Into the Mountains - Pt. 2
Thurs Oct 20th - Holy crap. What an amazing day.
I am very sore. Legs and butt. Mostly legs. I am stumbling around stiff, having a hard time picking things up off the floor or even sitting in this chair. I am tired. But I am proud. Very, very proud.
I did it. I pushed hard. Harder than I thought I could after the last two days seemed to suggest otherwise. Harder than I had planned to when I set my sights on a stopping point for the ride. I knew today was gonna be a steeper climb than yesterday. I was nervous about it, not sure if my legs could manage it. But the mountain doesn’t compromise, so I set out to try anyway.
The hotel last night was fantastic. Comfortable, quiet, warm, everything modern and maintained. I got a nice long hot shower and a free hot breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, coffee, OJ. Basically what I’d be making myself at home. Didn’t even need to head back to the diner. After another casual pace morning I set off out of this nice little town and up into the mountains.
… and almost IMMEDIATELY I made a discovery.
So, remember how I hadn’t really ridden a bike in 10+ years? I had to do some guess and check regarding which lever does what. Right shifts are most common, those handle the minor gearing adjustments when you’re riding along. The left shifts the larger chain ring, which changes the pedaling difficulty of all the right gears. So if you’re starting at 1, the easiest of all gears, you use the right to go 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Then you flip the left once and the right becomes 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Etc. In my fiddling starting this trip I discovered the larger lever shifts down on the right, making it easier, while the smaller lever shifts up. I tried the left shift, but it was already in the easiest and seeing as how much I was struggling I never messed with it again.
This morning, I discovered… the levers are reversed on the left side. Big handle up, small handle down. I had been flicking the big lever, just as I do on the right, and getting nothing. I assumed that meant it was already in the easiest ring.
It wasn’t. It was already in the hardest.
… moooother fucker.
The first 60 miles of this trip I was complaining about how much harder it seemed to pedal, how badly my legs were burning trying to churn out miles. My quads were destroyed after the first day and I’ve been struggling through ever since. Turns out I was in the downhill gears instead of the uphill gears.
I wasn’t two miles outside of town before discovering this. I got off the bike, walked in front of the gopro, and laughed at myself. What else can I do at that point?
Ridiculous.
As soon as I pulled the gearing back to proper gearing the world opened up. I was going faster with less effort. Felt like I was FLYING. Made well over 15 miles before I stopped for my first break, and even that was just for a quick snack and to enjoy the view. Holy hell, what a view.
Dried fruit, trail mix, and water taste much better when looking over a scene like this. Today is also the first day on my ride that the sun has been out. I was able to take off my jacket at this stop. Lose the cold weather cap. The sun feels good. Moving feels good. Today feels good.
I took a few minutes to study my map and see what my goal for the day should be. Had gone 60 miles the previous two days, but I’m moving faster today. But then, things only get steeper as I near the continental divide. I settled on Confluence - about 40 miles from where I set out and nice little cycling friendly town (according to the trail guide). Already almost halfway there. Should be fine.
The path took me over a couple trail bridges with amazing views. So glad that I waited to see these today instead of yesterday. These wouldn’t have been nearly as majestic in the dreary drizzle. If I would have noticed them at all. Matter of fact, I wonder how many I pedaled right by yesterday without noticing? Regardless, felt like everything was working out for the best.
Contributing to my better mood was the fact that I started listening to music as I’m pedaling. Why the hell wasn’t I doing this before? I think when setting out I had some stoic idea of purity, communing with nature, minimalism, just me and my leg drive and my willpower overcoming the obstacles ahead. Fuck that man, nobody is gonna put an asterisk next to the trip because I was listening to music. Why do I get embroiled in such silly idealistic bullshit? Metalcore mix. Activate.
