Hot Mess Part Twenty: Hitting Reset

Office Clutter

27 August 2020

At first, they were going to close the classroom for one week so that they could clean it. Then we were told we'd make up the lost time in late May. Late May came and went. When we received a refund in the mail, all of $150 out of the $400 materials fee, never mind the tuition, we knew it was over.

By this point, New Jersey had been shut down for two months. I'd been working mostly from home, with brief forays into the lab to check in on what was left of our mouse colony. I'd closed the curtains so that I could see my computer screen better. In the process, I hid what little I'd produced in half a semester of glassblowing.

 

When it became clear that we all needed to mask up, I made sure that the cat on my office mate's desk was compliant. The mask material is a long story.

At home, it was time to decide what to keep, what to smash, and what to give away. Mojo helped with the sorting.

I decided to keep these three and took the middle one to work.

With us all being shut in, we kept in touch online. One of my friends got creative in her yard, turning glass plates and saucers she'd found over the years into flowers and whimsy in her yard. 

I felt inspired. I ordered a bottle tree, which is a real thing. I wasn't going to cover mine with bottles. Not exactly.

For the base, I used the bottomless Maine attempt.

It's slug-approved.

On the branches, I posed all of the practice vases that were too messed up to give away but not quite bad enough to throw away.

I posted pictures online, of course, and told my friends that, for a small donation to TASK, they could pick pieces from the branches. Two went to my friend around the corner, who is my biggest patron.

That left room for other pieces. After three iterations, the bottle tree stood.

In early June, a derecho tore through our neighborhood, taking out power and branches, including two from the oak in our front yard and one from the maple out back. The bottle tree didn't even shake.

Tacky? Yes. Fun to photograph? Of course!

In mid-June we got the all-clear to return to the lab. I set two of the pieces from the aborted semester on the shelf above my desk and cut some samples of the ornamental grasses outside of the building.

One of the vases at home got the chance to hold a sprig of hydrangea. More ornamental grass got shoved into one of the first vases of the semester.

June melted into July melted into August and we heard no news about class. The virus waned, then surged. I tried not to think about glass. I started photographing orb-weaving spiders in my yard instead, much to the chagrin of my online arachnophobic friends.

Sleepless and I would text each other regularly, in sprawling conversations about everything and nothing. Eventually I decided to break the silence and emailed Our Instructor. With less than a month to go before the fall semester, much was still up in the air. All he could offer was that we should all get our own eyeglasses. LT1 didn't have any insight either, but she noted the times that Sleepless and I would be able to work together all the same.

With two weeks to go, we finally heard something. Our Instructor sent us two videos of himself, in a mask, at the bench in our former classmates' studio, the end of his pipe attached to a tube that delivered air, controlled by a foot pedal. 

The college sent specific instructions about how we were to proceed to a particular parking lot, report into a specific building, demonstrate our good health, receive a wrist band, then, and only then, trundle off to class.

Immediately, I knew that my first piece of the semester would have to have an opening wide enough to hold every wrist band from September on.

I'd have to make another drinking glass for my office, too. As if to mock me, my computer's slide show rolled around to the time the wrapped cup I was trying to make fell into the block bucket. The one I succeeded in making had served as my office drinking glass ever since. Crooked and off-center, the more I used it the less I liked it.

When I bumped it with my coffee mug and a piece of thread fell off, I found myself with a warm-up project for the fall.

Our first class session was five hours ago. We met on Zoom. Until I signed in, I hadn't realized how much I'd missed the whole scene. It was less of a class and more of a reunion, with several new beards, a couple of new faces, some missing familiar ones, and inside jokes that I understood, and even made. We know it's going to be difficult to blow glass without actually blowing. We know that we need to be strict about cleanliness and social distancing. We know we have to keep our masks on at all times. We know that our breath can never meet a pipe. If we need to drink, which we will, we need to step outside. We know that, with the maximum number of people allowed in the classroom at once restricted to five, we might not see each other face-to-face for a long time. We know that all it will take is one person to break the rules, or one person to get sick, and the semester will be over.

During all this time away, only one thought has remained consistent: I am no longer going to pressure myself in class. Every hour I spend in there could be my last for a long time. I'm not there to become a famous artist. I'm there to muck around. Sure, I'll work on fixing my errors and improving my skills. But I will never let the pressure of perfection steer me away from the sheer joy of being in a room full of nerds who, like me, can take a molten blob of viscous goo and turn it into something colorful and shiny.

