Follow the River (The Longest Short Ride Ever)

 

Boys and Girls Club of Mercer County, Trenton, NJ

5 December 2021

Yesterday's ride was all about me feeling guilty for being so overly Covid-cautious that I suggested perhaps Jim should be in quarantine until he finds out if TEW's exposure to a positive colleague didn't infect either of them. 

I know, I know: biking is an outdoor activity that is relatively safe as far as these things go. However. Quarantine is quarantine, and when I was exposed to Covid, I rode by myself for two weekends even though I tested negative four times by PCR during that period. I don't mess around with the risk of lung, kidney, and brain damage. I don't want to be that asshole who transmits the virus to someone who can't fight it off. Instead, I'm that asshole who is overly cautious. And if you think I'm bad, there are people I work with who are more cautious than me. And I'm 3 x Moderna, fer chrissakes.

Anyway.

Tom led a ride from Reed Recreation Area. I had glass to deliver to John K and Rickety, so I drove to the park.

It was an uneventful, chilly, gloomy ride. We could have used Jim to sing us across a couple of hairy intersections. I only took a few pictures, late in the ride, after we'd meandered more or less counterclockwise to the Wawa in Jackson and were heading back through the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area. 

We were waiting to regroup and find out if we were going to detour to the lake (we weren't), and we happened to be next to a tree that wanted its picture taken.

At the intersection of Sharon Station and Herbert Road, we regrouped again, and I got a shot of the gloomy sky. 

At the end of the ride:

Having bowed out of Jim's Sunday ride, my plans were up in the air. Rickety wanted to do something Sunday, so I said I'd contact him later. Jack and I went to walk around Lambertville in the late afternoon. When I got back, I was minutes away from suggesting a ride on the LHT when Jack H emailed a bunch of us.

Meet him at 10:00 at the East Ferry Road (where?) towpath parking lot and follow him to Roebling on trails and roads. After a flurry of emails settling where East Ferry Road is (just north of the Calhoun Street Bridge on the PA side), Jack H had me, Rickety, and Martin to accompany him.

It never occurred to me that I wouldn't have had to ride 10 miles to Washington Crossing and then follow the towpath for another however many to get to East Ferry Road. Only after Rickety seemed surprised I didn't take Fozzie straight through Trenton did it occur to me that I could have done this in something like five miles. Derp. 

Martin brought along a friend, Glenn; they'd ridden from Martin's house. Jack H came rolling down from his house up the hill. 

We went south to the Trenton Makes bridge and walked over to the NJ side. After that it was a maze of sidewalks and parking lots and Center Street, where I halted the group to gawp at the fence in front of the Boys and Girls Club of Mercer County:

There was more where-are-we-going weirdness and then we were on an elevated park, South Riverwalk, riding under arches and over pavers that covered the history of Trenton in such detail that Jack H said it took him and Dorothy over an hour to read them all.

On the other side was a long ramp that led us closer to the river.

He led us down a side street and then, all of a sudden, there was a well-groomed towpath under tall trees. It went on for a few miles, and we could hear I-295 next to us.

"Are we going to be near the 295 overlook?" I asked.

There was a fork in the trail, and Jack H led us to the right, where we found ourselves at the foot of the ramp that leads to the pedestrian bridge over the highway to the overlook.

We spent five or ten minutes there before turning around and getting back on the trail, which carried us over the Crosswicks Creek before dumping us near the light rail station in Bordentown.

We climbed the steep hill into town and followed Burlington Road all the way to Route 130. There was a crosswalk there, and a sign that said we were on the Delaware River Heritage Trail. We'd seen a few of those on Burlington Road too. We followed a footpath that took us to Crystal Lake Park.

There were real bathrooms there, so we stopped. I took the opportunity to pull the toe warmers out of my shoes, no small operation considering that my shoes are lace-ups and the booties' zippers require safety pins to keep them up. I wasn't in a rush, though, because Martin's rear wheel had been making a concerning noise all this time. Glenn and Martin turned the bike upside down and came to the conclusion that it must be a bearing in the hub. There was some mention of some kind of nut, which I mangled into "kronut" because why not. 

We made our way out of the park and onto Old York Road, still following the Delaware River Heritage Trail, apparently. We turned onto the Kinkora Trail, the one Tom had taken us on a few weekends ago, and followed it to the Delaware River at Roebling.

Some wag had figured a cairn was appropriate:

There was some boob-like facility on the Pennsylvania side south of us.

We decided here was as good a place as any to down our snacks, and we spent probably too long just hanging around. There were Roebling twisted cables to talk about, after all. When we finally started up again, I was almost cold.

Glenn needed to refill his water, so we stopped at the QuickChek on Route 130. There were tables outside. The guys sat down for a spell. 

We retraced our steps back to the towpath. When we got there, Jack H, in true Jack H form, did what amounted to an all-out sprint, as much as one can do that on a somewhat bumpy, slightly winding path. I followed in hot pursuit. 

When we got to the other side, I was far hungrier than I had reason to be, and downed the second half of my energy bar. This was only a 30-mile ride; I should be able to do it on half a bar. When I looked at the time on my GPS, though, I realized why I needed to eat again: it was almost 1:30 p.m.

I just wanted to get home, but Martin was deep into his phone, trying to figure out which Roebling scion had drowned on the Titanic. Jack H feigned shock at my impatience and said I needed to put this in my blog. Here ya go, Jack H.

When we reached the Trenton Makes bridge, Jack didn't dismount. We followed him over. I wondered if we were going to get caught by the bridge keeper at the other end, but the shades in the house were drawn and we sailed on through. 

At the East Ferry lot, Jack H said, "This was the longest short ride ever." When he got home, Dorothy teased him mercilessly for taking so long. I offered to shoulder the blame as the resident photographer. Rickety offered up the multiple bathroom breaks and the Titanic business. 

But Jack H was having none of that. He wrote, "NO NO NO. I was the leader, I and I alone will deal with the burden. If I want to lead a ride I must  be able to handle abuse. I learn a lot from Tom."

So there you have it.