While there aren’t a lot of other people out here on the trails, I’ve gotten passed a few times. The first time was yesterday when it was raining. At first it was a gut punch, because every one of the group passing me had silver hair and wrinkles. Took me a minute to realize that I’m not actually slower than a bunch of retirees, they’re just on some of those hybrid electric bikes. Weird. Part of me feels like that’s cheating and to be scorned, but like… how else are a bunch of silver haired septuagenarians gonna make it up this mountain when I’m not even sure I can? My pride was restored. But a few times someone closer to my age goes FLYING by on a not-hybrid bike and I feel positively glacial. I tell myself that it’s because they’re not loaded for a tour. I’ve got all this luggage I’m carrying with me and a bike with wider tires and a heavier frame to deal with the load. Of course I’ll be slower. But then… do I believe that that’s all of it? Ehhhh…
At the end of a bridge was a tiny little town that felt about 90% tourist spot. Ohiopyle. About two dozen people on bikes, some kayaks being towed The guide said that this little town is almost entirely funded by shops and B&Bs supporting people who come out for the river and the mountain. Sounds practically west coast. Embracing my new “enjoy the ride” mantra, I found my way down to a pretty crowded little general store with snacks and drinks and food and crafts and… well general stuff. Restocked on drinks and water and set back out.
There was a couple a few hundred yards in front of me, made obvious by their highlighter yellow vests as they pedaled along. I spent a few minutes wondering whether my grey sweats and black hoodie were a bad idea. It’s not like there’s traffic out here. Granted, they’re also wearing helmets and I literally have not put mine on my head this entire trip so far. Bought it because I felt obligated, but at some point in planning I came across the note that helmets aren’t mandatory over a certain age and… actually I don’t have a good excuse. This is probably a silly risk, but it’s not like I’m flying here and I’m not riding on roads with cars. I tell myself that it’s there if I hit a stretch when it’s needed.
I’m never wearing that thing.
Hills were definitely getting steeper, but not uncomfortably slow. A few more breaks on the way, including an incredibly important obligatory photo op, before I rounded a corner and came upon the bridge to Confluence.
I pedaled across the bridge and up to the town map. Should I grab food first, or look for a place I’d be spending the night? As I stood there looking and thinking, I realized… I’m not all that hungry right now. And I’m not all that tired right now. And there’s still some sunlight left. I pulled out my map to see what the next stop would be. Rockwood. 18-19 miles further up the mountain. That’s a long way away. But it did have the Husky Haven campground, a place I had read about in my prep for the trip. But I CAN’T get stuck between here and there during sundown. But… HUSKY HAVEN.
I turned my bike around, went back across the bridge, and pedaled on.
The next couple hours were a blur. A race against tired legs and my own lengthening shadow stretched out in front of me. I stopped briefly at one point to change out my gopro battery. I stopped a few times to catch my breath. Doubt started creeping over me after 5-6 miles. The hell had I done this for? I had reached my goal. I had time to enjoy a small town. Instead now I’m racing the sun, trying to calculate my average MPH each time I pass a mile marker and then do the math of when I should expect to reach Rockwood and whether the sun would still be up (fat lot of good it did me, throwing away my speedometer before the trip). It felt foolish. High risk, low reward.
But I stepped on it. Cranked the Memphis May Fire a little louder and used it all as motivation. Most of the scenery was wide sweeping views of the river on my left, down the side of the hill along which the path wove, partially obscured by trees. The trees were noticeably becoming less deciduous and more coniferous. Wild. Like I’m moving from the hills level to the mountains level. Seeing it in real time is wild.
Within 5-10 miles of my target, the shooting started. Hunters, I assume? But there were several, from various placed around the mountains, and out there sound echoed. Some from not that far away, if relative volumes are to be believed. As if I needed further motivation. I suddenly understood why the older couple had been wearing yellow and soldiered on anyway, only now with crossed fingers.
And then, with the sun approaching the horizon, I came over a hill and was there. A younger couple on bikes were reading the map when I approached and wandered off to a B&B just on the right of the trail. I found the check in house for Husky Haven, just down the road and off to the right, and set out.
