Dodging the Heat Wave

 

North End of Lower Creek Road

I built the route around descending Lower Creek Road now that it's passable again. 

We're in a heat wave, one that is set to break records for the twenty-first of May. The heat index was set to nudge 100 degrees. We had to get out early. I listed the ride from Lambertville to start at 8:00 a.m.

The drive up was in dense fog. I was having flashbacks to the two Double Reservoir Rides I'd led in weather like this. While the fog holds, it's pleasant, if not a bit sticky. Then the sun breaks through and the ride becomes a death march. This time I was keeping the route short, with the goal of finishing before the temperature reached 90 degrees.

Rickety, Pete, Jim, and Lenny G were fool enough to sign on.

Alexauken Creek Road still has a canyon in it, so we climbed out of the valley on Seabrook instead. That's when Jim informed me that we'd picked up an extra rider. He had that racer tell: his seat post was in the stratosphere, and he was carrying next to nothing. 

Seabrook was still wet from last night's deluge. We rode through haze all the way to Sergeantsville and into the hills beyond. On Reading Road we all stopped to marvel at a field of spider webs. I'd forgotten that my camera had been set for timed shutter releases and a long exposure for the eclipse that I never saw. It took me a few minutes to remember how to undo everything and take the pictures I wanted.

(Had I been by myself and with my good camera, you know I'd have gone into the field for a closer look.)

We had a steep dogleg to climb on Locktown-Sergeantsville Road, but after that we were on top of the ridge, where the going was much easier.

So far, it didn't seem terrible out. Only when we reached Ridge Road and began our descent into Frenchtown did I feel the first hints of the heat wave.

When we walked into the Bridge Cafe, it was 10:10 a.m., and I was surprised by this. I have no concept of time when I'm on my bike. If the clock had said noon, I'd have believed it. The early hour went a long way towards explaining why we weren't suffering yet.

The early morning fog was completely gone.

While it's always an option to bail on the hills and take Route 29 all the way back to Lambertville, I figured we were doing well enough to climb out of the valley, and besides, there wouldn't be any shade on Route 29. I'd chosen Fairview as our way out. In my mind, it's easier than Horseshoe Bend, and Ridge, which we'd come down, is in full sun. 

From there, we had more downhill than up, and the trip from Hammer to Featherbed to the bottom of Upper Creek seemed to take no time at all. 

We stopped at the Green Sergeants covered bridge. The hole where the tree impaled the frame during Ida is still there.

Around the corner, at the upper end of Lower Creek, we were greeted with a barrage of do-not-enter signs.

Did that stop us? Pffft! I switched my Fly12 camera on and captured the entire road. The video is too big for Blogger to handle. Here are some screenshots.

This is where the road completely washed out, just north of Covered Bridge Road.

South of the intersection:

Farther along, it looks as if nothing had ever happened.

Then it goes to dirt again. There are random barrels and cones still positioned in ruts.

With 25 mm tires, the road is easily passible. 

Friday brought strong winds. Maybe this debris was new, but it could very easily not be.

There were many potholes to dodge, with room enough to get around them.

Another large branch covered almost the entire road:

This is what I think of when I think of Lower Creek Road:

The Wickecheeoke is center left:

More beauty:

At the southern end of Lower Creek, there's another barrier. This one has no signs.

We hammered along Route 29 from Stockton back to Lambertville. It was 12:00. The heat was starting. We'd timed it just right.

*****

Late in the day, Jim listed a ride for Sunday. The high for the day wouldn't be as bad as Saturday, but even at 8:00 a.m., it was hotter than Saturday and more humid. Rickety, Eric H, Ming, and I signed on anyway.

To the west, there was thick cloud cover. I decided to leave my camera in the car.

 

"I'm having carburetor trouble," Jim said, several miles into the ride. It was hard to breathe. I felt generally icky. 

Fortunately, the route was flat. We were headed for the Blawenburg Bistro, Jim's favorite place these days. 

