Mud, Pie

 

Delaware Canal Towpath Near New Hope, PA

26 November.

Martin has a pie problem.

It's 10:03 a.m., 40-something degrees, partly sunny, and the wind is howling out of the west on the NJ side of Washington Crossing. I've been on the road, pushing against that wind, for 10 miles on Fozzie, my gravel bike, to get here on time. 

When I woke up at 6:45 this morning, the rain was still coming down. Pete bailed. The rain finally stopped a little before 9:00, and because Martin and Jack H weren't concerned about a little towpath mud, the ride was on, leaving me with not quite enough time to get properly bundled and leave the house.

The roads are surprisingly dry for the rain only having stopped half an hour ago. The front is moving off to the north. I get a good look at the clouds as I pass by Twin Pines. I'm trying to replicate this color in glass, so I stop for pictures. I'm not helping myself with the punctuality problem here, but I've already emailed Martin to tell him that I'll be rolling in late.

So it's 10:03 and I'm sitting on the curb, loosening the laces on my right shoe, hoping that this time, with some paved hills to contend with, my feet won't go numb from anything but cold. 

Martin is explaining the pies. He's been adhering to a keto diet for a while now, so never eats carbs. Yesterday being Thanksgiving, he was surrounded by pies, and, well, he's here to atone.  

While he's explaining, I see the moon over the trees by the river.

We set off to the south, enjoying the tailwind that eluded us both on our rides over here. The path is, surprisingly, mostly dry. 

Jack H, coming from the south, meets up with us halfway to the new Scudder Falls Bridge pedestrian path. They've both been over it. I haven't, and that's why I'm out here right now.

Jack H warns me that it's no Tappan Zee. That's fine with me, because nothing could be as horrid as the GWB.

Martin points out the recessed lights that are set into the railing at regular intervals. It's there he found a spider last week, and he took a picture of it for me. Naturally I'd done my best to figure out what we were looking at; he'd done his best to assure me it didn't matter. Now it's too cold for spiders, but there are gnat-embedded web wisps in each alcove.

The path has bump-outs for scenic views. The first faces Pennsylvania.

It's a long way to the first bump-out, but it doesn't feel as if we've come this far.

It's another long way to the next outcrop, halfway across the bridge. The NJ hills are in the distance.

On the lower side of the Pennsylvania half, plastic barriers separate us from the traffic. Why these barriers only go so far up the bridge remains a mystery, despite Martin's vigilant sleuthing and photo documentation during construction.

We coast down the Pennsylvania side, and it lets us off at Woodside Road, nearly directly across from the Delaware Canal towpath entrance.

The PA side has not dried out. We scoot around puddles, or ride through them. I can hear the water and mud on Jack H's new gravel bike's brakes: skrrr skrrr skrrr. Eventually, Fozzie is mucky enough to make noise like that too.

Jack H rides ahead, then stops.  "This is the Jack H--- Memorial Massacree Bridge," he says. Shorty after Ida, he'd ridden over this bridge when it was closed. There was a cop waiting for him at the other end. Long story short, he paid a small fine and had to pick up the garbage. 

While we're stopped, Martin asks me to take a picture of him riding, "so I can prove that I worked off the pie."

He doubles back.

Then starts towards me, letting go of the handle bars.

South of New Hope, there's a disintegrating wooden building. Behind it are two pieces of land-moving equipment that might or might not still be in use. It's a good spot for a kidney break and for photos.

Jack H gets a call from home. There's family over, and there are things to do, so he rides with us as far as New Hope and turns around. Martin and I walk across the bridge to Lambertville.

It's clouding over again.

Now we have a stiff tailwind. The New Jersey side is dry, and the 6 miles to Washington Crossing are finished in what feels like ten minutes. 

Martin wants to return to the PA side on the Washington Crossing bridge, then ride over the Scudder Falls path again, to complete a Strava segment. He offers me coffee at his house if I go with him. I thank him, but decline. "If I stop, I'll get cold." 

He turns towards the bridge and I cross Route 29 to climb out of the valley on Washington Crossing-Pennington Road. The tailwind pushes me the entire time, and continues to push me all the way down Pennington-Lawrenceville Road. 

Fozzie needs a bath. When I get home I hose him down, then clean the chain, as the wind picks up over my head, blowing in a new blanket of cloud cover that lasts for the rest of the afternoon.