Into the Mountains - Pt. 1
Sun Oct 16th - I’m drowning in Amazon boxes. A new sleeping bag. Inflatable sleeping pad and pillow. Panniers for the bike. New water bottles. Water purification tablets and bear spray and spare tire tubes and a helmet and trail mix and a rechargeable headlight and mosquito spray and… I expected the logistics of getting myself and my bike to Pittsburgh to be the challenge here, but it’s mostly been the opening and disposal of amazon boxes. Seriously, I’ve bought a lot, and I haven’t even started packing clothes.
I went to Walmart for a last second supply gathering stop. To buy another bag of cheap cat food and some travel size toiletries mostly. As I was standing there a random stranger asked “you traveling somewhere?” and it led to a 45 minute conversation somehow. About the trip, my planning for it, but also about his ideas of vacation and work and business plans and the kittens under my shed. We wound up exchanging numbers before he and his girlfriend wandered off, and I’m gonna keep him updated on the trip. I REALLY didn’t have time to chat that long, but it’s kind of fun to think people are going to be following along with my progress. Walmart guy, sure, but also Graphics Guy from work and Vet that came to hang out when Shorty was here and even family. All curious to follow along with this zany thing I’m trying. Or maybe they’re just curious about whether I’ll survive? Either way, It’s some pressure to actually make progress, I guess. Not quit after 20 miles. Maybe that’s not such a terrible thing.
The fear of forgetting something important is high. The last thing I want is to be in the middle of some remote woods and think “aw SHIT I forgot SOCKS” or whatever, ergo all the overbuying of things. I think I’ve mostly got it (knock on wood) though Pavestone Chick is on me to get some sort of bear bag for my food. Is that a thing people do? I mean, in the manuals sure, but really? Put their food in a bag and huck it up into a tree overnight? Damnit, I bought bear spray, isn’t that enough?
On the other front - training for the ride itself has consisted of exactly one ride into town to meet up with Bruddah and Aloy for her gotcha day. End of list. About 2 miles, round trip. I wanted to snag an indoor bike trainer to put a few longer training rides in, but the guy giving my bike the once over found something wrong with a shifter and had to keep it until Thursday. But I mean it worked, right? I made it! Training succeeded! iM SUrE thAtS PLeNty OF tRaINiNg!!1! ! I’ll just need to repeat those 2 miles some 165 times. In the woods. Over dirt trails.
How hard can it be?
I’ve been avoiding cycling in the last decade due to the outrageously painful experience I had with a bike seat and the 180 mile C&O canal towpath years ago. Like, it was bad enough that I can still kinda feel it if I shift in my seat wrong. I’ve learned to ignore it over the years, but that ride with no preparation hurt so badly that it put me off of the idea of riding for well over a decade. So what’s changed now? Well… uhm…. I don’t know. Memory failing? Enough years have passed that it doesn’t seem as big a deal as it was? But also I’m at a point where I can afford a proper saddle, and maybe that’ll help? Possibly? I hope so, because I defensively splurged on a Brooks leather saddle. These things are the classic premium choice, and people seem to swear by them online. Old school leather, none of this gel infused memory foam covered ultra wide sissy pansy bullshit. The idea is the leather shapes itself to your sit bones the same way leather saddles did in the old west. But they also claim that they require a break in period before they really start to conform to your butt. Until then, they can be hard and unforgiving. But I mean 2 miles roundtrip downtown training ride so it’s fine, right?
I’ve been putting the leather conditioner on it religiously for the last couple days hoping that’ll help soften it up. Hopefully it’ll be fine. I figure I’ll likely be pedaling long enough that it’ll break in sooner or later.
So the Oceans 11 style plan is this - tomorrow I wake up at a normal time and hop an Uber to the Budget car rental in town. I’ve got an SUV reserved that’ll get me home to my waiting gear. Figure out how to stuff everything into the SUV (god I hope it’ll fit my bike), leave the yard cats a big gravity feeder of food, and start driving west. There’s a Budget drop-off a block away from the Wyndham Grand in Pittsburg, and it closes at 4pm so I’ll need to be there ahead of time. My room at the Wyndham is ready at 4, so I’ll drop off my bike in the room (they let you do that, right?) and I’ll have the evening to find a hangout and relax. Tuesday morning I’ll eat whatever they have at the hotel, wheel my bike the couple hundred feet to the trailhead, mile 0, right where the three rivers meet in the center of the city, and I’ll start pedaling.