I had new replacement lenses in my sunglasses. The frames are Oakley, but I refuse to pay $200 for new Oakley lenses when I can find knockoffs that fit the frame for $20. The cheap ones last almost as long. My new lenses have more blue in them than the last ones did, and the color was making the sky over the Sourland Mountain look ominous. 

As we pushed farther west, the sky didn't just look ominous; it was ominous. We stopped so I could check the radar. We were on the edge of a solitary storm cell that was moving northeast. We'd miss the center of it, but it was already raining a little. With the memory of being soaked last Saturday still fresh in his mind, Jim turned us back towards Franklin Township. We rode in and out of drizzle for the rest of the way.

We finished with 24 miles instead of the planned 38, but, really, that was fine with me. 

I stopped at the Blawenburg Bistro on the way home. Already on Route 518, I stopped at Boro Bean too. I was paying it forward for two weekends. This time next Sunday, I'll be driving onto Mount Desert Island.

Making Up for Lost Time: Eagles, Rain, Piglet

Reed Farm, Allentown, NJ 

15 May 2022

I: Eagles

After putting in a few long days in the lab, then finding my schedule blissfully open on Thursday morning, I took Pete up on his offer for a short ride. I have vacation days to burn, and the forecast for the weekend did not look good.

There was a strong wind out of the east, so we headed east. We started from Pennington, going down Old Mill Road, where we could see the eagle nest on the other side of the field. I had to use my 40x optical zoom and enlarge the photo more at home to determine that one of the parents was in the nest, and that another, maybe the juvenile, was hiding behind the middle branch.

After a brief real estate tour, we were back on Pennington-Rocky Hill Road. There were cows and sheep,

and a redwing blackbird perched on the pasture fence.

We rode the Princeton Ridge, taking side roads south of Cherry Valley, where the landed gentry are. This got us into the back end of Princeton. Pete wanted to detour to one of several of the university's construction sites, where something is going in (a parking garage maybe?) where he usually goes to watch soccer games.

I took him to the other construction site, which, awkwardly, meant we had to ride along the side of the building where I was supposed to be right now. The second site is an 8-building dorm complex with about 1000 beds. We had to navigate around several large trucks waiting to get onto the road, which is covered in a fine layer of silt deposited by the daily rounds of the street-sweeper truck.

From there we went north and east, back towards Pennington. From Pennington-Rocky Hill Road, south of Old Mill, we could see the nest again. I pulled over to try to get some more photos.

This time, I found a blurry juvenile with wind-ruffled feathers. 

When I went to the lab in the afternoon, I felt refreshed.

II: Metric in the Rain

Meanwhile, the weekend's forecast appeared to be improving. When Tom proposed a 48-miler out of Reed in Allentown, I decided to make up for lost time by biking to and from the start. This would add a little under 28 miles. 

My laptop wasn't recognizing my GPS again, but our desktop PC still was, and I downloaded the route.

Friday night's Saturday forecast depended on where one looked. AccuWeather was calling for a 45-50% chance of showers all day. NOAA was being more optimistic, pushing the rain off to the late afternoon. At 7:00 a.m. on Saturday, Tom declared that the ride was on.

I left the house on Beaker a little before 8:00 a.m. The sky was a uniform, dense gray. It was met with fog once I crossed over Quakerbridge Road. By the time I got to Allentown, visibility was iffy. I took some pictures in the parking lot and put my camera in a sealed sandwich bag.

We had as close to the full roster of Hill Slugs/Insane Bike Posse as we've been able to manage this season, what with various injuries and Covid quarantines. 

Jack H, Rickety, Pete, Jim, Martin, and I received the blessing of the Holy Kickstand. Martin took pictures.

Tom reminded us that the Holy Kickstand doesn't guard us from stupidity.

Nor does it protect us from rain. We weren't far into the ride when the first few drops fell. Pete called out, "This rain is some bullshit!"

But it was only a few drops. 

We'd already stopped for a mechanical once, barely out of the parking lot, when Pete needed to reseat his rear tire. Said tire went flat not long after that. We'd been riding in and out of faint rain showers. Now, as we were stopped, it was coming down a little more. Jim and Martin took some pictures (this one is from Martin):

I might have taken pictures too, but when we started getting wet, I'd taken my hearing aids out and put them in the same bag as my camera. I didn't want to risk losing them, so I didn't take the camera out for the rest of the ride.

