Carbon Fork

MD-NYC-DC-NYC-NJ-MD

Interesting weekend. I traveled more than 900 miles in three days, never leaving the Northeast Corridor . . . mercifully, only a fraction of that on a bicycle. Here’s how it all unfolded.

While our intent was to do the Pumpkin Patch Pedal this weekend, the actual ride wasn’t until Sunday. And Jeff had to be in NYC on Saturday morning for a financial conference. So, we figured we’d go up on Friday, I’d knock around the Big Apple while Jeff did his thing, we’d have a nice dinner Saturday Night, then speed over to Jamesburg, NJ bright ‘n early Sunday for the ride.

And that’s what happened. Well, sort of.

What I wasn’t planning on was a major proposal on Saturday. In DC. A plum potential client, and a meeting that I really needed to be in on. I would really, really, really feel bad if I wasn’t there and we didn’t get the job. And Saturday was the day - we were one of four firms being interviewed.

So . . . I got to ride the train, at company expense. Twice: Acela from NYC to DC, and regular service from DC back to NYC. All on Saturday. I left NYC at 10 am, got back at 7:45 pm. Yes, I really did this. And in the process, got to catch up on all the shows I’d TiVo’d and downloaded this past week: Heroes, Bionic Woman, Biggest Loser. Even Amtrak’s coach cars have 120v plugs available. How cool is that? And Acela has lovely work tables with lots of leg room. Deluxe. All told, the round-trip was maybe 500 miles or so, give or take. Add those miles to the up-and-back to/from NYC, as well as the 50+ miles on a bike, and you come pretty close to 1,000. Last time I traveled 1,000 miles in the space of 3 days, I actually ended up in Florida, or something, not back in the same place . . .

But, that’s OK. I got to spend some quality time in NYC, despite my trainus interruptus interlude. We had a lovely dinner Friday evening at FR.OG (France Origine) . . . Vietnamese, Morrocan, and Lebanese-inspired French cuisine . . . And another, lighter repast Saturday night, at Sanctuary Tea, open only one month -- where most of the dishes (and cocktails, for that matter) involved tea as an ingredient, in one form or another.

We stayed in the Millenium Hilton, which was damaged on 9/11 when the WTC towers collapsed. The hotel was closed for a couple of years, and then was totally renovated and reopened in 2003. We stayed on the 34^th floor, directly overlooking Ground Zero.

Here's a shot of Ground Zero, right after dawn. You can actually see the PATH tracks, upper left (kind of a backwards "C"):

You can learn more about restoration of the WTC site from Project Rebirth.

Here's a lovely sun-just-coming-up shot (marred by light from the open room door behind me, darnit):

I snapped that last edge-of-dawn picture this morning, right before we left for NJ and the PPP ride. We were so tired last night . . . lots and lots of walking (and a bit of travel weariness on my part, too) but we woke up this morning feeling OK. We hurriedly showered and packed, pulled the car out of valet parking purgatory, and (with a short stop at Starbucks), sped off for Jamesburg, and Thompson Park, where the ride was to start. The PPP is put on by the Staten Island Bicycling Association, and it’s a really fun event, featuring pie and (in past years, but sadly not this year) Halloween candy. We did the ride two years ago, but had to miss last year, owing to the holding of Mets/Nats tix. Good thing, too . . . we found out, from other riders, that last year’s ride sucked in a major way, weatherwise - cold and rainy.

But today . . . was absolutely perfect, just like two years ago. Cool temps, sunny skies. I was doing my A ride, too . . . I left poor Jeff behind for most of the ride, but periodically stopped and waited for him. (Hey, he used to do the same thing to me . . . I’ve just gotten so much faster these last two years.) I did do the first half too fast, though -- 15 mph average. But after the first rest stop, at the halfway point of the 50, we hit some hills and mild wind, and I started slowing down. I finished the ride at a 14.6 pace, and Jeff came in at 13.9. I was ready for the ride to end; we were both glad we didn’t opt for the metric. I had wanted to do at least one this year, but I guess it’s not in the cards. There are few organized rides left, and we’re not going to have time to do the Sea Gull. I start getting pretty busy this time of year, and my evenings and weekends are filled with work, not bike rides.