After that…. I uh… well I guess that’s the fun of it, huh?
Nervous, but an excited nervous. This is about as far from the routine as I could hope to get, and I’m doing it. There’s a tinge of pride when people hear what I’m attempting and look at me like I’m crazy. I like the fact that I’m going for something not many would even care to try. And I have a feeling that, if anything is gonna get my mind off of health concerns, home project thoughts, or work stresses this is gonna be it.
Getting some sleep. Big day tomorrow. May Saddle have mercy on my butt’s soul.
Mon Oct 17th - Hooooly shit I’m doing it.
Is this dumb? This is dumb, right? I mean what the hell am I doing here? And why do I so enjoy being the weirdo who does crazy things?
Nothing ever goes off without a hitch, but all things considered…. today went pretty damn smoothly. I got my rental car, a FUCKING HIDEOUS grey Jeep/Pickup monstrosity that I was almost embarrassed to be seen in, and got it loaded up. Bike was within a few inches of being too big for the bed, but it fit and that made the terrible vehicle kind of okay for a couple hours. Hippie Neighbor across the street saw the packing and came over to chat, which was a typical hour long Hippie Neighbor conversation. Then I started driving West. Made it into downtown Pittsburg in just shy of 4 hours. Got my room. Got some food. Got too much beer. And now I’m staring at my bike overlooking the rivers and mile 0 of the GAP trail. Basically… like I planned.
It’s nice when planning pays off, isn’t it?
I think I buttoned everything up at home. I wound up overnighting a waterproof bag and a rope to use as my food-in-tree storage thingy. Didn’t want to, but couldn’t imagine sleeping well in a tent knowing I maybe should have done more to not get mauled. Left a big gravity feeder of dry food outside for the kittieses. I forgot to leave out a big thing of water, but I’ve yet to see any of the kittens go to drink water so I assume they’re getting hydration from Mama’s milk and they’ll be okay? I hope? I programmed the house to go through the wake up/go to sleep routines on it’s own so it looks like I’ll be home. Asked a neighbor to keep an eye out for mail or packages at my door. And I watered the plants. All set to leave the worries of home behind and escape into the wildern…
… wait, DID I water the plants?!?…
Car rental guy was car rental guy level skeevy. My butt ugly Jeep Gladiator was all scuffed and scraped around both doors, and the tank only about half full. Skeevy car rental guy assured me this is as it’s supposed to be. However, getting to Pittsburgh, I thought it better to ask about it and sure enough, skeevy car rental guy was trying to stiff me a half tank of gas. Gonna have to call back tomorrow morning before I ride off to try and ask for that $50 back. Figures. There’s a strongly worded yelp review somewhere on the other side of all this.
But whatever. The shitty car got me and the bike here. No problems with drop off, except for some difficulty figuring out how to open doors and walk a heavily loaded bike through. Turns out all the stuff I packed is HEAVY. Not just heavy, but loaded weird. All the weight feels like it’s behind the back wheel, so the bike wants to do a wheelie over every hump and bump I roll it over. Not great. Probably gonna have to sort that out before I set off tomorrow. Can’t imagine it ending well as it is.
I’m also a little worried about the seat and handlebar placement. I’ve done a lot of reading about how to properly set up a bike, but having not ridden at all in over a decade (2 mile trip aside) I have no idea how a properly set up bike is supposed to feel. I went and ordered a new stem to get my handlebars a little bit higher and a little bit closer to me, as I was feeling like I was reaching too far for the shifters. Seemed like I probably shouldn't be trying to hold that plank position for days and days of pedaling. But, is it right the way it is now? Did I mess it up further? Did I even reattach everything correctly again? Guess I’m gonna find out tomorrow. One way or another.
This room is… outdated. Like it was probably at the height of luxury in the 70s or 80s and hasn’t really had updates since then. Grumpy looking check in clerks in the lobby seeming like they hate everybody through forced politeness. Hallways have that old hotel carpet that you somehow never see anywhere else. Bathroom fixtures were probably fancy at one point, but now have some rust spots showing around the mounting points and a missing aesthetic screw cover here or there. It’s not bad, but I don’t know that these accommodations are worth the nightly price tag. The location and view, however, are.