As we stood there, we heard booms coming from the north. At first we thought it was thunder, but Tom said, "Howitzers." We were close enough to Fort Dix to hear them. Tom knew because his new house is close enough to Joint Base MDL that the neighborhood receives noise calendars from the military.

We got started again as the rain was petering out. Tom figured we'd stick to the planned route and make up our minds at the rest stop in New Egypt.

Before we got there, though, Jim had a flat. (The photo is by Martin.)

Conveniently, we were near the driveway of a house under repair. There was a porta-potty. But there was also a "no trespassing sign." Jack H, of course, went right on in. He's our resident scofflaw. Martin and I decided not to chance it. I started singing, 

As I went walking I saw a sign there,

And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."

But on the other side it didn't say nothing.

That side was made for you and me.

We found some trees across the street. 

Now it was really, truly raining.

"We maybe should turn north now?" I suggested as we reached an intersection. Behind me, Jim said, "I think we should cut the ride short." So we did, as soon as we reached a north-south road.

The rain was splashing onto my GPS, making the screen go crazy. At one point it was convinced we were in the Bahamas. I wasn't worried about water getting into the device. Although the plastic door that protects the USB connection had long ago broken off, I'd kept the port sealed under electrical tape, which was holding firmly. When we finally deviated from the planned route, I turned the navigation off and hoped the GPS would stay quiet.

At the intersection of Holmes Mill and Polhemustown, Pete complained about the rain again. Tom said he hadn't promised us that we'd stay dry. Pete replied that it was acid rain. This got Martin started:

If your child ain't all he should be now

This girl will put him right

I'll show him what he could be now

Just give me one night

I joined in:

I'm the gypsy, the acid queen

"I don't know the next line," I admitted. Martin sang, 

 Pay me before I start

That got everyone started on listing the first albums they ever bought. I'll skip the embarrassing details.

The rain was more on than off for the rest of the ride back to Allentown. Several people offered me a ride home, but I didn't see the point. I was already wet, and if I stayed on my bike, I'd have a metric century.

Somewhere near town, Martin got himself a flat. He and Jim decided it wasn't worth fixing and Jim drove back to pick him up. Of the 48 miles planned, we'd managed 35.

Jack H wanted more miles and rode with me as far as Mercer County Park. 

When I got home, I grabbed a spray bottle of Simple Green and cleaned Beaker's drivetrain. Then I hosed the entire bike down, including the filthy Muppet on the saddle bag. My timing was perfect: as I wheeled the bike into the screened porch to dry it off, the rain became heavy, steady, and didn't stop for hours.

III: Piglet?

Rickety and Pete felt cheated out of miles on Saturday. I suggested a recovery ride from a newish bakery in a decrepitish shopping center two miles south of my house. 

I came up with a route, sent it to the guys, and tried to upload it to my GPS. My laptop would not recognize the device, not for the first time. It would connect just fine, and start charging, but no amount of resets and port switches got me farther than that. I moved over to our desktop PC, which informed me that the drive was corrupted. 

With a trip to Maine coming up in less than two weeks, I didn't want to be stuck with a malfunctioning GPS. I get lost on the Acadia carriage roads too much for that. So I picked up a new one at REI and spent too much of the rest of the evening adjusting screens and settings.

On Sunday morning, I mounted the new GPS on Kermit and coasted downhill for two miles to meet Rickety and Pete, who had ridden 8 miles from Pennington. 

Cafe du Pain seems like a good place to start and end a ride. It's got the right food and the right attitude: La Colombe coffee (just like the dearly departed Pig), home-baked pastries and sandwiches, and a community-oriented vibe, including partnering with Princeton eBikes (next door) to donate to the Boys and Girls Club of Mercer County.