Ride start: Thompson Park in Jamesburg, NJ:

Finally. A street just for aggressive drivers:

NJ isn't just turnpikes . . .

There are ponds . . .

Farms . . .

Aaand . . . OK. Some abandoned buildings, too.

 

NJ has its horsey country, too. But, as usual, I also found COWS, and you know how I love cows:

(More on the NJ Farmlands Preservation Program . . . hey, why d'ya think they call it the Garden State, anyway? Flower patches in suburban back yards??)

Where I found the cows. What a wonderful dedication. Bet she was a sweet, sweet lady.

SIBA has a lot of fun with their PPP ride. The second rest stop was kinda scary:

Arrrr! We had a pirate directing traffic!

What happens when you don't eat and drink enough on a ride:

More sights: scenic bridges . . .

Ye Olde Yellow Meeting House, Monmouth County:

And, finally: nothing exceeds like excess . . .

I never saw the fun in these blow-up decorations, but to each his own, I guess. I can only presume they are well-staked in case of high winds.

* * * * *

Food is, of course, one of the reasons we ride, and today was no exception. After we finished up and reloaded the bikes, we went to a Super Stop ‘n Shop (no, not sexy, but hey, there wasn’t much else around close), and got snacks. They had passable fresh-made sushi, so I had that, an apple, and a mocha. We then beat it down to Philadelphia and the Standard Tap, in Northern Liberties, a gentrifying warehouse and loft area straight north of the downtown area. We first learned of it when we read an article on American gastropubs in Food and Wine a couple of years ago. It’s an informal joint; décor is Early Plumber (seriously, pipe is a major design element) and the menu is written in chalk on a blackboard above the bar, as is the beer list. The Tap serves mostly Pennsylvania beer, mostly microbrewed. Our choices tonight included Sly Fox, Stoudts, Yards, Yuengling, and Flying Fish. We selected Stoudt’s Scarlet Lady Ale, and squinted at the blackboard’s menu offerings. (I actually had to get off my stool and walk over to the bar; the print was tiny and my glasses are in need of a serious upgrade.)

What to have? There was lots to choose from: fried oysters to chickpea sandwiches to foie gras, as well as a selection of desserts. I wasn’t all that hungry, given it was only a couple of hours since our SnS stop, but I need to refuel at least a little more. 50 miles in 3.5 hours burns some serious calories. I opted for a bluefish plate, and Jeff eagerly pounced on (for the second time in two days) hangar steak and frites. Ahhh. My fish was perfect: crispy skin, tender and flaky meat. The home fries (with onion and bacon) were pretty swell, too.

Oh, yeah, speaking of bacon . . . I had it this morning, too, at breakfast at the Edison Diner. Bad, Deb, pretty bad. Please don’t tell my arteries . . .

Maybe Jeff and I should go veg the next few days, huh?

Indian Head Hundred

Southern Maryland and Korean fried chicken . . . what do these have in common? Certainly not each other; there's little in the way of ethnic food that far out in the Maryland boonies. But we managed to bike in the former and dine on the latter, both in the same day -- and in different states, to boot.

Yeah, we're weird that way. But it keeps things interesting.

Today was the Indian Head Hundred, and we got up at 4:30 (uhhhhh) to get down there in time to ride early. We even hit the road while the traffic lights were still on flash. They don't convert until 5:30, and we left the house at about that time.

Our big challenge of the morning, in fact, was actually finding something to eat, pre-dawn. There's damn little to eat in Montgomery County on Sunday morning before 7 or so; the 24-hour diner thing just hasn't caught on, for some reason. (Another thing we like about Baltimore.) But we did manage to find someplace open: IHOP. Yep, turns out it's 24 hours on the weekends. We figured it couldn't be THAT bad, and we were right. Their 'cakes were decent, even though the waitress couldn't seem to understand that I did NOT want margarine with my so-called "lighter" short stack -- I wanted butter. (Substituting icky margarine for whipped butter in no way makes a dish either lighter in calories, or healthier.)

Jeff ordered some large platter with 3 kinds of meat, hash browns, and eggs . . . and told them to hold the eggs. For some reason, he needs a pretty substantial meal before a long ride. I can go pretty far on a mocha and scone, but not him. So I've learned to find him some REAL food, before major mileage.