Beautiful. Pittsburgh is beautiful. In a kind of modern day Tolkienesque dwarven mining town way. Mountains on all sides, with buildings creeping up and away from the central rivers. Lots of tunnels to get here, like passing through the gates of some medieval fortress. There are trains running along the base of the mountain across the river from my room and it really cements the vibe. I get why this has the reputation of a blue collar town. It feels like it somehow. Like it’s still sort of clinging to a time when the area’s economic drivers were still relevant in a big way. Coal and steel. Like the country has moved on, but the city isn't ready to.
Oh, and see the fountain out there, right up against the water at the point of the rivers’ meeting? That’s Mile 0. That’s where my ride starts. Quite the setting off point, huh?
I spent my evening here at a little brewpub across the street from the hotel. I was hoping for a little Pittsburgh flavor, maybe chatting up some locals, but it was just about dead and the bartenders were… different. An alt looking girl that wouldn’t make eye contact with me and a heavier guy with a dash of fabulous in him that seemed to be genuinely terrified of me. I actually checked a mirror after I got back to my room just to make sure I didn’t have anything too terribly wrong with my face that might have caused it. Nope. They were just awkward. Still, I got to read the entirety of my trail guide, the buffalo chicken dip was fantastic, the beer was decent and cheap, and I ordered a pierogi pizza to go that I can snack on tonight. Carboloading? C’mon. Pierogi pizza. I mean… c’mon.
I wandered out to a CVS a couple blocks away to pick up a usb charger - the first discovered thing I forgot to pack - and since I’ve just been pounding pierogi pizza and making minor adjustments to the bike. I think I’ve found a way to pull the bags a little further forward on the rack to keep from doing accidental wheelies. I tied down some cables to get them slightly less in the way for my handlebar mounted gopro. And I’m working on rotating the handlebars slightly up to raise the shifters. Little things. Not sure if they’re right. Hopefully they’re right.
There’s something oddly comforting about this point in the proceedings. The whole silly plan has felt like a leap of faith from the start, me being woefully unprepared and unsure of what I’m getting myself into. But now I’m here. The vehicle that got me here is gone. There’s no going back. The decision has been made, the die has been cast, and the sun is setting over the horizon that will see me venturing forth tomorrow. I like that. No second guessing what is already done, all that’s left to do is look forward.
This is probably all very dumb.
Tue Oct 18th - Well… it’s happening. I’m cold and I’m already sore and the whole day has been a comedy of errors from the start, but it’s still happening.
Last night, I went to pull my contacts out and realized, in horror, that I had failed to pack my glasses. Not only my glasses, but I didn’t bring spare contacts like I had intended either. I tried calling an optometrist a half mile from the hotel to see if I could emergency-buy a pair of glasses, or even just pay them for a sample pair of contacts, but no dice. So now the contacts in my eyes are all I’ve got for the entirety of this trip, and if they dry out from the wind or get lost at a camp site I’m dead in the water.
With that in the back of my mind, I bundled up and waddled my overloaded bike out of my hotel room and down the hall to the elevator. I reached out to push the call button and quickly learned that the bike is too heavy to stand on it’s own if you only hold the handlebars. It started to twist and topple over. I reflexively tried to grab the frame with my right hand and must have caught something sharp. Big gash taken out of my hand right above the first knuckle on my pointer finger. I have neosporin, but no bandaids. What are the odds this DOESN’T get wildly infected in the next day or two?
It’s cold. Much colder than I was expecting. 40s and windy enough to push me around on the bike. I zipped up my jacket and put some gloves on my freshly sliced open hand. There. Totally better. All fixed.
*ahem*
The starting point of the trail is beautiful, even with the wind whipping frantically off the water. Steelers football stadium is just across the river. There was a stray jogger looping around the fountain and a tourist couple braving the gale. Other than that, it’s just me. No other cyclists in sight. Wait… did I just call myself a cyclist? Who am I?
I realized at the last second that I had forgotten to fill my water bottles in the hotel. Thankfully, there was a working water fountain at the park. I got that in just before heading out.
I started pedaling around 10:30. The first mile or two were all paths or sidewalks alongside city roads. A few crosswalks. Mostly a slight downhill alongside the highway and the river, with outdated looking buildings climbing up the mountain on my left. Doing it. This is happening.
