The Great Quarantine of Covid19 canceled my plans to backpack the Arizona Desert, so I decided to stay local for my next adventure.

I have lived near the Delaware and Raritan Canal for over a decade but have never explored all 70 miles of it. And as the quarantine lockdown restrictions were starting to ease up, now was the time to do just that.

Built in the 1830s during the Canal Age, the D&R Canal connects the Delaware River to the Raritan via the Millstone river. Dug mostly by the hand tools of Irish immigrants, It was built to serve as an efficient and reliable means of transportation for goods between Philadelphia and New York City.

However, the short-lived ‘Canal Age’ soon gave way to the invention of the steam engine and the D&R Canal fell mainly out of use within the century.

In 1974, New Jersey breathed new life into the canal by declaring the entire length of it a State Park. Now a place for kayaking, fishing, jogging and biking, it would serve as the location for my next attempt to try something I had never done before. Bikepacking.

Plotting out the trip was difficult as there was no place to set up camp on the trail itself, so I had to scout out some spots to ‘stealth camp’ along the route. I could find only two viable spots along the whole canal. Conveniently, they cut the trip into roughly three equal parts.

Realistically, the trip could have been done in two days. But there were no spots of opportunity to set up camp at the halfway point in the heart of downtown Trenton. So instead of two long days, I would do it in three shorter days.

I didn’t mind. Afterall, my goal wasn’t to get to the end of the trail. My goal was to spend three days in nature. I would take my time in the morning and evenings, listening to the water and watching the birds. It’s all about the journey, not the destination. Especially when that destination is New Brunswick, New Jersey.

Day 1:

The trail started at an unremarkable location just north of Frenchtown, NJ. You would have to know it was there to find it, as it took a small easily missed dirt road to find it.

It was a nice calm first two miles until I came across the first river town on the path, Frenchtown, NJ. It had a similar vibe as the other towns I would encounter along this stretch. A small community built up around a river crossing. The kind of place that would be fun to take a motorcycle ride to in the fall, and eat at a local restaurant by the water. I might come back and do just that later in the year.

Of course at this particular time, the closer I got to these river towns, the more crowded the trail was. It was memorial day weekend, and only recently had the covid lockdowns begun to ease up. I think a lot of people were feeling the same itch to get outside as I was.

I started a bit later in the day knowing that my first camp would only be about a 20 mile bike ride. So just past Frenchtown, I found a nice wooded beach area to stop and have lunch. I sat there for a while to enjoy the scenery and feel the warm sun on my face.

Past there, I came to Bulls Head Island recreation area. This would have been the only spot I’d be “allowed” to camp along the trail, but all facilities were shut down due to Covid restrictions. And being that it was Memorial Day Weekend, there was a park ranger on guard at the gate. Too bad. I would have liked to have checked it out.

This segment of the trails was not without its cool sites to see though.

This old building is Prallsville Mills and, as I found out, has been standing here in one form or another since 1720. Older than the U.S. itself.

The town of Stockton was next, and had a very similar vibe as Frenchtown, although seemed a bit smaller.

The next town down the line was one I was very familiar with. Lambertville, NJ. It and it’s sister town across the river, New Hope, have some of the best restaurants, bars, art galleries, and live music in the area.

One part of Lambertville I was not familiar with and was happy to explore, was this abandoned train car just North of the town.

It looked relatively modern given all the other historical things I would come across. If anyone knows the story behind it, let me know in the comments below.

Riding a few more miles beyond, I came to the spot where I would turn off the trail and set up camp.

It was a bit more overgrown than I was anticipating, but I found a good spot on a path by the river. Unfortunately, the only suitable spot for the tent was actually on the path. I had to wait until dusk to even begin setting up camp to remain stealthy.

So I sat by the river listening to the water and bird song as the sun went down. I didn’t mind having all that extra time at each stopping point. Afterall, this is why I come out on these adventures in the first place.

Once dusk set in, and I was convinced no one would come this far off trail in the dark, I set up the tent, did some star gazing and went to sleep.

Day 2:

That was not a very restful night.

Sometime around 2 am, this nasally huffing noise right outside my tent startled me awake.

Scared the crap out of me. That is the sound of a pissed off white tailed deer. They are usually pretty docile, so I was surprised to find this one posturing at me. Then again, I was laid out in the middle of the path. He was probably pissed I was blocking the only clear way down to the water.

My bad dude. I’ll be out of your way in the morning, promise.

I shined my headlamp in his direction and he ran off.