After breakfast, we got down to the ride start without further ado. Interestingly, we drove through several areas of patchy, dense fog, which made me a little nervous. But the sun was shining brightly in Indian Head, and the temps were still pretty cool; I figured we'd probably be OK. (We were, for the most part.)

As we started unloading our bikes, the woman at the car next to us said, "You look familiar . . . do you ride with the [Potomac] Pedalers?" We allowed as how we don't, really, but that we do ride in other places in MD, PA, DE and NJ. Something about her was familiar, though . . . and then it dawned on me: I'd taken some spinning classes from her. "Do you teach spinning at Fitness First?" "Yes, in North Potomac." Aha. Then, I noticed she also had a Serotta, a nice one in a pearlized Bianchi-like color. Yes, she got it at All American Bikes (so does every other Serotta owner in the area). I admired it for a bit, and told her a little about my custom job.

We were still wondering how far to ride, and happened to mention it to her. She said she was going to do the "unofficial" 45-mile version. She said she'd done the Civil War Century's metric yesterday, and was kinda cooked today. (We skipped that ride this year, but did the 50 last year.) She showed us on the map where we could cut off an 18-mile loop. Jeff wasn't sure if he wanted to go longer than 30, but we decided to keep it in mind as an option, and grabbed both cue sheets at registration. We wouldn't have to make a decision about which route to take until 21 miles in, at the rest stop.

She - yes, I keep calling her 'she' because I NEVER got her name - said, "why don't we start out together?" We did, but we weren't together long. She was fast! And Jeff still isn't comfy going fast down hills, and the first mile or two of the ride had some moderate descents. I hung back, waiting for him, and watched her pedal out of sight. I didn't have any real trouble keeping up with her, but she was moving at a pace faster than I would have been happy with for an entire ride.

And THAT is why I never got her name. I was going to ask, but never got the chance.

* * * * *

I did this ride last year by myself, and I remembered it as a combination of fast roads and big hills. I remembered correctly, except that I only remembered 3 big hills, and there were really 4. (Jeff was none too pleased that I forgot the 4th one, as we could have avoided it. But I digress.) The first 20 miles or so, though, were pretty fast. We found ourselves cruising along right smartly, sometimes upwards of 19 - 20 mph. It was cool, and . . . foggy.

It was never so bad that visibility was impaired, but it did play havoc with my glasses. They misted over so badly that I had to stop several times and clean them.

While in the fog zone, we happened to pass a swampy area. It was FILLED with spider webs, ordinarily not noticeable but rendered visible by the heavy dew. Every single web was a marvelous tracery of tiny droplets.

There were hundreds of webs. Yes, hundreds. I've never seen anything like it.

Southern Maryland is REALLY rural. General stores, painted barns.

The local form of entertainment is also a bit different. We passed a fire hall that advertised "Cow Chip Bingo." Another rider passing by wondered, aloud, what CCB could possibly be. I said, "Oh, I can think of a lot of rules for that!" I guessed it might consist of a large floor grid and a bunch of dried cow patties for markers.

Well, I was sorta close. Here's the real explanation from Everything2: "What happens during cow chip bingo, is that people buy certain squares for 1 to 5 dollars a piece, depending on the size of the field. A cow is released onto the playing field and when it craps on a square the person who bought that square wins money. If the poop lands between two squares or more the money is divided up and the person who had more dung in their square gets more money. Several cows can be set out at once if the field is large enough or if one cow doesn't produce anything for a while."

Um, OK. I don't think I could have thought that one up in a million zillion years.

* * * * *

It is probably a good thing that a decent portion of the ride was in shade, as I forgot to put on sunscreen today. As with last year, I especially enjoyed Smallwood Church Road, truly a leafy delight.

Riding can be expensive, but it doesn't usually send you to the poorhouse:

Yes, we went to the poorhouse. Well, not actually *to* it, but probably a good way toward it. The road actually was quite nice, and apparently its residents are not so poor that they can't afford transportation:

Hey, Jeff . . . get a *real* bike!