Heading out of the city, following the signs for the trail, there was a moment where I had to pass through some concrete pylons. It was narrow, and I was still getting a feel for my loaded bike, so I gently brushed my left side against a pylon as I passed, a light metallic “tink” sound as the buckle of my bag tapped the concrete. It wasn’t until late afternoon that I looked down and thought “… wait where’s the bear spray?”. Turns out the “tink” wasn’t buckle on pylon, but bear spray on pavement. You’re welcome, random Pittsburgh pedestrian. You are welcome. Hope I don’t meet any bears.
Once I finally got going, pedaling along the path next to the highways leading out of the city, I felt better. I was moving. Then I hit a parking lot and the path disappeared. I stopped. Looked around. Checked my map. I found a hill and a sidewalk path that seemed to be heading back into the city. That can’t be right, I need to cross the river. I doubled back to the parking lot. No other exits. Back and forth for 45 minutes. Until eventually I used video game puzzle logic, set off back the way I had come on the path, and found that the unmarked bridge I had passed a quarter mile back was actually the one I needed to follow. Oops.
Pedaling was tougher than I imagined. Legs were sore quickly, within the first 5-10 miles, but then I haven’t done any cycling training so I guess that’s kind of what I expected? Not sure how well it bodes for the rest of the trip, but it is what it is. Once I got across the bridge things opened up just a bit. The city trailing off behind me, suddenly feeling a little less real now that there’s a river between us. Got my first taste of nature here, a few well-manicured areas of woods with leaves covering most of the paved paths. But mostly it was pedaling through sparse suburbs, getting buffeted by the wind and stopping occasionally to relieve my running nose with a very dainty, very attractive farmers blow into the leaves.
I stopped for my first snack just past noon. A bench alongside the path overlooking some old coal town with a few smokestacks still bellowing into the cold air. A train chugged past as I nibbled a protein bar and some dried fruit. One water bottle already empty, but I’m loving the environment here. Fall in the mountains. Just what I signed up for.
Legs really started to burn as I kept plodding forward. Quads especially. I remember from all my bike setup reading there was something about “if you feel you’re burning only your quads, adjust the seat X way” but I can’t for the life of me recall which way to adjust it. Oh well. I’ll keep moving forward, even if slower than I’d like. Legs will adapt.
The bigger issue today was the shifter. I kept the left chainring in the easy gear, but trying to adjust the right gear to match the incline was a nightmare. It’s slipping. Jumping even. I’ll be pedaling along and out of nowhere the pedals will LURCH forward a half turn as the chain hops unexpectedly to another gear. It’ll take me a few seconds to find the pedals again, and no sooner have I started pedaling than WHAM it lurches again. Each time it’s jarring. Like thinking I was at the bottom of the stairs only to awkwardly plop down the last 8 inches to the landing. Not an enjoyable experience.
After 35 some odd miles of this, I passed through West Newton. From where the path crossed, there were only a few buildings. A drug store, a small restaurant, and (mercifully) a bike shop. I walked Roach in…
oh, did I mention I started calling the bike “Roach”? A la Geralt of Rivia? No? Well I have. Not intentionally. It just kind of happened at some point in the 4th or 5th hour of pedaling.
Anyway… I walked Roach into the shop, unloaded all the bags, and had the guy adjust it. He spent about 15 minutes tweaking and testing, then rode it around a little loop in the back of the store, testing, while a cliche dopey town kid asked question after question. “HOW MUCH IS THIS ONE? WHAT KIND OF TIRE IS THIS? DO YOU HAVE ANY OF THIS OTHER THING? HEY MISTER ARE YOU A YOUTUBER? WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHAT KIND OF BAGS ARE THOSE? WHERE DID YOU GET THEM? WERE THEY EXPENSIVE?…”
I imagine the kid is in here asking similar questions daily. It feels like that kind of town.
Bike repair guy was helpful. He finished up. Asked if the cables were new, and then explained that new cables stretch like this and it causes the derailleurs the slip. I told him I wish the guy who replaced the cables would have told me about this. Snagged a couple of drinks from the cooler, paid him $20 instead of the $10 he asked for, and pedaled on. The gears were holding. No more slipping. Thank god.
Looking over my trail guide, it became pretty obvious that camping points would be an issue. On the C&O there are little remote campsites every 4-6 miles. Here on the GAP… notsomuch. There are only 3-4 free campsites across the entire 150+ miles, and about as many paid ones. I am REALLY not interested in getting stranded between sites as the sun goes down, so, at about 4:30, I stopped in at the Cedar Creek campsite. It’s a little earlier than I had imagined stopping, but my legs thank me for the early rest.