Rockwood, from what I could see, was small. Very small. The two B&Bs next to the trail, a no named gas station, a dollar general, and a couple houses. Very, very small. There may have been more over the hill directly in front of me, but… I’m not sure. It felt like that kind of town. I pulled up to the Husky Haven check in signs that pointed me towards the walk up steps of a house’s basement. Next to the railing was a bike and… Campsite Friend #1! The animated voice from outside my tent! They had gone on to Ohiopyle yesterday, but today I apparently caught up with them. That felt good. Redemption.
He set out to find a campsite and I wandered down the stairs and into the basement to find Campsite Friend #2. After a greeting, we looked around and found a ring doorbell to push to summon the owner. After talking to a faceless voice over the camera for a minute and waiting a few more, the man behind the doorbell materialized to give instructions and collect my $15 for the campsite. I left some laundry and my food and pedaled back to the path, to the campsite overlooking town across from a dry riverbed, and made camp just as the sun went down.
Just about 60 miles. Uphill the whole way. And I made it. FUCK yeah I’m back in business baby.
As I was unrolling my sleeping back and inflating my pillow, the owner of the campsite pulled up on a golf cart being copiloted by a wolf.
You read that right.
The owner, a lean older gentleman with a grey beard and a ball cap, introduced me to Zeus. Zeus, they believe, is part husky. The other part they aren’t sure, but he assured me that based on where they rescued him from it may be wolf. I asked if he meant Malamute. He said no, wolf. Zeus weighs a little over 100lbs, and looked every bit of it, so I don’t immediately discount the possibility. He nearly hit his head on the roof of the golf cart while sitting in the seat. I approached, cautiously, and reached out a sacrificial hand while the owner told me about how Zeus took a full year to break and can still be unpredictable. Zeus gave me a few sniffs and accepted pets. And more pets. And more pets. And as I went to pull my hand away he placed a massive paw on my arm and pulled my hand back to him. Who am I to argue with a 100+lb wolfy beast? I had kicked up a fur cloud in and around the golf cart by the time small talk with camp owner ended and Zeus allowed me to retract my hand.
I love Zeus. I want a Zeus. I find myself wishing that I had a Zeus running by my side on this crazy adventure.
Tired of pedaling, I walked back to town. I wandered into the no name gas station for supplies. A man in full camo stood at the counter on my right, beer was in the back. Budweiser, miller lite, amstel. I laughed at myself for thinking that maybe there’d be more than that. Just as well - the camo man had walked back to an old school cash register placed on top of some milk crates in the back, a sign on it saying “PAY FOR BEER HERE - CASH ONLY”. So there went that idea. I walked out without buying anything, ignoring the suspicious looks he was throwing my way.
Instead, I stopped by the Dollar General, and… wow. This was not the Dollar General I was expecting. This was a grocery store. A trashy one. Wait… do we think this might be THE grocery store in Rockwood? I don’t know, and I haven’t looked it up, but again… feels like that kind of town. I grab some empty calories, several drinks, and a pack of hand warmers and walk back to the Husky Haven check in house.
The hum of the washer/dryer working on my clothes runs in the background. I got a hot shower in one of the 4 concrete camp style bathrooms that make up a small building just behind the house here. Campsite Friends made their way back from dinner after a bit and we’ve been chatting. They’re from just outside baltimore, but they do crazy outdoor adventures like this a few times a year. Sometimes with a few other friends. Winter hike through trips camping in below zero temps stands out to me. Sounds miserable, they say they love it. This leads conversation to dog sledding, and #1 asks if I’ve ever read any of Gary Paulsen’s semi-autobiographical stuff. I’m floored by this, after recently thinking that that same author’s book Hatchet was likely a big reason I’ve been interested in these sorts of outdoor adventures to begin with. So he put on the book on tape of Gary Paulsen, and we’ve been listening to that awhile.
