Iggles
18 February 2023
Thursday and Friday were spring. Today was winter. Of course. Because I'd listed a ride for today.
Of the ten who signed up, two canceled and one was a no-show. Another had an afternoon committment and planned to bail less than halfway.
That left Steady Heddy, John K, Glenn F, Racer Pete, Brad, and me to climb hills in below 40-degree temperatures into the wind.
I've been a real asshole so far this year. I think a planned bike trip for the summer of 2024 already has me spooked. I've taken people over Van Dyke three times at least, in both directions. I've hauled them up Province Line in both directions.
I'm trying to vary my routes from the usual winter destinations of Sergeantsville and Lambertville. The cold air has kept us closer to home, which means noodling around the Sourland Mountain. We've been stopping at Boro Bean in Hopewell.
Nobody complains when we pull into the Bean. I can carry two muffins in the cavernous pocket of my winter jacket. The coffee is good, and served to us in ceramic, as it should be, when we ask.
We sat outside and entertained a colorful corgi named Minnie, who was intent on hoovering up any crumbs patrons might have left. "She finds food and buries it, and comes back later. She got a third of a rainbow bagel last week," her owner said.
On our way back, we took Province Line south from Route 518. The hills are unarguably worse in this direction. I'm an asshole.
As we regained the feeling in our legs at the corner of Province Line and Cherry Valley, we were graced with the view of a very large house for sale, built last year. "That can't be for one family," Brad said. I answered, "Around here, yeah."
When we got to Old Mill Road, I stopped the group because I saw a blob at the side of the eagle's nest across the field. I zoomed in as much as possible and got a handful of shots. "I'll let you know when I get home," I said.
The blob ended up being a pair of adults at the edge of the nest.
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