The site itself is at the end of a big park. Playgrounds, a few pavilion sites, and at the very end three adirondack style campsites. I didn’t know what that meant in the trail guide. Turns out it’s little open-faced wooden structures. Log style walls, plywood roof, plank floors, facing away from the path and out to the river flowing 30 yards away. Nobody else here, so I have my pick of the three. I parked the bike under the roof and did my best to set up the tent. This shouldn’t be hard, but the tent uses tension from the stakes to hold the poles upright. I can’t drive stakes into the wood floor, so I did my best to fashion some anchor points by wedging the stakes between boards.
It ain’t pretty. But it’ll get the job done.
It’s getting cold already. They’re calling for rain and potentially snow (!) overnight. Guess I’m gonna really put the new sleeping bag to the test right out of the gate. My legs are far more sore than I like to admit. I was very ginger trying to set up camp, and I can’t imagine that’s gonna feel any better tomorrow. Like, it’s gonna be bad. But then, I didn’t train. I knew this was coming. Though I guess it was only a likelihood before. Now it’s a reality. Just gonna have to do the best I can with it.
I’m disappointed that progress felt so slow today, but I made it to a nice little camp spot and got my bike fixed. I made it 40 miles despite getting lost and all the wind and all the bike gear issues. It’s not a big flashy start, but it’s a start. I’m going to bundle up, pound a few handfuls of trail mix and this Gatorade I picked up from the bike shop, hang my food bag over a tree branch somewhere (you happy, Pavestone Chick?), throw some more neosporin on my hand, and try to stretch out my legs a bit before passing out.
Day 1 in the books. I’m doing it. Slowly but sorely, I’m doing it.
That wasn’t a typo.
Weds Oct 19th - Welp. Today didn’t go as planned.
But… I think that’s okay.
Last night wasn’t great. The temperature dropped even faster than the sun did. I dutifully took my food to a pavilion a few hundred feet away, and by the time I finished I was losing feeling in my right hand and both feet. Really, really cold. I tossed the food over a branch, hobbled back to the tent, and zipped myself up in the sleeping bag to warm up.
About an hour of laying there, nearly dark, I heard footsteps. Then voices. I couldn’t see anything, with the tent zipped up. The footsteps got closer. Very close. Then silence.
…. uhhhh…
I finally spoke up. “Sounds like I’m not the only camper?”
A friendly, rather animated male voice responded. They were trying to choose a site. Guess they won’t be choosing this one. They’re going to be making a campfire in a bit, I’m welcome to join them. Then the footsteps wandered off. I was still zipped up in a sleeping bag and a tent, so I had no idea who this person was, but at least they sounded more friendly and less axe murderery. I wound up making no attempt to leave the warmth of the sleeping bag. Instead, I ever so carefully pulled my contacts out, plugged my phone into a battery pack to charge, and drifted off.
… for an hour or two. And then the trains started.
I listen to my music loud. I’ve played in all sorts of bands, been to the front row of concerts, and worked with big power tools. When the first train approached, I had to put my hands over my ears. Holy CRAP that’s loud.
Not just loud, but haunting. Ethereal. Otherworldly. There’s a low rumble far off in the distance that builds slowly as it approaches. As the distance slowly closes and the shorter wavelengths start to reach my ears, the rumble is joined by the hissing and clicking of the wheels on the tracks. This whole mechanical midnight orchestra is punctuated sporadically, jarringly, by the forlorn wail of the whistle. All this sound coming from different points along the track, reverberating off the mountains and reaching my ears with subtly modulating pitches from different directions and no direction and all directions somehow. It crescendos. Fortissimo. Fortississimo. Fortississississimo. That’s gotta be as loud as it gets, right? Nope. As I lay there, dead tired, freezing cold, having been sound asleep just a few seconds prior, it was everywhere. Everything. All-encompassing. Equal parts terrifying and mesmerizing. It was like listening to the sound of history. Of time. Of inevitability. And it rang so loud that I couldn’t hear myself when I said aloud, and this is a direct quote, “…. HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT THAT’S LOUD”
I assume the other campers couldn’t hear me either. Hopefully.