There’s a wood stove heating us, power to charge electronics, a dollar general feast to enjoy, and I’m freshly bathed. I’m INCREDIBLY sore, definitely pushed myself hard to make it here today, but I feel accomplished. Barring a major disaster, I’ll make it over the Eastern Continental Divide tomorrow and get to cruise downhill for awhile into Cumberland. The end of the GAP trail will be very feasible. There’s a hotel overlooking the end of the GAP and the start of the C&O, and I’m already figuring on heading out to one of the small restaurant/pub/microbrews nearby to celebrate. Should be a nice little break before setting back out into the woods.
Or I may crash and hurt myself first thing tomorrow and need to be extracted. Don’t want to count any chickens here. But, regardless, today I went 58 miles up a mountain on a heavily loaded bike and met a wolf. Nobody gonna take that much from me.
It was a good day.
Fri Oct 21 - Well, I made it. It wasn’t quite the way I imagined making it, but I made it. The GAP Trail has been conquered. It wasn’t a resounding victory by any means, a pretty near-fought thing towards the end, but it’s victory.
Today started difficult. Difficultly. Difficly… Today was a challenge at first.
Notice the frost on the top of that pannier? This is after the sun had been up awhile. Well below freezing last night. Another evening of seeing my own breath as I try to tuck everything in the sleeping bag while still being able to breathe. To it’s credit, the sleeping bag did a good job last night. I did sleep. But getting up to start moving this morning was hardddd.
You’ll also notice the town of Rockwood just over the dried riverbed from my camp site. What you can’t see is the railroad between the riverbed and the town. Yeah, it was that close. Another night of sleeping in fits and starts between earth-shaking rumbles and screeches and the whole haunted mechanical orchestra. After all the work I put in getting here yesterday, a better night’s sleep probably would have done me some good. Oh well. Spilt milk. Time to do the thing.
I packed up and then made a trip back to the check in house to pick up the food and batteries I had left there last night. As expected, nobody bothered them. I talked for a few minutes to a guy outside who was packing up to start pedaling. He was apparently headed the opposite direction, having hopped a train from Cleveland down to DC and starting the trip there. He complained a lot about the climb he had yesterday. I pretended to be sympathetic, when really all I was doing was celebrating inwardly. Uphill for him means downhill for me. Not far now.
As I set out, i reviewed in my head. Only about 20 miles of uphill left before the Eastern Continental Divide. The highest point of the mountains separating Chesapeake watershed from Gulf of Mexico watershed. The moment I had been pushing towards the last couple of days. Just need to get there.
All the energy I put into making it to Rockwood yesterday took it’s toll today. It was a struggle from the start. Some of that might be attributed to my saddle sliding back again. I’m having to adjust it regularly because for some reason the post won’t hold it in place as I’m pedaling over bumpy terrain. Maybe I need a new post before any hypothetical future rides? Regardless, I don’t think it’s all the seat. I don’t even think it’s mostly the seat. It’s mostly that I flattened myself yesterday.
I’d love to have some brilliant observations to be made about this section of the ride. Something really insightful to write about. But the truth is, it was just miles. The river turned away and the trail covered more farmland than anything. Felt oddly naked without the river on one side of me. I guess it had been there for the last three days. I went over a few long bridges, but the views were more highways and farms than untouched nature. Still pretty, but less my preferred flavor of pretty. Ahead of me were some ridges with a line of windmills on top that I assumed were my target. The top of the mountain. Just need to keep hammering away at it.
The miles were tough. I was back to my cadence of one or two miles, then a break, then one or two miles, then stretch my legs, then one or two miles… on and on. Where yesterday 15 miles got knocked out like it was nothing, today 20 miles felt like an eternity. Maybe it wasn’t the gearing as much as I thought it was? Maybe the short day and the rest I took in Connellsville contributed more to my big day yesterday? Whatever it was that turbocharged me, I didn’t have it anymore.
