already.

Then we had to carry our bikes down a set of cement steps back to the towpath. We only noticed the wheel-width sized ramp after we'd reached the bottom.

Beyond that was a sign warning us that the path would end in 5000 feet. We kept going until the path ended at an active construction site. As we approached an air horn sounded from the railroad bridge above. We were near New Jersey Transit's Morrisville yard.

This being a weekday there were workers at the tunnel. Despite our reputation, we did not attempt to get through.

The towpath continued on the other side. We'll be back.

We turned around, back up the stairs (Chris placing his bike on the ramp this time), and across the Trenton Makes Bridge.

We rode on the streets near the Capitol complex and got back on the towpath at Calhoun Street.

In Ewing we got a little spread out. I used the regrouping to take a few pictures.

The ground, frozen when we started and thawing now, was getting mushy enough to make our ride feel like work. When we finished with 20 miles the distance was enough.

Once the tunnel construction is finished, and once we figure out a good place to start south of Washington Crossing, we'll come back and try to get all the way to Bristol.