These trains passed by all night. Sometimes an hour or two apart, sometimes only 15 minutes. Sometimes I would manage to fall back asleep after one, sometimes I would just be drifting off when the telltale rumble would creep up in the distance. I guess, theoretically, I might have slept through a few without knowing it, but I sincerely doubt it. Not even me. The tracks, which I found the next morning to be just on the other side of the river from my camp site, were too close.
In conclusion - I’ve slept better room not that clean two stars
As the light started filtering into my tent again, I could see my breath. My quads were sore enough to ache already, despite having not gotten up or even moved yet. I could hear the rain still coming down, though it had been harder through the night. It was at this point I started wondering why I had chosen to do this. This is my first time away from work in 12 months. And here I am - slowly and stiffly unzipping the tent to a freezing, dreary, drizzly grey morning.
I thought about just calling the day. Maybe it makes sense to give my yearling cycling legs a chance to recover after 5 some hours in the saddle yesterday. Forecast was for cold drizzle all day, with fits of proper rain throughout. The weather tomorrow looks beautiful. Wouldn’t it make sense to take my time here? What’s the rush? But… I do have to pee. So I guess I need to get up temporarily anyway.
I ignored my aching legs and went out to find a secluded tree to mark. Pulled my food bag down, successfully un-beared, and enjoyed just the MOST delicious cold crumpled up pop tarts with a dried fruit chaser and the can of pepsi from the bike shop for caffeine. As I nibbled, the footsteps from the night before made their return.
A smallish guy, bespectacled with a light beard, came over and said hello. He was bundled up in some knit dad-wear, several layers. Function over form personified, and I found myself jealous of the apparent warmth. Definitely the same guy as the night before, he was as animated in expression as he had sounded through the tent walls. He said he was sad I couldn’t make it over for the fire last night, so I told him about the numbness in the extremities and my trying not to lose a toe. We started exchanging where we had come from and where we were going. They were based around Baltimore, also coming out of Pittsburgh yesterday and also headed towards DC. But they were seasoned adventurers, even in their 60s, performing various thru-hikes and climbs and whatnot. The other guy, even older, came over and chatted a bit. They were peppy. Excited to be out there, despite the weather. It gave me some energy, or maybe that was the Pepsi? Regardless, I made up my mind. I was gonna trudge on and see how far I could make it. I packed up my gear, gathered all the tent stakes that hadn’t fallen through the cracks in the floor overnight (which was not many), and set off.
It was cold. It was dreary. Long, slow uphill stretches after long, slow uphill stretches. Not steep hills, but miles at a time. There’s something trying about not being able to coast at all for miles and miles. Anytime you try to stop pedaling, catch a breath, the bike slows and stops. No breaks. Always pedaling. Legs still very stiff, but once I get a few miles under my belt they loosen up somewhat. Sore, but still able to go. Go. Go. Just keep going.
After a particularly long, straight uphill stretch I stopped at a big pavilion roof at a park behind some houses. Spotted a water pump and needed to refill my bottles. The rain started coming down harder as I was under cover. Rather than set back out, to go from damp to soaked, I took a few minutes to investigate the squeaking that had started coming from Roach. It wasn’t in the gears. Not the chain. Seemed to be happening with the wheel rotation. And then… oh no…
… The brakes. The brakes are rubbing again the wheel.
On this older bike, it’s your old school brake pad setup. Two pads, one on either side, pinch against the wheel rim as you squeeze the brake trigger. Well, in this case, they’re rubbing. Every rotation of the wheel, for a few degrees, the pads are contacting the rim whether I ask them to or not. Sure enough, pushing the bike along slowly, I can feel the brief deceleration every few feet.
Sonnnn of a BITCH. How long has this been going for? Is this why I’m struggling so damn hard to get up these hills? It can’t be helping with the no-coasting problem. How much further along would I be if it weren’t doing this? How much better off would my legs be right now?!?!
I gave the brakes a few squeezes to see if I couldn’t reset them. No dice. I investigated the brake mechanism to see if I could figure out how it works, but eventually decided against it. Rubbing brakes are bad. Tinkering with the brakes in the middle of a ride with no real understanding of what I’m doing could be much worse.
Guess I’m dealing with it.
The struggle continued. I had gone about 8 miles right out of the gate without a break. Then about 3 before I needed to stop and take a few breaths. Then another 1, 1 and a half. Then three quarters. I’m tired. My legs are flat and lifeless. Today is not going well. I check my map again and see that the next town with a bike shop will be Connellsville. Another 8 miles to go. A mile here. Break. Another mile. Break. In my head I likened it to drop sets in the weight room. Hit as many reps as you can at your goal weight, then drop the weight slightly and do as many more as you can. Then drop it and burn yourself out again. On and on and on. This is not a good way to maximize output, just to burn out your muscles as completely as possible. Probably not ideal in this scenario.
