I had been looking
forward to checking out the Delaware and Raritan Canal State Park, a 70-mile
linear park that starts in Millstone, New Jersey, runs southeast to Trenton and
then bends northeast to finish in New Brunswick. The trip started off fairly well,
but a series of unfortunate events turned things into a bit of a nightmare.
I started in
Lambertville, just across the Delaware River from its totally overblown (and
overrated, in my opinion) cousin, New Hope, Pennsylvania, and rode northeast on
streets. The plan was to complete a 65-mile triangular loop by entering the
park at Millstone and returning via the trails, which lie mostly on the
towpaths of the two old canals. Both waterways are mostly still intact, although
their operation as commercial navigation routes ceased in 1932. The canals now see
plenty of kayak and canoe travel and are also used as a municipal water source
for the area.
Before setting out
on my trip, I had jotted down some directions on a card and attached it conveniently
to my handlebar stem with a neat clip I received as a “door prize” from a previous
club ride. Unfortunately I was quickly frustrated by intersections that only
had street signs marked for the secondary roads. That’s fine if you are on the larger
county roads, seeking the minor intersecting streets, but I was doing it the
other way around, looking for points of reference as I made my way across some
of the less-auto-traveled roads.
I stopped to
confirm that I was heading in the right direction a couple of times, and during
one friendly encounter, I realized that there was some type of biting/stinging
insect inside my cycling jersey. I found out quickly that it wasn’t a bee,
because it got me FOUR TIMES, as my acquaintance looked on with sympathy (and a
bit of amusement, I think). With an awkward reach behind my right shoulder, I
was able to find the little buzzing lump and give it a vindictive squishing
pinch between my fingers.
Although I will get
the requisite welts inflicted by wasps and spiders, I generally don’t react
badly to bites/stings, so I almost completely forgot about the incident. In
fact, when I looked in a mirror hours later, I could find no evidence that
anything had happened at all. Maybe my body decided it couldn’t be bothered
with such minor swelling and was more concerned with the other damage the trip inflicted, but I’ll get back to that.
For obvious reasons
the ride along the Delaware & Raritan reminded me very much of the C&O
Canal, except without the elevation changes. Because it is MUCH less
geographically isolated - and as a result, more frequently used - I found the
D&R to be better maintained. The surface was fairly consistent, mostly a
combination of fine, yellowish pea gravel and sand, with an occasional section
of newer cinder construction mixed in.
Recent rain had
left me to do some swerving around puddles and muddy low spots, but in general
the trails had drained well, and I was left with a more compliant riding
surface. The rains had also cut down on the dust that would have been kicked
up, so I didn’t feel completely filthy, as I often do after spring/summer trail
rides!
Although it wasn’t
overpoweringly warm the day I rode, I was pleased to find the route was shaded
around 80% of the whole route. At one point I was nearing a blue heron, and he
mistakenly took off towards the trail instead of out over the water. It
unfortunately couldn’t find a way out through the thick foliage that created a
tunnel around the towpath. I rode closely behind as the bird glided low over
the ground for a few hundred yards, until it found a clearing and banked his
huge wingspan out over the canal - these amazing creatures really are modern day Pteranodons!
Plenty of wildlife
was viewed along the way, but I could have done without the company of the
Canada geese, since their poop piles were like a minefield in some sections. The
birds weren’t too happy to share the trail, either. Several of them had
goslings in tow and supplied a threatening hiss and a flap of wings when I
passed by. “Well maybe if you went to the other
side of the canal where there is no towpath, you wouldn’t have a problem!”
You’d think the birds would have figured this out by now.
And now the “fun”
begins. Somehow a thorn (of all things!)
lodged into my front tire and created a very slow leak. Because my cyclocross
tires are relatively low pressure (72 PSI), and I was riding on a soft surface
in practically a straight line, I didn’t even notice the situation until I
approached a pedestrian/bicycle overpass at Rt. 1. As I stood on the pedals to
accelerate up the ramp, I could tell something was wrong and immediately let
off the gas, but not soon enough to safely negotiate a curve right at the base
of the incline. In the middle of the turn, the mushy tire rolled right off of
the rim and down I went onto the concrete.
Since I was
travelling relatively slowly, the damage wasn’t too bad: some “road rash” near my
right elbow and on my lower leg, a little chunk taken out of one of my knuckles
and a bruised hip. I was probably most angry about the chewed up pair of BRAND
NEW cycling shorts! But for some scrapes to the right pedal and handlebar end
cap, my bike came away pretty cleanly, the most important result in these
low-speed accidents. Our scrapes and
bumps heal, but…
I made a repair to
the tiny hole, and then stretched a
little before starting up again. This “forced break” probably wasn’t the preferred
situation, but it definitely could have been worse, so I shook it off fairly
well. I laughed to myself thinking about the possibility of landing in the
canal instead!
As I entered
Trenton, I took the opportunity to snack on a fruit/nut bar and try to recharge
myself for the remaining 12 miles or so. I found that the trail needs some
improvement through the city, as the towpath segments are a bit broken and
access points are not always well-marked as the canal remnants become mixed
with streets. Knowing that the river was always on my left, I kept in the
general northwest direction until I linked back up with the Delaware Canal
segment.
A few miles later I
neared Washington Crossing State Park and thought I would top off my water
supply for the handful of miles I had left. As I made my way cautiously down a
ramp to the park restroom building, I noticed the righthand side of the walkway
was overgrown with weeds and overhanging bushes so I moved over to avoid
getting snagged. Little did I know the walkway would end abruptly just around
the corner on a small wedge of sidewalk, with the curb drop-off to my left,
weeds on my right and nowhere to click out of my pedals!
Had I not already
had 60 miles of riding (and a crash) already in my system, I may have been able
to bunnyhop the bike out of the awkward situation, but my fatigued body could
only manage to drop the front wheel down to the pavement below. Unfortunately
there was one of those concrete parking bumpers in the way, and when my wheel
stopped abruptly, I nearly launched myself head-over-heels. In the slow-motion
instant replay, I somehow managed to kick my left foot out of the pedal down to
the pavement and got clear of the bicycle as it spun violently out to the right.
I somehow kept hold
of the handlebar with my left hand to prevent it from smashing to the concrete,
and later when I took off my cycling glove, I found that I had a strange bruise
on my palm just above the wrist. I suppose that this was from the bar end
smacking into it when the bike was twisting from my grip.
I was really
tempted to toss my bike into the river, which was only about 50 feet behind the
restrooms, and hitch a ride back to Lambertville – so close to the finish and
here I was, having to change another flat tire! I sat on a park bench taking
sips of water and just shaking my head for a couple of minutes then sadly
reached into my back pockets for the tire levers and spare tube.
About forty minutes later, I was thinking that I had never
been so happy to see the car!
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