One of the creek climbs on Poorhouse Road was frightening . . . as I came out of the climb, I tried to shift from Granny to my middle chain ring. <<CLUNK>> What? I can't turn the pedals. YIKES!! My chain had gotten caught in the derailleur. I temporarily went brainless, yelling, "Oh, shit!!" . . . and then recovered my senses, unclipped my right foot, braked, and came to a wobbly stop. Several passing riders asked if I was OK. I apologized for possibly endangering them, then worked on rotating my pedals backward until the chain came free.

I think I need to fiddle with my derailleur adjustments a bit.

As with last year, the first rest stop came up frighteningly fast. It was at the Mattawoman Arts Center at Smallwood State Park. Cool, shady, and smack on the Potomac.

Upon leaving the park, we discovered the reason for the park's name, nearby:

That George Washington really got around, didn't he?

We decided, after all, to go for the 45-miler. Cutting off the 18 mile loop meant that we would not make the second rest stop. But that was OK, seeing as how it was at the top of the nastiest hill on the entire ride. Yes, it would have been 5 humongous hills, had we followed this sign:

Bye-bye . . . see ya some other time.

We turned off before we got to Port Tobacco. Southern MD used to be really, really big in tobacco; today, there's little or no tobacco grown anywhere in the state. Even the state's tobacco auction closed some years ago. (Fine with me; tobacco has absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.)

The town of Port Tobacco itself is interesting; according to the Charles County web site, it's one of the oldest communities on the East Coast. "Port Tobacco first existed as the Indian settlement of Potopaco and was colonized by the English as early as 1634." It was a major seaport later on in that century, and also was the original county government seat.

Our turnoff led us to one of the three remaining climbs, Rose Hill. We paused a bit before beginning our ascent, eating bagel slices and looking back on the gorgeous view.

Our climb was steep but short. At the top, we didn't linger, but pushed on. (I chronicled two historical markers at the top in last year's narrative.) We passed The Retreat (now just an open field), home of the first President of the Maryland Senate (and, predictably, friend of the peripatetic George Washington).

We also passed the Thomas Stone National Historic Site:

Who is Thomas Stone, you say? We wondered the same thing. Apparently he was an important dude, and we resolved to Google him once we got home. Turns out, though, we didn't have to. Just a few hundred yards down the road, we found this:

   

Evidently he had absolutely nothing to do with George Washington . . . otherwise, the sign surely would have mentioned it.

We paused at the bottom of the longest climb, on Bumpy Oak Road, to take this swamp pic:

There it is: the penultimate climb (and looong):

Jeff pulls himself up these sorts of hills by doing bridge problems in his head. This time, I heard him muttering to himself, something about passing a Queen or playing a 2 of Diamonds, or something like that. (I liken bridge to Urdu.) Me? I ponder life's great questions, such as, "So, did Gary Glitter ever record "Rock & Roll, Part 1?" (he did, but it's dreadfully obscure) or "how, exactly, *do* you Chopawamsic?"

Hey, whatever works . . .

Other than a short, steep hill near the end (which we hit after I informed Jeff that "the rest of the ride is a cakewalk,"), the top of Bumpy Oak marked the end of the hard stuff. We made it back to the car a little after noon; I changed clothes and Jeff wandered over to the post-ride picnic for some iced tea. We went off in search of our own post-ride eats. We didn't see any good stuff in Indian Head, nor on 301 in Waldorf.

"Hey," said Jeff, "Let's go over to Virginia." It actually wasn't far - just over the Wilson Bridge. We cast about for something interesting, and finally settled on Korean Fried Chicken, a food phenomenon that's just hit the DC suburbs. We went to Bon Chon, in Annandale . . . which is in NYC and also (of course) in Korea. It is, I believe, the second such place to show up in NoVA, and probably not the last. The New York Times has a nice article here, featuring Bon Chon and several other places.

What is Korean fried chicken? Well, it's lightly fried, fresh-made to order, and painted with one of several sauces. Bon Chon does a garlic soy sauce, and a sweet/spicy sauce. They offer wings and drumsticks only. Typically, it's served with vinegared Daikon radish, and perhaps a salad. Beer, also, is essential. At Bon Chon, you can order a number of other dishes, as well as french fries and onion rings.

We were really hungry, so we went for the full Monty . . . a buncha fried brown things. Chicken, onion rings, french fries.

Oh, the chicken was outstanding. We're definitely going there again.

