Hunter Lodge and the bikes
From: dje@mail.bellcore.com (Don Eilenberger) Date: Sat, 24 Jun 95 01:18:17 EDT Subject: BMW: Fandango part Deux (Episode 9 of probably 10) LONG!!
I was actually surprised a bit when I awoke the next morning in the Hunter's Lodge motel cave.. surprised that I had slept so well, surprised that we hadn't been murdered in the night (not really - but a tiny, itty bit happy about it), and surprised that the weather had finally turned to PERFECT motorcycle weather - sunny, dry, and not too hot (the previous two days had been 90F+ temps, and warnings of thunderstorms both days - which we dodged).
After a quick shower (with Frank standing guard against someone in drag with a big knife)[1], we hit the road seeking breakfast - but not before taking a photo of both bikes in front of the tattered "Hunter's Lodge" sign - with the permanently off "NO" part of the vacancy sign.
Frank had suggested we revisit the truck stop across the highway for breakfast - but given the amount of food they serve for dinner - I would have problems lifting myself on my bike it I'd eaten breakfast there, plus I like to try new places.. so off we went.
We quickly went south on Rt. 46 about 5 miles (given no choice about quickly - the trucks will push you right along) until it headed east. We got off Rt. 46 and on a back road which doesn't appear numbered (I think it was, might be 621 - but not on my maps), heading towards Belvidere NJ.
Belvidere is a great old river town along the Delaware - white Victorian mansions line part of the main street, which also has an active down-town shopping district. We found the Belvidere Coffee Shop, which overhangs a small river that cross the main street on it's way into the Delaware.
Breakfast was $2.95, two eggs, home fries, sausage and bottomless coffee. As seemed to be common on this trip - the waitress was truly interested in our journey, and several other customers added some suggestions on places to see along the river.
After breakfast, we took a brief ride around Belvidere, and found that the `upper' part of town as the `better side' - the other side nearer the river, separated from the upper town by a hill and railroad tracks, was smaller houses, not in as good a repair. Any town built today, the prime real- estate would be that with a river view or riverfront - my guess is the people who built Belvidere were somewhat more realistic.. the lower part of town would be much more prone to flooding, making the `heights' the desirable place to be.
As we left Belvidere, we picked up what was to be a series of "River Roads" - which closely parallel the shore of the Delaware. While the basic road we took is marked on my official state of NJ map - (as a scenic route, dashed red lines for some reason), we often detoured off to the west if we saw a road headed in that direction.
This section of road, between Belvidere and Delaware Park (just north of Philipsburg NJ) often was between a sheer cliff face, and the single railroad track that follows the river bank. The road has lots of twists and hills and dales, sometimes dropping to a single lane, with the cliff a few feet to the left, and the closest rail of the rail-line within foot distance to the right. Great slow-speed motorcycling road (there are a few residences and intersections on the road, and frequent blind corners). We shortly found ourselves on the outskirts of Philipsburg NJ.
It was after we went through Philipsburg that we got lost.. (uh, misplaced, after all, I knew exactly where I was.. right here!) Philipsburg might be an interesting industrial/river town to visit, but we came into it along the river, which is apparently not the normal route (Interstate Rt. 78 passes though - we went under it.) We still were following small roads as close to the river as we could get. We soon found ourselves south of Philipsburg, somewhere near Bloomsbury, but next to Rt. 78 - which is not where I wanted to be - we were at least 1/2 mile inland from the river.
Frank again suggested that I "ask someone" - although we were stopped at an intersection with absolutely no one around.. so I headed us out in the direction I thought was westerly - towards the river, on a small side road.
We soon found ourselves someplace within the borders of Bloomsbury, and within range of a cop shooting pictures with his radar gun (my radar detector allowed me to accurately track him down). I told him where I wanted to go - Carpenterville or Riegelsville (both small river towns shown on the map) - and he didn't have a clue. His suggestion was to go back into Philipsburg[2] and take NJ Rt. 206 south - something I had no intention of doing. Frank hadn't heard any of our exchange, so he actually thought I knew where I was going when I left the cop, headed the opposite way to what the cop suggested.
Eventually - we found ourselves on a marvelous road, a bit inland from the river, but perfect, perfect motorcycle road.. twists, not a bit of traffic, infrequent driveways/crossroads, big sweeping turns with hills combined, excellent pavement, and great vistas.. I really didn't know exactly where the road was headed, but I didn't care, it was too good a road to worry about little things like that.
