Hill Slug Chronicles: Pennypack, Flemington, Blurry Eagles

Pennypack Trail, Philadelphia, PA

27 February 2022

Tired of being relegated to freezing Saturdays, tired of Sunday's Cranbury West mayhem, and wanting to lead a ride, I listed one for Sunday, knowing full well that Sunday is the day Jim owns and I wasn't likely to get many takers.

Tom jumped into Saturday for an off-the-books ride in Philadelphia's Pennypack Park. Rickety and I went with him, which was perfect. It was one of those days where one puts on all the warm clothes one owns.

Rickety and I had our gravel bikes, and Tom his mountain bike. Although the trail is paved and generally cleared of snow, we've been surprised before by uncleared sections.

This is the first time I'd been here in the winter when there wasn't snow on the ground. It's not nearly as beautiful. We started at the northern entrance on Pine Road, where the path is loaded with steep rollers for the first few miles. We were riding into the sun, so we didn't stop for pictures. We figured we'd get them on the way back.

We went all the way to the Delaware River. We found what looked like an old pier, now covered in grass and lined with park benches. I didn't remember having seen this open before. A guy was walking his dog there, and I asked him how long this spot had been open.

"A long time," he said, "but they only put the benches in a few years ago."

"Ah. I haven't been here since before Covid," I said.

"Yeah, it was after Covid," he answered, the "o" going on for days as the Philly accent is wont to do. "Caaaaeeewwwwvid."

I was taking pictures of the capsized boat along the shore. The guy said it had come loose and stranded itself near the gazebo. "The Coast Guard towed it down there," he said. "It's been there for years."

We rode over to the gazebo, north of the pier.

There was a good view of the river facing north too.

Rickety, meanwhile, was over at the restrooms with Tom, his right shoe off, the cleat stuck in the pedal. We'd tried to free him several miles back to no avail. Now he had the thing released, one of the screws on his shoe missing. He pocketed the cleat and put his shoe back on.

We went back to the trail along the river. Last time we were here, it had been closed. Tom said it might lead us to where the Pennypack Creek meets the Delaware River. Rickety was pleased with this, now that we've seen the Millstone meet the Raritan, the D&R Canal meet the Raritan, and the D&R Canal meet the Delaware. I can add the Lehigh to the Delaware to that list.

Unfortunately, we were thwarted by a chain-link fence. If we want to see the creek meet the river, we'll have to come back after Labor Day.

I stuck my camera through the fence.

Tom's chain kept leaping off the front ring, an unusual event for a one-by. As he stopped to fix it, I looked landward and, in the distance, saw what looked like an eagle's nest. I zoomed in and figured I'd see if anyone was home later.

Turns out I ought to have zoomed in a little more, because, in the nest was a white head and yellow beak. Blurry and pixelated, this was the head of a bald eagle. Look under the word "is" for the blurry head.

We made our way back, past Holmsburg Prison, into the woods again, to follow the creek back to Pine Road. On the banks were strewn tattered remains of plastic bags, probably from Ida, we figured.

In my mind, I break the trail into three sections: the hilly section, the bridge section, and the river section. We were back at the bridge section, where the creek and the trail go under roads supported by arches dozens of feet over our heads. There's one in particular that's good for photos. North of it is a small waterfall.

Tom dismounted on the south side. I went over to the north side to photobomb him, a tradition started by the erstwhile Snakehead in 2016.

photo by Tom Hammell

I puttered about on the northern side a bit.

Then I trudged back to the southern side.

The Pennypack Creek is tidal. I found a tiny clam shell.

We were approaching the hilly section. I stopped for a picture of the church on the opposite bank.

Then there was the spot we always stop for, where the trail is close to the water.

Then the hills, then the packing up, and then off to pick up the garbage piece of glass I made on Thursday night because it was more or less on the way home anyway.

By Saturday evening, I had three people signed up for my ride: Rickety, Len, and Racer Pete. Sunday's weather was predicted to be warmer than Saturday by a handful of degrees, but there would be a strong west wind to contend with.

I pulled out an old route to Flemington, one I usually do in early spring. The north-northwest outbound course had us fighting a crosswind while trying to climb. I knew the route would wear me out; I was mentally prepared for that.

I'd also forgotten that the bridge on Van Lieus is out. In typical Hill Slug form, I led us down the road anyway, hoping we could get across, because doubling back would have made us climb one of the more annoying hills around. Fortunately, we were successful scofflaws. Construction has not yet begun.

Even though I was behind the guys on the longer climbs and gave them directions one turn ahead, they waited for me. Despite the hills and wind, it was a mellow ride, just warm enough to feel comfortable, the sky clear.

At Factory Fuel, we sat outside in the sun. Rickety said he wanted to come back with his car, to take pictures and buy a t-shirt from the coffee shop.

On our way back, the wind pushing us along, there was a lot of talk about the Cranbury West situation, and how we're pretty much done with all that for now. I hope, as the weather warms, there will be more Sunday offerings and the chaos will dissipate. For now, I'm not sure what I'll do on Sundays.

The wind gave us some help on the two annoying hills at the southern end of Bad Manners. I took us over the Sourland Mountain sideways, which meant going into the wind twice. By the time we reached Linvale, I was feeling pretty beat.

As we approached Stony Brook, Len asked, "How many miles left?"

"Mmmm, eight maybe?" Then, as we began the descent, "I think it's ten."

From that point on, he kept asking me, and letting me know he had one mile shy of that left in his legs.

Right.

I did stop on Stony Brook for a couple of photos because winter is the best season on this road.