Scenes from a Night Ride

I love pre-dawn rides. It's cool (sometimes cold), the traffic is close to nil, and I feel like I have the world all to myself.

And most of the time, nothing weird happens . . .

I think I need to fiddle with my camera settings a bit, for night pics. But these aren't bad.

Yes, I do set off really, really early . . .

The view from my bench outside of Starbucks, one of eleventy-zillion within 5 miles of me:

I tried to take a picture of Sugarloaf, our orphan mountain, but it didn't come out. Next time.

It's lightening up now, but the streetlights are still on --

The big red ball . . . one of the coolest aspects of my morning jaunts:

Indeed, there's no way like the American Way.

Lovely little creek, the view of which is blocked by a large stone bridge. This is the first time I've actually gotten off my bike to take a look. Just pretend the telephone lines aren't there. 

Glad I'm up here and not down there.

It's a Saturday, or else that view'd be bumper-to-bumper.

I wonder if the impending fall is bringing out the whacko in people . . . I alluded to weirdness, and this past week's ride have included a couple doses of it.

This morning, as I was waiting at a red light (yes, I do that, especially when the intersection is major and the view is not optimal), I heard a voice floating from the vehicle behind me: "Hey, are you fast?" [Why, are you recruiting for Team Discovery?] "No, not particularly." Nothing more came of that -- I biked off and was not followed.

A couple of mornings ago, I was exploring a new, shorter morning route (9 miles) that takes me past a church. As I turned left, next to the church's parking lot, I saw a guy walking through it, talking. I only heard two words, and only the second was intelligible: "_________ prophecy."

Huh? I didn't know if I was being preached to, or whether this dude was off on his own little planet, surrounded by cherubhim and seraphim. Didn't matter; I wasn't sticking around to find out.

I see and hear a lot of homeless crazy folk in downtown DC, but do not expect to see one wandering around the streets of one of the area's tonier suburbs.

Well, I guess it keeps things interesting. And I am fast . . . or can be, if necessary.

* * * * *

Turns out I bracketed the day with biking. Jeff and I decided to go out for a beer; we biked over to Growlers, formerly Old Town Tavern (and a couple of other names before that). We sat and each ordered a microbrew. I had an IPA; Jeff had Kolsch.

A guy carrying a motorcycle helmet sat down next to us, after a piece . . . we started talking to him (his name's Slim; he's my age) and learned he'd spent about 25 or so years in Europe, principally in Grenoble, France. He's seen the Tour go by numerous times, as he lived not far from the Alpe d'Huez. He got around by bike in those days; today, he rides a Harley. It was an interesting conversation. You never know who's going to sit down next to you in a bar. Perhaps that's why I've always liked them so much.

On the way back, I saw the big red ball of a sun setting over the trees. Didn't have my camera, though.

Tomorrow we're going to get up really early and go down to Indian Head. I did the metric last year, by myself. I probably will do the 30, as Jeff is not enamoured of longer distances . . . but we shall see.

The (Derailed Derailleur) Baltimore Jaunt

The past two days, we've biked over 60 miles . . . and today, we just wanted to stay in the city, and bop around. Baltimore's a fun place to bike, as long as you have an "urban assault" bicycle, with fat tires and a good suspension. You'll run into everything from potholed streets, to half-buried streetcar rails, to cobblestones.

This morning, accordingly, we hauled them ("them" meaning our fat-tire suspension mountain bikes) up from the basement and got ready to ride. I propped my bike up against the house, turned to get my helmet, and listened helplessly as the bike then crashed to the ground, handlebars twisting 180 degrees.

That's what happens when you don't have a kickstand. I righted the bike, and started to climb on. But, what's this? One of the cables has gotten loose from the frame . . . oh, no. I tested it: it was a derailleur cable. I tried several times to force it back into its holder on the top tube, but it no would go. Well, OK, I thought, how bad could this be? I lightly taped the cable to the tube (just to get it out of my way), and we set off.

How bad, indeed? My bike was stuck in the smallest chainring on my triple crank, meaning I could climb hills just fine, but could not go all that fast. "I'll take it to the bike shop today," I said to Jeff, and we set off for Starbucks, and breakfast.