It is beautiful out here though. Even in the rain. This trail winds behind small streets of 4-5 houses, cuts over small residential roads, and otherwise sticks to the woods. It’s followed the river this whole time, our paths occasionally crossing over one another but never diverging. I wish it weren’t all the long slow uphills. I wish it weren’t raining. I wish my bike were cooperating. I wish my legs weren’t burning so badly. But, if I’m gonna be miserable, this is a pretty nice place to do it.
Going over a bump, the squeaking from my tire was met with a *TWANG*. Fuck me…. now what? I dismounted. Took me just a minute or two to find the culprit - a spoke on the back tire had snapped under the weight of all my gear and all of me. I had brought spare inner tubes and tire patch kits and canisters of compressed air to refill flats… I hadn’t brought spokes. Not that I’d know what to do with it if I had one anyway.
The adventurers from the camp site approached on the trail from behind me. They stopped briefly to check on me, make sure I wouldn’t be stranded, and invited me to join them at a little diner in Connellsville for lunch once I finished at the bike shop. I thanked them, gave them some time to get ahead of me, and started up again. Two miles. Break. Half a mile. Break. A mile. Break…
Coming over a ridge, I finally entered Connellsville. I stopped to check the map to find the bike shop and coasted downhill into town. Ohhh downhill, you sweet beautiful bastard, where have you been all this time? The trail followed a road through town, made a right at a Comfort Inn on the corner, and wound to a crosswalk stop. The bike shop directly across. The sign on the front door said to use the side door for service. I poked my head in, wet and cold and bedraggled, and was met with an old heavyset man in a firefighter shirt. He was sitting a small table in what looked like a makeshift kitchen/living room in the back of the shop. An old woman, presumably his wife, was pouring something from the small electric burner plugged in on a counter and making her way to the small round table in the middle of the floor.
That’s… uhm… what did I just poke my head into?
The old man lumbered into action. Beckoned me to roll the bike one more door back along the building. He met me there with a hose. Connected it. Sprayed the dirt and mud and gunk off my gear. Then we rolled it inside.
The workroom looked more like a garage than a store. A wood burning furnace on one side, a workbench against the far wall, and stacks of boxes with various Huffy model bikes in the middle of the floor. I explained that I had a broken spoke and rubbing brakes. Pulled all the gear off my bike, again, and handed it off to him. He rolled it over to his workbench and told me to move a chair over by the furnace.
Gladly.
We got to making idle conversation as I attempted to warm myself up. He’d run this bike shop for 35 years. He bought the lot as soon as it was announced that the GAP trail would be coming through town and built the whole thing himself. It took another 15 years for the trail to actually be completed to drive business to him, but when it did it ran, quite literally, right alongside his storefront. Fortunate. We chatted about where I’m from, what I do, how his business is during the different seasons of the year, etc. Eventually he had my bike back together. He walked me through the door, through their makeshift living room, and into the empty retail area. He tried to charge me $25 for the work. I paid him $40.
The wind whipped harder as I pulled my bike up to the diner behind the tall church. As I dismounted, the Adventurers emerged looking fed and happy. I updated them on the bike situation, they recommended the pumpkin ice cream, and went on their way.
Table for one, please. I asked for a booth somewhere that I could keep an eye on my bike. There was one older couple across from me and three younger guys across the restaurant from me. That was it. A young blonde waitress with a customer service smile too big to be convincing was running the whole operation, save the kitchen. I ordered a pot roast omelette with wheat toast and a side of sweet potato fries served with a bourbon caramel dipping sauce.
You guys. You guys. Hey you guys. Oh my god you guys. Sweet potato fries… WITH A BOURBON CARAMEL DIPPING SAUCE. I finished the whole thing off with a milkshake made with that pumpkin ice cream and a cup of coffee. I’m sure my hunger contributed to this, but it was about the most satisfying, delicious meal I could remember eating for a long, long time.
