I would like to recognition msngr for telling old man stories already on the cusp of his old-agedness. In advising me on my path through New Jersey tomorrow, he sat me down on the front stoop of trackstar (meaning, he called me), and, whilst smoking his pipe and rocking in his chair, told me that "when I was a boy, we used to sit on Schooleys Mountain Road and entertain ourselves by watching the cars not being able to get up it. There's no way you can ride your track bike up that road. Go the other way."
Thank you msngr, for saving me.