Again?!?

 

Northeast View from Baptist Church Road near Alexandria, NJ

16 August 2020

(Well this is annoying. The new Blogger interface uploads photos in reverse order. When I try to report the problem I get an error message. Grumble.)

Yesterday I led my tenth ride of the year. Normally I'd be up around 20 by now. 

Several of my regulars were off doing other things, like traveling or being covered in poison ivy or recovering from heart attacks they didn't know they had until after last week's ride. In their place we got two regular irregulars: Ken and Ed.

With Jack H and Ricky along, Tom, Martin, and I figured we'd be chugging along in the back, which we did.

Our destination was the Asbury Coffee Mill. We hadn't been up this way since last August, when we found the place closed for a private function. This time I made sure to call the Mill before I posted the ride. They assured me they'd be open.

I drove up Route 29 from Ewing. Nearly the whole way to Frenchtown, trees along the river were covered in caterpillar tents, so many that the leaves were completely gone on trees that had been infested.

Ken, having some OCD about miles for the season, decided to ride to Frenchtown from home, a 34-mile trek none of us were willing to try, especially with an 8:30 start out of Frenchtown. Ken is fast and strong, and, having left his house around 6:00 a.m., got to the start early enough to put in a few extra miles. Having him half worn out already could only help keep him a little closer off the front.

Our first two miles were along Frenchtown Road towards Milford. We passed the staging area for a river tubing company. A handful of masked workers were standing around a bus. Behind them was a tent packed with life vests and brightly-colored tubes.

We spent the next 8 miles climbing to the ridge that divides the Delaware and Raritan watersheds.

We descended towards Spruce Run Reservoir on Baptist Church Road. Near the top there's a good view to the northeast of what might be the hills around Cokesbury and High Bridge.

Next to the road was a stand of wispy grasses.

Martin and I both stopped for obligatory pictures of the Bethlehem Baptist Church remains.

We skipped going into Spruce Run. I figured it would be too crowded. Instead we turned onto Henderson Hill Road. Tom had remembered the hill. I'd forgotten until I saw it. "Oh, yeah, this one," I said. Martin chuckled in a doomed sort of way. "It's a slog," I said. 

We slogged.

There's a descent towards the end. Jack H and Ricky were stopped at the bottom. Ricky had a flat. Ken and Ed were already at the end of the road, at the top of another small hill. Tom, Martin, and I proceeded to the top to wait. 

I took some pictures while we waited at the corner of Black Brook and Charlestown Roads.

Ricky and Jack H eventually arrived. There was a tear in the side wall of Ricky's rear tire. Already the tube was poking through. Ken had a Park Tool boot. Ricky flipped his bike over and deflated the tube again so that he could put the boot in. Once inflated, the boot on the tube showed through the cut. I had some electrical tape with me. Ricky wrapped the tire. 

We didn't figure it would last very long. Tom knew where we were and decided that he'd go with Ricky straight to Asbury rather than take the 4-mile loop I had planned. From there, at least, they could call for a ride if the tire wasn't holding up.

The tape lasted half a mile, coming apart as we descended into Glen Gardner. Ricky peeled away what was left and we rode slowly across the bridge over the Musconetcong River into Warren County. He and Tom turned left after we crossed; they'd be in Asbury in about a mile. 

We continued straight. At the intersection with Asbury-Anderson Road we could see the Blue Army Shrine. Ed suggested we not ride up to look at it because we'd lost so much time already with the flat. I was OK with that because I didn't want to have to play human dodgeball with worshipers anyway.

From where we were, the shrine looked as if it were on level ground. It's not. It's at the top of a steep hill. From where we were to the shrine was all uphill. Why the place looked so low from here confused me.

We turned north onto Cemetery Hill Road.

Because I stopped for pictures, the guys were ahead of me. I missed the turn onto Mountain View and had to call out to them to turn around. 

We passed the entrance to the shrine. At the gate was a printed sign telling worshipers to keep 6 feet apart from each other.

Asbury-Broadway Road has a fun little descent into town. The first thing I noticed when we got to the Coffee Mill was that Tom and Ricky weren't there. The second thing I noticed was the sign on the door.

"POWER OUTAGE CLOSED Sorry!"

"What?!? Again?!? I called this time!"

I dismounted onto the sidewalk, which was festooned with blue tape Xs six feet apart and one-way arrows from the entrance to the front porch.

I checked my phone and saw a text from Tom. They'd been here and moved on. The tire was holding.