As I sat there indulging, I looked at my bike out the window. The rain was coming down harder again. Harder than it had all day. My bike was getting soaked. I got to thinking - do I need to do more today? Really? Why? I’ve already been in the saddle for 3-4 hours today, legs aching, butt starting to feel the wear from the saddle. It’s cold. It’s pouring. Map says the incline is only going to get steeper tomorrow. I only made it 20 miles, but what’s the rush? Why do I even feel like I need to rush? Wasn’t the idea to just be out here, doing the thing as it feels fun, until I don’t want to anymore?
This feels like a bigger issue I’ve had for some years. And, in some way, I imagine all adults feel. The constant need to be achieving or accomplishing. Why is that? Why am I so unable to just recline and relax and be happy without some sort of progress being made? I imagine some of it comes from the approach of middle-age. Feeling the sword of Damocles there more and more as the years roll on. Feeling like everything needs to be done now before it’s too late. But then, some of it is also probably just habit. I’ve been measured for nearly two decades by my output. My productivity. Be it girlfriends being impressed by the things I’ve accomplished or employers reviewing my year to determine a pay increase amount, everyone looks at me wanting to know what I’ve gotten done. Of COURSE that carries over what’s supposed to be relaxation.
But it shouldn’t.
My mind was made up. I finished my coffee refill, tipped the blonde $30 on a $34 tab, climbed on my wet bike, and pedaled through the rain, back the way I had came, to the Comfort Inn I passed earlier.
This, I would decide rather quickly, was the right call.
The room was cheap. The clerk told me about the warm complimentary breakfast to be served in the morning. The bar open until 11pm. Snacks down the hall. I leaned my bike against the wall and took the longest hot shower of my life, my dead legs soaking up the steam. Then I put on some fresh clothes, flopped over on the bed, and napped.
And napped.
And napped.
By the time I woke up, it was approaching dinner time and I was hungry again. I did some googling and found a small bar/restaurant about a half mile away. Plugged in my electronics to charge and set out on foot. The last thing I wanted was more time in the saddle today.
I walked back towards the bike shop, then turned left. A bridge spanned the train tracks below and led to the other half of town. It felt oddly familiar. Like I’d seen it before. The street, which seemed to be pretty central to the town, climbed up ahead to various levels with storefronts at each. Busier than the others I had passed through, Connellsville seemed to be a little more active. Train was stopping at the tracks under me, people ambling about on the sidewalk… oh my god I know.
Night in the Woods. This feels exactly like Possum Springs from Night in the Woods. Down to several layers of detail. Come to think of it, didn’t the writers on that game come from small rural mining towns in PA? Because it wouldn’t surprise me if this was home for one of them.
I spent my evening chatting with locals at the bar. The guy half of the couple next to me trying to bond over beer, eventually ordering one of the light pumpkin ales I had been putting back - the fanciest of the beers they had at the place. I guess that’s enough to warrant the “great beer selection!” reviews online in this budweiser town. The burger I ordered was served on a plain white hamburger roll, the kind you’d get in a plastic bag from the bread aisle at the supermarket. But the conversation was fun. Bartender spotted me as an out of towner immediately. When asked how she knew, she told me it’s because she “knew 90% of the locals”. One of these towns. The cute, alt-looking server gave me strong “my people” vibes. By the end of the night, I had confirmed it - a band nerd through college, metal music, video games. Why am I able to tell that before I actually know it?
By the time I paid up and walked back here to my room, it was 9pm. I picked up some Reeses Pieces and a Monster from the snack bar - the former for tonight and the latter for the morning - and made my way up here. Working on adjusting the seat on my bike, which seems to have slid backwards away from the handlebar over the ride. But I’m full. I’m warm. I’m dry. I’m tipsy. And I’m happy. This was the right call. I need to remember this. Getting down on myself because I only made it 20 miles today could have easily wrecked the day for me. Enjoying a lunch, meeting some locals at the bar, enjoying a hot shower, these are what will make this trip a vacation instead of some horrific medieval trial by ordeal.
And, more pragmatically, these moments of actual rest are also what will make this possible. My memory of riding a trail like this was pushing as hard as I physically could for 48 hours straight to get to the end. But if that was a sprint, this is a marathon. I can’t push myself so hard and expect to be able to keep going day after day. Take it easy. Take your time. Enjoy the views. Rest when you need it. You’re out here because it’s what you wanted to do, mix in some enjoyable with all the miserable.
I think, come morning, I may delay setting out again. Might want to go get another one of those pot roast omelettes.
-M