A few hours later at sunrise, I was woken up by a woman walking her dog. Probably assuming I was a crazy person (not going to argue there), she hastily walked around my tent without saying a word.

Disoriented from being shocked awake by a cold wet nose pressed up against my tent wall, I too said nothing in my confused state as they passed by.

I still wanted to take my time in the morning. But I decided it was best to at least put the tent away first. This way I only looked like a crazy person sipping coffee by the river at 6am, instead of a crazy homeless person sipping coffee by the river at 6am.

When I got back on the trail, the first thing I passed was an old broken down wooden rail bridge crossing the canal. I stopped to take a closer look. It made me think about what this place must have looked like when it was once a busy route of commerce back in the 1800s.

As I continued on, I came to a plaque on a large rock marking the spot where George Washington crossed the Delaware River in 1776. From here, he and his army began their march on Trenton, securing a much needed victory in the fight for independence. The history teacher side of me was gushing a bit.

Following roughly the same path Washington took that fateful night, I too made my way to the city of Trenton.

The transition was not subtle. Although the green space did last a lot longer than I was expecting, it abruptly gave way to the urban landscape

Marking the halfway point of this three day journey, I came to the Trenton Battle Monument. A massive 150 ft column holding up a statue of George Washington, commemorating his victory here over two centuries ago.

The structure was impressive. I decided to sit there and appreciate it as I took a short break. Trenton has a reputation for having some “rough neighborhoods”. I thought about this as I sat there. How I had never been to this part of the city. Probably because I was prejudiced by these rough neighborhood reputations. However, despite these reputations, every person I passed that day was as friendly as the people in any other town.

Come to think of it, just about every place I’ve ever been to in Trenton has been pretty cool. Sure, there are some high-crime areas, but I guess the lesson is to not let that prejudice you against the whole city. There’s lots of cool stuff to be found.

Coming out of Trenton, the trail paralleled Route 1 until finally crossing over it in Lawrence Township, leading into Princeton.

This was the part of the Canal path I was most familiar with. In the pre-corona days, I would pass the canal over Quaker Bridge Road on my way to work every day. And as I passed so close to home, with my legs burning, stomach grumbling, I strongly considered turning right and calling it a quits.

This whole trip was just under 70 miles. Before this, I hadn't biked more than 70 miles total in my entire adult life. My legs were not used to this, and the promise of a hot meal and a nice soft bed were calling me. I mean, I had already traveled over half the canal trail, what did I have to prove?

But then I thought back to the times I had been forced to turn around so close to mountain summits before. And how disappointed I was from it. So despite my legs regretting every additional mile, I knew my future self would regret not completing this challenge.

This is for you, future self.

Continuing to follow in Washington’s footsteps.

When I reached my second planned camp spot, hidden on the shores of Lake Carnegie, there was still plenty of time left in the day.

I found a nice spot to lay low and enjoy the evening as I watched the sky slowly change colors. It was nice, sitting there in silence, watching the reflection of the sun on the leaves.

I waited until after dark again to set up camp, although this time I was a little closer to the trail than the night prior.

I could hear people enjoying evening strolls in the moonlight not far from where I was. I did my best to stay quiet and unnoticed.

Stealth camping is stressful.

Day 3:

I made sure to set my alarm to go off in the darkness of pre-dawn, as to not have any early morning visitors wake me up again.

But once my gear was put away, I took my time with breakfast as I watched the fog roll out and the sky slowly turn blue.

There is nothing quite like spending your morning waking up to nothing but the peaceful sounds of nature and the smell of camp coffee.

This last day of the trip was the most secluded of the three. Once I passed the dam at the end of Carnegie Lake, the trail turned North. From here it followed the Millstone River and led out of the Route 1 Corridor, and into a more rural side of New Jersey.

It was a very peaceful, nature-filled morning, punctuated only by the occasional canal spillway, or bridge crossings like at Griggstown, and Blackwells Mills.

As the day went on, the canal path turned East to meet the Raritan River. The green slowly gave way to the familiar marks of human infrastructure, as the path crossed busy roads and under bridges.

Finally, I came to the final spillway, just north of Buccleuch Park in New Brunswick, and the end of the entire Delaware & Raritan Canal Trail.

I felt accomplished and excited to have completed it, but It was pretty anticlimactic really. Like the beginning of the trail two days ago, it ended in an unremarkable spot that looks seldom maintained. It was a fun little adventure, and a nice break from the quarantine life. But it would be cool if there was some sort of pillar or something signifying the beginning and end of this 70 mile trip.