Author: The Brompton Diarist

This was the Weather Challenge Progressive: It was 32 F/0 C when I left the house, and 58 F/14.4 C by the time the ride ended. Admittedly, I do leave the house quite early . . .

A hearty group gathered at the Azalea Garden (one of the crew is missing; he arrived shortly after the picture was snapped, and I didn’t think to take another).  I’m a bad photographer on all fronts, it seems; I didn’t even notice that Basil is front and (nearly) center.  I’ll be parking him against the wall next time.  My natural affection for him may be clouding other sensibilities!

Midpoint of the ride is Bridgeport, where we stopped at Suzy Jo Donuts.  During the January Progressive, I’d resisted the temptation, but I was determined not to, this time. (Let’s just say that this kind of carby delight forms no part of my usual dietary fare.)

Our ride leader, Tim C., claims that these donuts have a certain je ne sais quois that make them distinctly Philadelphia in nature. I regretted not finding out for myself on that previous trip.

This time, I took two, just to make up for my past error.  The glazed doughnut was excellent, but not different from any other I vaguely remember from the distant past.  But the chocolate slathered, lemon-filled bomb was seriously substantial, in the best possible way.  Doughnut-like, but also somehow cake-y, without being heavy.  Yum!

This must have been a healthy crowd; only Tim and I indulged.

Then we headed up the street to the Palm Tree Market, where those who were showing more restraint were able to procure comestibles of various other sorts.

Well-fortified with fuel and conversation, we headed back.  A few miles out, Tim discovered that he’d left his pannier at the Palm Tree, so he sent us on ahead while he and another rider headed back to get it.  (There were extra doughnuts in that pannier!)

It was at this point that I realized that we’d somehow lost the other women (probably Tim knew about this, and I’d just missed the point where they’d dropped off).  Just three of us continued on.

As I’m sufficiently directionally impaired that getting lost on the Schuylkill Trail isn’t out of the question, I was grateful for company most of the way back (including a course correction near the end), and the excellent conversation about, among other things, Munich.  (If you go, scout up Mike’s Bikes, and get yourself on some wheels in Germany!)

The day was sunny and beautiful, and the Schuylkill River clear, at least around the edges. Sunlight sparkled all over the river; I’d forgotten how bright sun is!

Near Philadelphia, especially, there were a lot of others using the trail.  I have a sneaky suspicion that using this trail in warm weather may become challenging.  Even today there were a few minor skirmishes, and some indications that not everyone is into sharing.

I annoyed a road racer who had sufficient room to blast past me, but was annoyed that I hadn’t known he was approaching, silently, at high speed.  Why do so many road racers think that a whispered “on your left” as they are already on your left, is sufficient warning for a high-speed pass?  I’m more than happy to do the right thing, but assuming that I’m clairvoyant is probably not a good tactic.

Basil posed by the river, since I hadn’t realized that he was already in the group shot.

Back at 30th Street Station, it was already spring.  People must pick up flowers on their way home — or do they buy a bunch to take to their destination?  I’m not fond of cut flowers, but the idea that someone might take a train to visit, and then present a host with fresh flowers is charming.  But, I fear, very 1950s.

I liked the dried floral bunches, which remind me of herbs curing in open air markets.

Basil and I rode 36 fine miles today. I survived the temperature, largely by removing the sleeves from my windbreaker, but two more degrees might have killed me.  My 32 F/0 C gear lacks sufficient zippers to allow for such drastic fluctuations; I may have to do something about that next season.

Or, rather, between the highway and the trail:

It’s like a little world all its own, with a meandering creek, no less.

This was the first in a series of five progressive rides offered by Tim C., of the Bicycle Club of Philadelphia. Each Saturday in March we meet and ride ten miles more than were completed the previous week.

I take the train into meet the group, and usually have a little while to wander around 30th Street Station until it’s time to meet up, the train schedule being what it is. On this trip, I noticed that there is still a pile of debris in back of the station (or is this the front? or formerly the front?), but Drexel has put up a bright new banner across the street. The perpetually revolving door leading to the construction site is now stilled; that’s probably going to reduce the utility bill a bit.

Then I typically have a few minutes to kill once I get to the meeting point. I like that, but when it’s this cold, it’s important to keep moving.  These geese were completely unconcerned as Basil and I circled around the shambles of the Italian Fountain behind the art museum. (They’re looking pretty fit considering that they’ve just survived a winter.)

I finally got a shot of The Outbound Station coffee shop, where the group has often stopped in the past. Ironically, considering how often I’ve been there and failed to get a photo, it was closed today. It’s a nifty little place, bicycle-themed, just off the Schuylkill River Trail — and our putative destination today.

I suspect it has had a harder winter than those geese; I hope it will be open as the season warms up, and that we’ll have the opportunity to pop in again in the future.

Saul posed with Basil at the Outbound.

He looks quite at ease next to a Brompton, doesn’t he?

We ended up at the 401 Diner, where we were treated very nicely. Basil was even offered special accommodation behind the counter, which was truly beyond the call of duty.

Saul snapped a shot of Basil tucked behind the front counter. Basil really was small enough to fit, and no one seemed to find him in the way.

The sky was changing as we clattered down the track on our way home

and we were met by the slightest of snow flurries as we stepped off the train.

(Why, yes, that is a wee bit of cat fuzz next to the tiniest of snow flakes.  It’s a problem. I roller Basil’s bag regularly, but he does have occasional contact with perhaps too many cats.  They like him; what can I say?)

This was technically a 25 mile/40 km ride, for purposes of the progressive, but Basil and I managed a little over 30 miles/48 km before hopping on the train and heading home.  A great ride, and great company — what could be better?