Baltimore is still a very industrial town. Here's the view looking north from the O'Donnell Street overpass, not far from our house (yes, that is a scrapyard):

Looking the other way, though, you can see the distant harbor, and the container-loading cranes:

The reason for the overpass . . . the train tracks are only about a block from our rowhouse. Truly, I don't hear them anymore, day or night:

On the east side of the tracks, Brewers Hill is taking shape quite nicely. Formerly the site of several breweries (including Gunther, a bottle from which we found in the wall of the house when it was remodeled. The bottle (yes, it was empty) dates from about 1920.

This is Mr. Boh, of Natty Boh fame (National Bohemian beer):

This is actually a fabulously lit-up sign at night (he winks!). Only a couple of years old, it's an instant classic in this city of night-time neon:

Other touches from the brewery restoration: beer-themed names for each building, and signs resembling bottle cap-and-opener:

Here's another:

Once at Starbucks (in the American Can development in the restored Canton neighborhood), we settled in with coffee and pastries. I truly love the setting of this particular store:

It's a favorite, also, with dog owners and their leash-mates. This li'l guy got a lot of attention:

Wait, wait . . . where are you going??

 

As I sat in Sbux, I kept thinking about the derailleur cable. I remembered that I do have a metric Allen wrench set here (alas, all of my bike tools are at the other house) and I figured I might actually have a chance of fixing things. We finished our coffee and headed back. I got the wrench set, a pair of (really lousy) pliers, and set to work.

I didn't have a manual or guide to help me, and I've never installed cables before, of any sort. I opted for trying this 'n that: I changed the shifter (lowest setting is best), I loosened the cable, and released the other end from the derailleur. I rethreaded the cable housing back onto the top tube holder, then did my best to pull the cable tightly enough so that I could shift onto all three cogs. It took me a while, and I pulled the end crimp off the cable (darnit), but I got it working.

Whew. We decided to set out again. This time, we took our time and wound our way through Highlandtown, Canton, Fells Point and Little Italy.

Baltimore rowhouses are unique on the East Coast; they look like rows in no other city. Here's a lovely example of a flat-front, iron-spot brick rowhouse:

Here is a wider angle, showing rooftop decks (very popular, because of the harbor views):

Rowhouse owners can get pretty creative. (The steps read, "Live, Laugh, Love.")

Another art form unique to Baltimore: screenpainting. Most are on windows, but this one is on the front door:

Closer view:

Alas, there's still a lot of Formstone in the city, installed in the mid-20th century by homeowners who didn't want to care for aging, cheap brick. (Barry Levinson's movie Tin Men was really about Formstone salesmen, according to some Baltimore commentators.) Most houses with iron-spot brick, like we have, escaped this defilement. Tho' I have to admit, some of the better Formstone jobs, the ones done in pale pastels, don't look all that bad.

Today, many renovators are pulling the formstone off and refinishing the fronts properly.

Here's a house (that obviously never had formstone) undergoing a thorough renovation. Three-story end-caps are somewhat common, but a current rehab trend in Big B is adding a 3rd floor where none existed previously. It creates a startling anomaly on a block that formerly was quite uniform.

View of downtown Baltimore, from the higher ground between Canton and Highlandtown:

Neighborhood businesses are still common in the city, sandwiched between residences. Ostrowski's is a Baltimore institution (and they let you know it, too . . .):

The city's newest (and spiffiest) development is Harbor East, on the harbor east (of course) of downtown. Central Avenue marks the beginning:

Whole Foods has moved in (apparently they had free rent for a year):

And the high-rise living is gorgeous (and pricey). This is Charleston, in the foreground, Cindy Wolf's flagship restaurant (and where I was treated to a superb birthday dinner this past Tuesday). Rising behind is The Promenade.

Another gorgeous high-rise:

Harbor views from Harbor East:

Early on, Baltimore was settled by many peoples of East European extraction, including the Polish. Here, in a circle in the middle of Harbor East, is a national memorial to the Katyn massacre, an execution of Polish citizens ordered by the Russians in 1940.

Baltimore's downtown piers are interconnected, and bike-able. Lots to see and do. Here's a lighthouse you can climb up into:

Or, you can climb aboard the USCG Cutter Taney, last survivor of Pearl Harbor:

 

The National Aquarium has a submarine:

Or, if you like dragons, you can sail one out into the bay and paddle around.