The final stretch to the divide was uphill (of course) by way of a long, straight path with nothing of interest on either side. I mean, it was long. Deceptively long. So long it became cruel. It reminded me of that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail where Galahad charges at the castle guards for several cuts worth of film without ever actually getting any closer. Perhaps it wasn’t the divide. Perhaps it was a mirage. How long had I been out here again? But then. The moment.
The moment kinda made me wish someone had lugged a pressure washer up here ahead of time, but it was still quite the moment I had for myself. I took several photos. Attempted to make some faces at the camera, only to find that it WAS a gnat that had gotten stuck in my eye some 10 miles back. Gross. A couple on foot approached and started taking photos themselves, but hesitantly. I made some comment about hoping me and Roach weren’t in the way of their photos, having absolutely zero intention of moving.
End of the uphill. Now the downhill.
It. Was. Glorious.
There were some signs on the inside of the Divide’s tunnel showing the inclines on either side of the peak. The west, the side I had just come from, was a long steady slope. Stretched out for a hundred miles plus at an average 2-3% grade. Death by a thousand cuts, a war of attrition, when battling it uphill. The east, the side I was about to take on, was a much shorter but much steeper slope. 24 miles at an average 12-13% grade. A brutal sprint when battling it uphill, but when going downhill?
It. Was. Glorious.
Suddenly the momentum from my heavily loaded, heavily framed bike became an asset. Immediately I was cruising. Getting into a more difficult chainring and pedaling at a steady pace while the world whirled around me. A blur. There were some tunnels to break up the views. One so long that the middle must have been 15 degrees cooler than it was outside. I passed by a gaggle of Chinese tourists posing by the Mason Dixon line and I didn’t even bother to stop. Break this inertia? Are you KIDDING me? I worked over three days for this! There is no photo op so important.
While the river was still missing, the trail instead spent most of this section flirting with train tracks. It would be on the left side, following along, before it suddenly turned 90 degrees to go over the tracks and then continued on the right. A few miles ahead, it would do the same dance from right to left. This was about as close to slowing down as I got, and I took them too fast anyway. Stop and dismount. HAH. How about a moderate speed 45 degree angle? Final offer. There was some sort of commercial tour where parents and kids were in an open-topped train riding up towards the divide. I cruised by them at top speed, heads turning like I was one of the points of interest. There was a family out riding that I blew by like they were standing still. There was a mother and daughter out for a walk that likely only saw a massive black and green blur go flying by. So THIS is what those guys on the lightweight, unloaded bikes had felt like when they passed me going uphill!
16 downhill miles went by like they were nothing. I stopped at the Frostburg signs and a couple benches under a small pavilion. Thinking ahead, I pulled out my phone and went to reserve a room at the hotel I had in mind. I found it online, found the room I wanted. Only a few left available, book now. I tried. Repeatedly. The site stalled and froze. I tried again. I got a little further, but at checkout everything fritzed out again and I was sent back to the main page. After 20 minutes of trying, I called the hotel. They redirected me to the main hotline for the entire hotel chain. They had problems with their system so they forwarded me to a supervisor. After 45 minutes on the website and the phone, I FINALLY got to someone who could make it work… and they politely informed me that the hotel was booked tonight.
…. but, like… the website doesn’t think so?
Fuck this. I could have been there by now. I’ll just go talk my way into it.
At one point on the downhill into Cumberland I paid attention to mile markers and minutes passed and calculated that I was doing somewhere between 18-20mph. Fantastic. Glorious. And I STILL wasn’t wearing that damn helmet.
I pulled into Cumberland. The way in rejoins the river, only now it’s surrounded by highway and concrete channels with tall mountains on either side of the trail. It then weaves it’s way around a few parking lots before you’re onto the main canal place, the little artsy commercial area right in the heart of the city. It should have been a big accomplishment, but my fate was looming. I looked for the mile marker 0 pillar but couldn’t find it. Oh well, I didn’t find one in Pittsburgh either. Symmetry.
