Frozen Slugs on the Towpath

 

Delaware River from Scudder Falls Bridge

16 January 2022

Early last week, Tom, Jim, and I went back and forth about this weekend's ride-leading plans. Jim asked me if I was out of my mind. I told him I was born out of my mind. In the end, the consensus was, "yeah, no."

Hearing a whole lot of nothing by late in the week, Pete G put out a feeler. "I hear the call of a loon!" I responded, and from there, a ride was born:

The Hill Slugs will be studying the Venn diagram of crazy and stupid on Sunday morning on the towpath. We will start from Washington Crossing, NJ, cross the new Scudder Falls bridge, ride up the PA side to New Hope, and return on the NJ side. The route is approximately 20 miles. Wear all the winter clothes you own.

Rickety, Pete G, and Tom signed up, and then Ken G. I know Ken is that special kind of crazy, and he lives nearby, so I asked him if he was planning to ride in from home. It would be ten very cold road miles. I'd do it if he'd do it. Neither of us did. At 8:30 my outdoor thermometer was reading 9 degrees without the wind chill mixed in. Seeing these temperatures, Tom bailed. 

My car's thermometer was reading 18 degrees an hour and a half later as I pulled into the Washington Crossing lot.

Another PFW ride, led by either Ron or Ken W or Chris, was also ready to go. Their plan, as it had been listed, was to go south to the Calhoun Street Bridge and then north to New Hope.

They left before we did, our start delayed because Jack H and Dorothy were in the parking lot too. They were about to hike up the hill and over to Baldpate Mountain. I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin. The zipper got stuck there; Dorothy helped un-stick it.

Ron's group was a little ahead of us. They turned up the Scudder Falls path. We followed and caught up with them at the bump-out in the middle of the bridge. Ken W was taking pictures with his phone.

"I thought you guys were going down to Calhoun Street," I said.

Ken gave the thumbs-down.

"Ah," I said, "A bridge too far."  (ba-dum tsssss!)

I had the camera advantage, being able to work it through my lobster-claw gloves. There was a thin layer of ice on the water, some of it moving with the current.

I took one last shot through the railing.

Ken G had never been over the bridge before. Last time, it was Jim and Ricky's first trip. But it's Martin's name that's tied to this crossing. He's in a Strava competition with some guy who claims the towpath as his kingdom. Martin is skiing somewhere now. I guess that means the other guy won.

We turned north on the Pennsylvania side, separating from the Ron-Ken-Chris group still on the bridge.

Pete and I got into a discussion about winter clothing. My entire outer layer dated back to the early 2000s, the shoes and booties newer than that by only a few years. What works, works.

"I've got toe warmers on the tops and bottoms of wool socks. A toe-warmer sandwich."

"Technically," Pete said, "It's a toe sandwich."

"Right," I said. "Toeducken."

For once, my feet were warmer than my hands (glove liners under lobster-claws), which were also plenty warm.

The trick is not to stop.

Unless you have to pee. Then there's the maintenance barn a little south of New Hope. "Someone needs to open a coffee shop here," Pete said.

I wonder how many people have ducked behind this place. 

Right after I took this picture of Pete, Ken G, and Rickety, we heard a loud crack coming from the canal.

It was the ice doing whatever it is that ice does when it's taking over a canal.

To the south, the sky was clouding over.

I hadn't tried to drink from my Camelbak yet. The tube was empty, but whatever little water had been in the bite valve had completely frozen. "Yeah, mine too," Pete said. "Forget it." I shoved the end into my jacket with the hope it might warm up.

As we were about to leave, the other guys crunched by. We rode as one group for a mile or so, but got ahead of them as we approached New Hope. We stuck to the road there, the main street through town. 

New Hope is the sort of place I'd need to visit around noon, without breakfast or coffee, because I'm pretty sure I could eat my way south to north, filling myself with sugar and caffeine before reaching the bridge.

We didn't stop, though. We walked our bikes across to the Jersey side. Somehow, we reached Titusville in what felt like five minutes. We took the road along the river. We like looking at the houses and the water.

The Camelbak's bite valve was still frozen.

The storm that's going to dump a lot of rain on us tonight was making its way in, and even though the temperature was now a balmy 28 degrees, I didn't feel any warmer than I had two hours ago.

I walked across the grass to take some pictures of the river. Ricky followed with his real camera. He's challenged himself to one artistic photo per day this year. 

In the thirty seconds it took for me to open my phone and take one short video, my fingers froze.

I used my other hand to take the next one.

The worst part about a cold ride is the drive home. My toeducken feet stayed warm. The rest of me, not so much. What's worse than cooling off in the car is getting out again and having to haul the bike back inside. Next time there's a Washington Crossing start, I should just suck it up and bike over.