Most of us, having ridden during the lockdown, have been packing extra food and plenty of water. Bob had purchased Zefal Magnum water bottles that hold 32 ounces instead of the usual 24. When I saw them I got myself a set. I'd not quite finished off the first bottle today. 

As we've been doing all season when faced with closed rest stops, we plunked ourselves down in front, six feet apart from each other, and distributed snacks to the snackless.

A few minutes later another group of cyclists arrived and we gave them the bad news. They were all in need of water, halfway through a metric, having climbed Fiddler's Elbow (because of course they did) and on their way to tackle Iron Bridge (because everybody but me comes up here and doesn't try to climb the worst hills in New Jersey).

This not being my first time shut out of the Asbury Coffee Mill, I directed the fastboys to the bar back up the road. That's where we wound up last time.

Ken put a cicada larva molt on my handle bar. Cool!

Rather than go back up to the bar, I decided we'd continue on and look for water in Riegelsville if we needed it.

We headed west, following the Musconetcong past Bloomsbury to Warren Glen and the Delaware River. 

I stopped for a picture of a pair of caterpillar trees along the river.

Jack H, realizing where he was, zipped ahead. We caught up with him in Riegelsville. Next to the bridge and the little toll house was a hose with a pump. Jack tapped on the window and asked the bridge keeper (I think they're just there to stop people from riding their bikes across) if the water was okay to use. He said it was. Ken filled his bottles and then doused himself with the hose. Jack H took some water too, and then I filled my empty bottle part way. I still had enough in my other bottle that I probably wouldn't need this, but it's better to carry too much water than not enough.

We continued on Riegelsville-Milford Road, where the road turns away from the river for a while and throws in some rollers. 

"This water is pretty bad," Ken said. "It's warm."

"If you end up vomiting blood tonight we'll know why," I said, and decided not to drink any.

Past the rollers, the road follows the river again. It's Jim's favorite stretch of road up here, so I made sure to stop and get some pictures for him.

"There's barely room for one car here!" Ken said.

I led the Slugs down the last stretch between Milford and Frenchtown. Now the tubing staging area was full of people waiting their turn for a ride to the river. 

Frenchtown was crowded too. 

Tom and Ricky were just leaving as we pulled in. "The tire held," Ricky said from his car. Tom said the same thing as he drove by. "We stopped at the pizza place in Bloomsbury," he said. I hadn't even thought of that. We'd come within a quarter mile of it on our way to the river.

After packing up, I stood in line at the Bridge Cafe window to order a mango water ice. I ate it in the car before heading home. It hit the spot.

Fog

Princeton Battlefield

9 August 2020

I didn't feel like riding all the way up to the Claremont School this morning. Jim had given us the option of meeting him in Griggstown, and I took it.  I left early enough that I could stop for pictures.

When it's foggy, I take lots of pictures.

The Princeton Battlefield oak is always good for a shot or two.

The fog was starting to dissipate when I reached Carnegie Lake. 

Years ago, Tom took a picture in the fog of a rock at Spruce Run Reservoir. I've been trying to replicate that ever since. 

Somewhere on Canal Road, south of the Griggstown firehouse, I passed a farm with a pile of hay bales. When there aren't cows to stop for, hay bales will do.

Above the field, the sun was beginning to poke through the clouds.

 I was early, so I kept on riding, turning on Butler Road. Halfway up, Jim's group passed me coming down. I turned around. He had a lot of people with him. We picked up Dave H at the firehouse and met five more in Rocky Hill. Only two of the five were registered for the ride. There was no room for the others, which was fine, because they were too fast for us. At first, Jim told them to stay in the back, but when we got to Kingston, he told them to go off the front instead. That's the last we saw of them.

On a side street in Princeton, Pete popped out of a driveway. When we got near ETS, he led us down a side road to a bike path. Which is to say, there was probably a path under all the downed branches and leaves. The path took us to another residential street, which led to Province Line, where we picked up part of the LHT and found ourselves at ETS.

Pete and I left the group on Wargo Road. I didn't feel like riding all the way to Hopewell and then climbing out again. I was drenched. My gloves felt like two soggy weights. 

In Pennington I stopped at the Pig to check the hours. They're still only open Tuesday through Saturday, 8:00 a.m. until noon, and they are still only serving drinks.

I got home early enough to finish all the Sunday chores and even go food shopping. What a mistake that was. At least I know what elementary school dodgeball trained me for.