The only problem is the location: it's in a strip mall that borders Route 1. The back side is on Princeton Pike, which is residential there and has wide shoulders. At 9:00 a.m., the bakery was closed but the roads out of there were quiet. We snaked our way northeast through neighborhoods and don't-try-this-at-rush-hour roads all the way through Ewing to Nursery, Bear Tavern, Jacob's Creek, and Scotch Roads.

Eventually we got to the rural stuff. As we circled back towards Pennington, Pete said, "I'm giving you custody of Ricky," and turned toward home. 

I hadn't been planning to go back to the bakery, but Ricky wanted the miles and the experience, so we went. I'm glad we did. We sat outside -- they have two little tables -- and discussed logistics. We decided that Jim needed to know about this place, because he's still morning the loss of the Pig. "This place is the Piglet," I said. 

We'll be back on some Sunday for a recovery ride, or maybe I'll start from here sometimes in the winter, when all we'll really want is 35 miles of relentless rollers. 

Hot Mess Part Thirty-One: So Much to Learn, Nowhere to Put It

Spring 2022 Final

11 May 2022

I: Quarantine Panic

Stuck at home with asymptomatic Covid, I was missing three days of glassblowing. In the cabinet outside the classroom were three vases, a cat, and the vessel Tall Vase and I made for Our Instructor's goodbye present. I needed five more vases for the bottle tree, but more important, I had to get the vessel lettered and sand-blasted before next week's final.

I panicked. 

I texted Low Key. She lives in East Windsor, and her slot is on Wednesday mornings. I begged her to drop the vessel off at my house. Fortunately, she was willing to do it, and fortunately I had picked up multiple packs of stick-on letters two days before I was diagnosed. 

As soon as she dropped the piece off, I got to work.

I'd compiled a list of things Our Instructor says a lot: 

"Put it away," which is what we say when we're ready to knock a piece off the punty and stick it in the annealer. It's always a fraught moment, because the bottom of the piece can break off with the punty, or the whole piece can crack. A few weeks ago, I called out, "Put it away," to signal to my partner to get the heavy gloves on. From the back of the room, Our Instructor said, "Put it away put it away put it away now," and those of us who know the song laughed.

 

"Someone will love it," Our Instructor says when one of us shows him a piece he doesn't love.

"Take your work home" is a thing that a lot of people don't do, and then the cabinet gets full.

An "art stick" is a thing people made back in the day when they were told they couldn't make dildos in class. At this point, I'd used up every lowercase t and had to get creative. 

"Full rolls," because half rolls make wonky pieces. The rails are two feet long. Use them.

"Nobody listens to me," he says after we make the mistakes he warned us we'd make if we didn't listen to him. See also "take your work home."

In a pinch, one can use lowercase letters, cut a curve in a capital Z, and make do with poster putty for numbers:

Because we drive him crazy and we still don't know who the New Instructor is going to be:

I heaved a sigh of relief when I finished. If I continued to be asymptomatic (it had only been two days so far), I could get to the sand-blaster on Tuesday. What I couldn't do was mess that up. I carefully covered the yellow lip wrap with masking tape, sealed the top with bubble wrap and more tape, and then packed the piece away, putting it in a box by the front door so I wouldn't forget it.

II: Sprung!

The university rule was that I was to isolate for five days, the day of diagnosis being day 0. Hmm. I spat at 7:20 a.m. on Monday. Did that mean I'd be free at 7:20 a.m. on Saturday? No; the test results came back at 7:00 p.m., and, therefore, I was to isolate "through Saturday." Poop. 

On Friday, I tried to explain to the university's text bot that, not only did I not have any symptoms today, but also that I never had any. The bot then asked me when the last time I had symptoms was. Argh! In frustration, I typed in April 25, which was the day I tested positive. The bot thanked me. I replied, "I'm trying to tell you I NEVER HAD ANY SYMPTOMS."

But then, mid-day Saturday, I got an email:

I grabbed the thank-you vessel and an N95 mask, and drove to Newtown.

There were three bottle tree vases waiting for me.

Orange, finally. I've been struggling with this frit since 2019. It cast a groovy shadow.

