Hopewell-Amwell Road, 26 October 2019
1 November 2019
Welp, the pretty part of autumn is over. Between last Saturday and now we've had five days of rain and a tornado warning. Tonight there might even be frost.
Our goal last Saturday was to get to Lambertville to see That House on Union Street. Ricky met me at my house, where I fed him some coffee. We rode up to the Pig to meet Pete, Jim, Racer Pete, Rajesh, and Luis.
I didn't have a set route in mind, so I went east on Cherry Valley to Province Line Road. Everyone stopped at the top of the second hill. "There's the color we were looking for last week," Jim said. I wasn't the only one taking pictures.
We found some more on the other side of Province Line, at the top of the last hill.
The view towards Hopewell-Amwell Road was good, as always. There are tall evergreens hiding the red farmhouse now.
We continued on and collected at Ridge Road, where leaves were falling all around us.
The owners of this vineyard (which I thought was Unionville but the plot was for sale last year and now Unionville doesn't list it) have put green mesh over their grapevines.
Working without a script, I led the group down Gulick Road and then down Route 179. I always forget just how far to Lambertville it is. We ducked off on York Road, hung a left somewhere, and got to Union Street.
The first house was relatively tame, with a heart-munching ghoul to welcome us.
Farther north was this tree-clinging skeleton surrounded by decades of telephone technology. Not knowing what to make of it, we called it "art" and moved on.
And, finally, The House. The sculptor, Dolores Dragan, adds new characters each year. I think this rabbit-child might be one of them.
I think this guy might work in my building.
"Nice aero tuck!" Rajesh said.
Zoom in for the names of innocent people killed by cops:
The House from across the street:
Farther up the block:
Oh hell no.
We lounged around Rojo's long enough for the next bike shift to arrive, this one on two tandems, which we gawked over on our way out. One has battery assist and independent cranks. The other has uncouplers and a carbon fiber chain.
I meant to turn on Alexauken Creek Road. I missed it and went up Lambertville Headquarters instead. That took us well out of the way, but at least we got some good color before we reached the other end outside of Ringoes.
"How far back to the Pig from here?" Jim asked. He had afternoon plans.
"I have no idea," I said, turning east. "Ten? Fifteen?"
From there on, I took the most direct roads back and didn't stop for pictures.
It was fifteen.
Postscript
Between the Pig and the spa next door was a hand-written sign that could have belonged to either of them.
Because bourbon is a cultivar of the Arabica coffee bean, coffee is often flavored with vanilla, and Mani/Pedi could well be the name of the estate from which the beans came. Or it's a foul-scented goop they stick between your toes.
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