6 January 2024
I didn't take any pictures during our towpath ride today. I was too busy navigating cobbles and washouts.
Our plan was to get something close to 20 miles in before the snow started. Six of us met in the Brearley House parking lot.
We went north. Normally, the stretch in Lawrence Township is, as Pete G put it, "the canary in the coal mine." It's subject to flooding from the high, wet ground above. The path is coated with rough sand that, if it hasn't washed away or become submerged, is deep enough to cause a fishtail or two.
Today, that section was the easy part. North of Quaker Road, we encountered a sawhorse set across the path by the kind folks of the State Park. "Trail closed," the signs said, rather unhelpfully. Yellow caution tape was tied to the right side and a tree. On the left side, the tape had been broken.
We, being Good Little Hill Slugs, went right on through. We were joined by dozens of other scofflaws, mostly on foot, traversing the towpath from the northern side.
It became clear very quickly why the state didn't want us there. In between complete washout craters spanning the entire width of the path, there were signs of large trees having been recently sawed down.
The bridge over the towpath at Washington Road is under construction. There's a temporary stretch of large stones and hastily-poured blacktop to get people across Washington Road (which is, again, closed).
Then there's the cobblestone spillway, a known hazard that's more of a mindfuck than a fall risk.
When we reached Kingston, I decided we needed to get closer to 10 miles before turning around or riding up the hill for a break at PJ's.
What a mistake that turned out to be. There was washboard washout after washboard washout, deep grooves in the cinder that I took at speed because I used to own a mountain bike. Then we had to turn around and do the same thing over again.
I had just re-bounced over half of the washouts when I heard the telltale sound of a flat tire grinding on gravel. At the same time, we came upon TEW's hiking group, Plain Jim among them. We stopped. I reached for my rear tire, which was firm. I hadn't yet considered the front when Jim said, "You're flat."
So there I was, sitting on the ground, changing my inner tube with my glove liners on so that I wouldn't come in contact with the rubber. This was, needless to say, not going well at the step where I had to put the new tube in. I took my gloves off. My fingers froze instantly. I put my gloves back on, fussed around a bit more, then finally asked for help. Chris has big enough hands that he was able to get the tire back around the tube without tools. In all the years I've been riding, with all the bikes I've had, I have never, ever been able to do that. Small hands.
When I reached for my pump, the entire mount came off the bike with it, the connection points having snapped. No problem. I have more side mounts at home. It took a while to get the tire up to a reasonable pressure. I shoved the pump into my Camelbak and off we went.
I made a mental note to lead towpath rides from Washington Crossing or thereabouts from now on.
We'd lost time, so we didn't stop at PJ's. I'd promised we'd get back by noon, and we did.
The snow started a few minutes after the last of us drove off.
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