So did the vase made from a piece of Cherry Red rod:

I've used Garnet a handful of times. It never looks the same way twice.

I'd flubbed the tail on the most recent black and white cat. It's giving the world the finger.

But I got the pattern I wanted: white in front, black in back:

Saturday afternoon is Our Instructor's time slot. I sneaked off to the sand blaster, which, for a change, was working properly. I still had to grind the bottom to make it stand straight, though. I wrapped it again and, while Our Instructor was busy with his glass, smoothed the bottom on the wet sander in about thirty seconds. 

I took pictures around the corner from the classroom, where Our Instructor couldn't see what I was doing. I texted the photos to Tall Vase, Low Key, and All the Glass. Despite my quarantine, we'd gotten it done.

At home, I put the new vases on the bottle tree. All I needed was two more, three if I wanted to move the white one back inside. Three would be better; then they'd all be transparent.

I'd have two days to do it: my usual Tuesday slot, and Wednesday afternoon, which I'd fortuitously signed up for weeks ago.

III: Student Art Show and Glass Sale

Me and my N95 were back the next day for the student art show and glass sale, the first one since Covid shut us down in 2020. 

Classmate's Partner and I unpacked and priced pieces from current and former students going back years. It was fun to guess who made what. We'd be selling to raise money for charity and to replace tools in the classroom, like the hollow punty that, on its way out all semester, finally gave up the ghost while I was using it. 

We priced based on size. The biggest stuff (mostly from All The Glass) would be $15, the smallest $5. A few of my pieces were in there, $5 and $10.

We each had some of our own to sell, which we put on a separate table and priced far lower than what we'd ask anywhere else. Classmate's Partner set aside a bunch of his rejects to give away for free with a purchase of $15 or more.

We really want this stuff out of our houses.

This was the view from our end of the tables. My crap was at the far end of the near table.

This was the view from the All The Glass end. 

Our Instructor, Glass Ninja, and Sage were setting up for the glassblowing demonstration inside. At the same time, the student art show was open in the building next door. I went over to have a look around.

It was crowded. I took some pictures, grabbed a free soft pretzel, and zipped out.

I found my vase, in a case with a piece from Classmate's Partner (left) and LT1 (right). 

Tall Vase, outed here as Guy Brudahl, is already showing in galleries, so I can share his name with impunity.

All The Glass, left, and Prodigy, right. If you enlarge the photo you can out these guys too.

Glass Ninja:

Alchemy, an artist too humble to admit it:

One of the new students, whose cats don't look like mine:

This is by the guy who wears the coolest shoes and just landed a summer job doing make-your own glass at the Corning Museum of Glass:

She won an award for this drop-vase. It's her second semester. Are we jealous? Yes, we are jealous.

Back at the sale, I set this vase aside to take home. Thread Sherpa made it.

There were big crowds after the art show awards were announced, and after the glass demo was over. The three of us working the sale filled the cash box to the point where it was difficult to close. 

I had despaired of selling any of my own work, but my luck turned when I got into a conversation with a woman looking at one of my vases and told her about my bottle tree project. Her eyes lit up. "Show me all the good ones for a bottle tree!" 

The two black and white reject cats sold. All three of the floppy bowl rejects sold, one to the classmate who won the award, and another who had no cash on hand, left, and came back to claim it as we were packing up.

In the end, I walked away 8 of my pieces lighter and one Thread Sherpa piece heavier. 

After I washed my hands, I stood in the now-empty classroom and took a picture of the door that is the fourth wall. How could I have caught Covid in here? 

III: Rush to the Finish

I had two more chances to make three more bottle tree vases: Tuesday and Wednesday. 

GGP texted me early Tuesday afternoon. One of her slacker classmates had a legit excuse today: he was getting tested for Covid. I got there as early as I could, which was 2 hours into the session and in time to help one of the beginners halfway through her piece. Not into the whole glassblowing thing, she refused to make anything else. In the remaining time I banged out the three vases I needed. I didn't care if the tops were even. All I wanted was an opening wide enough to fit on the metal branches.