We turned around before getting to Harborplace . . . too many pedestrians, and we were getting hungry. Lunchtime! What better place to go than the James Joyce, an authentic Irish bar with a shady outdoor patio:

Their shepherd's pie is authentic . . . and mighty tasty.

An interior shot. The bar apparently was assembled in Ireland and shipped over. Believe me, this looks like every U.K. bar I've ever been in (and sometimes it makes me want to hop a plane and go back over there . . . and spend a few months):

Dessert time! Jeff spotted a new gelato joint in Fells Point. that uses only organic ingredients and milk from grass-fed cows:

. . . right across from the famous Bertha's Mussels (nope, never been there):

Wending our way back home, we biked by one of our new weekend food faves, Jack's Bistro:

And finally . . . what better way to end the day than to spend it on your own rooftop deck?

This is a not-quite-360-degrees, badly-stitched panoramic shot (my memory card is apparently too small) but it gives you a nice idea of what it's like up there. Although the warehouse is way closer than it appears.

The breezes in the evening are very cool, even when it's hot down at street level.

Kent and Queen Anne's Counties

The Eastern Shore of Maryland is always a nice place to bike. Mostly flat, little traffic (off the main drags, anyway) and lots of wide shoulders.

For today's ride, we chose a cue sheet from Kent County's Tourism Development Office. They have several pages of cue sheets, suitable for biking long or short distances. We did the Kent & Queen Anne's Loop, a not-quite-flat ride that, really, is only 3 roads: Routes 213, 313, and 544. 98% of the ride is on wide shoulders, most of which are marked as bike routes.

So, no more delay, here we go!

Chestertown, the ride's start (Washington College, to be specific) is of a decent size, and includes a bit of suburban strip-city at the start (McDonalds, Taco Bell, etc.). But once you're outside the city, it is farms, farms and farms.

Here's how flat it can be . . .

. . . but this ride, interestingly, had some hills. There were creeks, accompanied by the obligatory down-and-back-up rolling dip.

Maryland is really good about planting roadside wildflower beds.

Closer . . .

And closer still. This was a very lucky shot.

I can't resist historical markers. This one references a "cabal" against General Washington . . . guess I'll have to try to look that one up. Gen. Cadwalader is buried in the yard of a church we could barely see over the trees.

We didn't go visit The General; we actually had started the ride pretty late, owing to a nearly one-hour backup trying to get through the toll booths at the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. (Oh why, oh why didn't I remember to pull the EZ Pass out of the new RAV before we took it in to get three major dents fixed???)

Anyway, here is said church: looks pretty even from a distance.

The Eastern Shore is not without its abandoned buildings. This one was once majestic; now it's pretty sad.

Its windmill's pretty dilapidated, too.

This is beautiful Downtown Galena. This is pretty much it. But the convenience store was welcome, even if it did have a preponderance of alcoholic selections, and lesser amounts of other types of sustenance.

The Route 313 part was pretty fast. Here we are at 544, already, preparing to turn and cross Route 301 again (a major pain, because it's not a regular intersection, but a "jughandle" that we had to median-hop over).

I caught Jeff just getting on his bike and setting off. (I'm sure he'd like to return the "candid camera" favor at some point.)

Interesting sign. Not quite a funny as SexChick, but still . . . Apparently that's a not-uncommon surname on the E.S. We passed a graveyard, and saw a headstone with the same name.

From whence we came . . . 544 was straight as an arrow, and loooooong. But cool, and pretty.

The very last leg of the ride had us riding over (well, walking our bikes over) a very narrow bridge between Kingston and Chestertown. The sun was starting to get low, and the views were getting terrific.

This one makes me want to go sailing, and I don't even know how. I'd probably drown myself by accident. (Remember that my middle initial does not stand for Grace, and my last initial probably also stands for Klutz.)

After we got to the car and packed the bikes away, we changed clothes and headed for Kent Narrows, and the multitude of restaurants that lurk under and around the bridge. There's a new (within the last 20 years) higher span over the narrows, with magnificent views:

Here's another:

Lots of other folks with nothing better to do on Labor Day Weekend had the same gustatory plans we did (but did THEY ride their bikes 37 miles?? NOO!), so we had to wait. The Crab Deck's wait was over an hour, and we decided we didn't really want crabs, anyway. We went to its sister restaurant, the Fisherman's Inn. We had to wait there about half an hour, but spent the time in the bar, drinking Blue Moon and watching Team USA whip Argentina, 118-81, in basketball, to qualify for the China Olympics.