Too soon it ended, in the village of Pittstown, right next to a large old stone inn, offering lodging and food. Across from the inn was a large wooden barn, with a sign on it saying "R-U-Lost?", with what appeared to be a county map under it.
I got off the bike and wandered over to the map to see if I could figure out where we were without having to pull my map out of my saddlebags (gotta get a tankbag real-soon-now!).
Studying the map just added to my feeling of being misplaced - - the map was a county map, and Pittstown was marked with an arrow and "U-R-Here" - but according to this map, there were no roads in or out of Pittstown. I wasn't completely sure if it was an elaborate hoax, or just a way of telling people that they weren't really wanted in Pittstown.
I wandered back to Frank and the bikes - who suggested I "ask the nice man at the hot-dog stand."
For some reason - there was a NYC style, stainless steel, dirty-water-dog hot-dog stand right in front of the stone Inn - looking completely out of place in the rural environment.. with a gentleman watching the goings on with the motorcycles intently.
I decided to take Frank's suggestion, and walked over to the stand.
At first the gent running it seemed almost ready to run at my approach, but finally he sorta braved up and faced me. By this time, I'd actually glanced at my map, and had some idea of where we'd been, and where we were going (the great, great road is Rt. 579, between Bloomsbury and Pittstown), but wanted confirmation, that I should turn right at the next corner (which was clearly marked - but I was keeping Frank happy).
The gentleman apparently was a recent immigrant to our great country from a country immediately to our south, who had not learned English yet, and all attempts to communicate, he in Spanish, and me in English were futile, but we did get to do some good handwaving. Still can't figure out how he and the hot-dog wagon ended up in Pittstown NJ..
I returned to the bikes - and Frank - and told him that the gent gave me instructions to our next stop, which was Frenchtown along the Delaware River. Frank was happy, and his faith in his fellow man was reaffirmed, every time on the trip that I'd asked, Frank was certain I'd gotten good instructions!
We'll finish the trip in the next episode, with another ride, in a different direction on PA Rt. 32, a short visit to New Hope PA and a dodge'm ride through Princeton NJ on the final leg home.
[1] Psycho - and me - Psycho, the late Alfred Hitchcock's best movie in my estimation, has left an indelible impression on many who saw it when it was first released. In many ways, it was a groundbreaking movie - techniques of scare which had never been used before, combined with a good plot and acting.
It had an especially strong effect on me, due to the conditions under which I saw it. I first saw it, in my pre- driving age (I was about 13 or so, making it quite a while ago) while on a vacation trip with my family. We were returning from our annual summer stay in Maine, and had to motel it in a small town someplace around the Maine/New Hampshire border. The motel consisted of small cabins, and dated from many years before. It was somewhat deserted, and way, way out in the woods.
Since there were a bunch of us, in a small motel cabin - my parents decided to take us to the nearest movies to avoid mayhem in the cabin. (This was at a time when even small towns still had movie theaters - not concrete multi-screen shopping mall `theaters'). The movie showing was "Psycho" - which I don't think my parents quite knew the plot of..
I was the oldest kid on the trip, my two sisters were considerably younger. NONE of us slept a wink that night. Hitchcock had out done himself!
Interestingly, when we checked into the Hunter's Lodge, I mentioned several times to Frank that we were staying at the "Bates Motel" - and got NO reaction at all. Finally I asked - Frank has never seen Psycho!
[2] Going back - it may be a male thing, or maybe just my thing, but somehow I find it impossible to backtrack when I find myself misplaced.. it somehow just goes against my grain to go back where I've been.
I usually plunge ahead - sometimes with success, frequently becoming even more misplaced. One thing I have found - at least in the NJ/NY/PA area - you can't go more than 100 miles in any direction without hitting some major marked highway (ask me how I know..) and then I'm no longer misplaced.
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Don Eilenberger (dje@mail.bellcore.com)
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'79 R65 FrankenCycle - der Beemer
'87 535i BOHICA - der Bimmer
'75 25' Hunter - das Boot
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DOD#1177, BMW-CCA#104316, BMW-MOA#64000
President - New Jersey Shore BMW Riders
NJ-DOD-Cycles, Fossil Riders of NJ Inc.
"A glutton for clubs.."
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