Locking my bike up outside of the Fairfield, I tried to look as presentable as possible and wandered inside a dirty, sweaty, gnat covered, bedraggled hulk. A well dressed, very attractive brunette was behind the desk. I got in line. Two other people in clear cyclist attire were checking in ahead of me. I got to the front, asked, and… nope. Nothing available. I asked if things sometimes open up. She tells me there’s already a waiting list. I ask what the next closest option would be. She tells me there’s a hotel just a few miles down the highway over past… I interrupt her. What’s the closest option that won’t get me killed if I’m looking to reach it on a bike? She looks solemn for a moment before wrinkling her nose. “The Ramada. But I don’t like to recommend it to people”
I thanked her and walked back out to my bike.
The good news was that the Ramada wasn’t far. Back down the Canal Place commercial area a few hundred yards, and a couple blocks of traffic north. Also good news, the Ramada had rooms available.
That’s most of the good news.
Walking Roach up the ramp and into the hotel, I couldn’t help but notice the differences between this and my last hotel attempt. The last looked modern, stylish, possibly not luxurious but not far from it. This Ramada looked… sad. Downtrodden. Well worn? I walked up to the front desk where a heavyset girl in sweats with a thick accent and a lazy eye waited for me. As she was ringing me up for the room, a very large man in a stained wife beater started making small talk with me. Asking about my ride. Where am I headed. Where did I start. Why? Where do I live? What do I do? I do my best to parry these away in a friendly way before the guy starts transitioning into how he like traveling but his govt checks only get him to north carolina and a room but then he doesn’t have anything leftover to do anything once he’s there. But anyway he’s here looking for an application because he’s a bit down on his luck but really he’s an entrepreneur and he’s just looking for the right angel investor to come along and fund his brilliant idea so he can…
ohhhhhhhhh… oh.
I tell him about how much I could use an angel investor too, take my key, wish him luck, and roll Roach towards the depressed looking elevator.
So… I did it. Yay? I’m here. I’m not exactly where I wanted to be tonight, and I’ve decided to just order pizza delivery and lay in bed watching TV. I couldn’t imagine getting up and going to hang out somewhere, being this tired. But also being further away from the downtown I wanted to be in. But also not wanting to leave my room alone for very long with people like my new friend looking for “investment”.
Should have reserved a room sooner.
Still, this is a win. I’m here. 150+ miles, 126 of them up a mountain. Two nights camped, one in a hotel. About a million train whistles, gnats in my face, rocks in the path, and times I wished I had packed warm socks instead of these breathable wicking fabric ones. A couple new friends, some good and some just wanting money (I wonder where Campsite Friends #1 and #2 wound up?). I’m not feeling super confident about the next couple of days. The thought of calling the ride here has crossed my mind. Being this tired and sore after 150+ miles has me a little worried about the 180+ more through dirt trails in the woods. My sit bones are forming callouses (Did you know sit bones can form callouses? Feels like fleshy little lumps in my butt, and I can feel them when I sit on a normal chair. Weird). But, on the other hand, these miles will be a slight downhill, which should help. And maybe I’ve found my groove at this point? Hopefully?
Whatever. My goal for this trip was to pedal until I don’t want to anymore, so I’m not going to pressure myself more than that. If I get 10 miles outside of town tomorrow and feel like it was a mistake, I can always double back and call a ride. But there’s no sense worrying myself into an end of the trip. I’ll give it a go. See how far I get. And call it when I call it. But this part is an accomplishment, and I’m going to be proud of that. Even if I’m not proud of my current lodgings.
And, as I sit here and reflect a little bit, you know what hasn’t crossed my mind the last couple days? Work stress. House projects. Family drama. Life has become a series of mile markers and water bottle refill stations. Regardless of where I end it, what a nice reprieve from the norm this has been.
Round 1 complete. Round 2 starts tomorrow.
-M