Fried oysters taste really good when you've worked for 'em . . .

Cumberland Valley, One Mo' Time

Look out, world. Have new camera,* will pedal.

We're having an unbelievable Labor Day weekend. Temps around 80, low humidity, for three whole days. Today was Numero Uno, and we wanted to go ride somewhere nice. Jeff did not accompany me on the ride out of Clear Spring (Cumberland Valley) a couple of weeks ago. But, I still have the cue sheet, and the road markings were still there.

So, I did it again -- with Jeff this time.

We got to the ride start around 2 pm or so. There was no rush; I went to Weight Watchers this morning, and then fixed a quick lunch (as well as another mysterious flat tire on my Serotta . . . finally changed the tire as well as the tube; I'm so tired of surprises).

Amazing, isn't it, how much fun a truly good camera is?

* * * * *

This is a lovely view from atop a very small hill. Those are the Cactoctin Mountains in the distance (eastward).

The road ahead ain't bad, either.

Though there are some crops planted in the valley (chiefly corn, from what I could see), there are a lot of cows . . . and idyllic landscapes:

And as I mentioned in my previous entry, lots and lots of rock outcroppings.

Gee, I can't imagine why they didn't try to clear these rocks out . . .

Roadside memorials are increasingly common these days. This one is obviously very well-tended . . .

As is this one, which is apparently nearly 10 years old.

There were no covered bridges on this ride, but we did cross a number of lovely one-lane bridges.

Late in the summer, the pokeberry plant is everywhere. When I was a kid, we used to pick the berry stalks and smash them with rocks. I later found out the plant is poisonous (but only the roots, apparently).

We had very little traffic on the ride; most of the roads were as peaceful as this scene.

And hey, I can't let a ride go by without shooting my favorite subjects, can I??

The ride took us through the little town of Williamsport, not too far from the Potomac River and West Virginia. (Gosh, George Washington sure did get around . . .)

In the next century, Williamsport would play a very small role in the Civil War, on September 11 1862:

In Byron Park, I found a September 11 memorial of a different sort:

This is why I ride . . .

Jeff, looking good and feeling fine.

After we got back (total distance: 25 miles), we packed up, changed clothes, and set out to find Fort Frederick, reputed (by signage) to be but a short distance away. We drove a few miles out of Clear Spring, and sure enough, found it. It's a reconstruction, of course; it was rebuilt in the 1930s, and the land turned into a state park. Originally built to defend Western Maryland during the French and Indian War (1754-1763), it has been restored to the way it looked in 1758. Pretty cool, actually.

This is the outside of the fort.

Once inside the fort, you can see two long barracks buildings.

Here's a representation of the sleeping quarters. Believe me, those bunks are SHORT. There's maybe 5 - 6 fireplaces . . . it's one long room from end to end, with fireplaces interspersed.

The officers' quarters would have been grander, of course; here's its foundation.

This sign explains how historians deduced what the original building probably looked like:

The other barracks building has been set up to show how the soldiers lived. As today, they spent little time actually fighting, and most of their day-to-day time performing mundane chores.

These interior shots were all taken without flash. Nice.

Tools . . .

Workshop and (perhaps) munitions . . .

Agh! Laundry!

The end . . . through the fort gates.

After we left the fort, we decided to drive to WV (literally, as I said, across the river). Martinsburg had NOTHING downtown. So we went to Shepherdstown. Wow. We've probably not been there in 10 years, and on our last visit, the Yellow Brick Bank was probably the nicest restaurant in town. It's since been joined by a number of others. We had a lovely dinner, and a bottle of gruner veltliner, at The Press Room (opened, apparently, by the former chef at the YBB). We also saw several other places we are definitely going to try when we return.

After all, we've only biked a very small portion of Washington County. I'm still looking for a cue sheet that will take us through the Antietam battlefields without also going up South Mountain . . .

*To be precise: A Canon PowerShot SD800 IS Digital ELPH. Sweet.