I swirled two colors here, hoping for a reaction that didn't really happen:

I had a bad jack line here, and instead of fixing it, I went with it, creating a semi-graceful slant:

The third one turned out all right:

At 5:00, the beginner left and Sleepless took her place. I "borrowed" a piece of rod from her, which we thought would turn out red, but it ended up being black.

In a baggie, I had collected all the scraps from the threading and feathering I'd done since the fall. I put some on the hot plate. I wasn't sure I'd remember how to make a straight cup. 

I'm using this all the time at home now.

I needed two more cats for the final. Sleepless helped me get them done. I hadn't worked with this gray before. It was very stiff. The ears were tough.

Somehow,  a swirl of blue got mixed in on the first cat. Kittens get into stuff; these things happen.

The second one was cleaner.

I made more on Wednesday, but none would be out in time for the final.

IV: Final

It was fortuitous that the dean of the art program came into the classroom, dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt, to make the announcement of Our Instructor's retirement official. I took the opportunity to present our present, wrapped in newspaper, as we do.

"I have so much glass at home already, " he complained. Then he opened it. "Okay. I might keep this one."

I babbled through my series of series. The vases weren't part of it; they were there because I'd just picked them up from the cabinet, but I talked about them anyway.

The cats wound up on top of a shelf, surrounding a bowl of ornaments that now looked like yarn the kittens were after.

V: Purge

After the final, everything on the Window Sill of Judgment has to go. I managed to achieve this before midnight.

The two greens feather cup became part of my permanent collection, which I wasn't planning on until I dropped a timed LED tea light into it.

Saint Polychromatus the Bottle Tree is complete:

Saint Vitreous has gained a head, bottom center. They now number eleven.

Spiders on Drugs has survived another winter on the rock:

Saint Orbitus is complete.

All the branches on Saint Cullet are full:

There was still the matter of the things I made on Wednesday. I went to pick them up on Saturday. Alchemy and Cool Shoes were at one bench, Our Instructor and Glass Ninja at the other.

I grabbed a piece of chalk and drew on the floor (which is a thing we do): 

"So much to learn, nowhere to put it."

Then I got busy judging the pieces I'd made on Wednesday. I'd been trying for long pieces, something I've rarely done, and never on purpose. It was clear I'd have to do this a lot more to get it right.

The first vase was just plug-ugly.

I sawed the top off and beveled the opening on the wet sander.

Better, I guess.

Two years ago I'd have been happy with this. Now? Not so much.

I'd gone with the uneven top look on this scrap thread vase as well, and the more I look at it, the more I wish I hadn't.

Maybe. Does the unevenness add to the motion?

Same thing here, for a pattern I'm definitely going to try again in the fall. 

The last thing I'd done on Wednesday was use a piece of rod that Classmate's Partner had made himself and left in the oven for one of us to use. My partner that day flopped a perfect bowl, and I felt pressure to try one too, even though I'd set up for a tall vase.

It was a failure, but it failed in a way that I ended up liking. These aren't my colors at all, but they're from Classmate's Partner, and he makes controlled chaos vases anyway.

One side dripped and fused to the outside.

The opposite side pinched itself off:

In the final ten minutes, I used up a pile of Gold Ruby frit to make a large ornament:

When I turned around, Alchemy had edited my grafiti: 

"Learned so much, nowhere to put the results."

Same thing, really.

I packed my stuff up and headed out, stopping to take a picture of an anonymous glass bunny hidden between a retaining wall and a bush. 

I set the Wednesday pieces on the Window Sill of Judgment. A tea light would not rescue the green mess. I put it in a box marked for next year's student sale.

Classmate's Partner's controlled chaos didn't need a tea light to find itself in my permanent collection.

The grassy scrap vase didn't need the light either; it went onto the kitchen window sill, where I will stare at its imperfections until whenever.

Sunday was rainy too, and I spent the morning cleaning, moving, and purging pieces from the permanent collection into the student sale box. Somehow I freed up three shelves in the process.

VI: Epilogue

From the student art show curator:

From Our Instructor:

Someone loved it.