On a Saturday in August, I set out to meet my friend Pat for our semiannual motorcycle weekend. We agreed to meet in New Hope, Pennsylvania—a town equidistant from his home of New York City and mine of Philadelphia. That morning, I packed a small backpack with water, stuffed my saddle bags with towels and a bathing suit, and hopped on my bike: a 1996 purple Triumph Adventurer.
Pat and I planned to ride north along the Delaware River, a scenic stretch that lies in Northeast Pennsylvania, and borders up against the parts of New York State and New Jersey that are forgotten between shore towns and Manhattan. The Appalachian Mountains in this area are nowhere near as striking as the ranges up north in Vermont and New Hampshire, but they have a rolling endlessness
