Robert Morris Pittsburgh to D.C. Bike Ride – Day 4

From May 26-31, a group of Robert Morris University staff members, students, alumni, and friends embarked on a group bike ride from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C., with stops in Ohio Pyle (Pa.), Cumberland (Md.), Hancock (Md.), and Harpers Ferry (W. Va.). The following is an account of the fourth day of the journey as experienced by RMU Senior Writer Valentine J. Brkich.

DAY FOUR – Hancock (Md.) to Harpers Ferry (W. Vir.)

When Annie sang “The sun’ll come out tomorrow…” I used to think she was full of crap.

(Yes, I’ve seen Annie. Twice.)

But you know what? After one of the most miserable days I can remember, the sun really did come out the next day, and my ride to Harpers Ferry, W. Vir., turned out to be best day thus far.

Following the misery of the previous day’s ride, I wasn’t sure if I’d even be able to get out of bed let alone ride another 60-plus miles along the muddy, skeeter-infested C&O Canal Towpath. But rather than mope about my situation, I decided to get up early and try to get some good miles in before lunch.

Down at the local convenience store I stocked up on Gatorade and bought a couple sausage and egg burritos for fuel. I ran into Ethan and Mark, who like me wanted to get moving while it was still somewhat cool out. So at 6:30, the three of us hit the trail together.

After slogging it through the fetid mud and slop from Cumberland to Hancock, starting the day off on more than 10 miles of paved trail along the Western Maryland Rail Trail was heavenly. Yesterday I had struggled to keep a pace of 8-9 mph. Today, right from the start we were wooshing along the smooth asphalt track of the rail trail at a brisk 13-mph clip. We were moving so fast, in fact, that we missed the connection to the C&O and ended up riding a couple miles down the road to Ft. Frederick State Park, where we were able to reconnect. We had 25 miles in the bank by 9:30 a.m.

When we finally made it back on the C&O, we were elated to see that most of the mud and water had dried up, creating a firmer surface that was much easier to ride on. For once I was actually enjoying myself out on the trail, taking time to appreciate our remote surroundings, wedged between the old canal and the rushing waters of the Potomac River. At one point we saw a deer up ahead, and we followed it for quite some time as it bounded down the trail ahead of us before disappearing into the brush along the side. (Photo: One of the many new friends I made along the ride)

Things were going great!

Until…

Part of the trail was being repaired at the time, so they put us on a six-mile detour around the work, along some nicely paved but hilly Maryland back roads. At first I welcomed the change, enjoying the cool breeze as I glided down a lengthy hill along the road. But of course, what goes down must come back up, and I soon found myself pushing my bike up the hills as the midday sun radiated off of the black asphalt underfoot.

Riding your bike along the road can be a humbling experience, too. You don’t realize how slow you’re really moving on a bike until a motorcycle whizzes by you effortlessly at five times your speed.

Now I know how the Amish feel.

Eventually the detour came to an end and we were back along the C&O. I was still feeling pretty good but I noticed I was running low on water. So, a few miles down the trail, as Mark and Ethan decided to take another break, I told them I was just going to push on alone and try to make it to the next town as soon as I could. (Photo: Mike Yuhas conquering a downed sycamore along the C&O)

That next town was Shepherdstown, about 12 or so miles outside of Harper’s Ferry. After carrying my bike over a couple downed sycamores and navigating some washed-out parts of the trail, I took the exit to this lovely college town and headed straight for the nearest eatery, the Sweet Shop Bakery. Other than people staring at me like I was a leper, I had a wonderful lunch outside of the bakery as the normal, showered masses went about their daily business. (Photo: Sweet Shop Bakery in Shepherdstown)

I rode the rest of the way into Harpers Ferry alone, rolling into town around 2 p.m. as the temperatures hovered in the low 90s. I didn’t find out until about an hour later that I had been the first person to arrive! It was an amazing turnaround. The previous day I had barely survived, and here I was the first rider to reach our Day 4 destination. When the others got into town and saw me sitting there sipping on an iced coffee, they looked at me as if I were a ghost come back from the dead. Which, in a way, I guess I was. It was one of my prouder moments.

Later that evening we chowed down at The Anvil Restaurant (I actually ate an order of something called “Crab Balls”) and then we walked back into town for some ice cream.Spirits were high. We only had one more day to go in our adventure. Just 60 more miles to D.C.!

Was this nightmare…I mean, adventure really coming to an end?

(Photo: The RMU crew enjoying ice cream outside John Brown’s Fort)

Robert Morris Pittsburgh to D.C. Bike Ride – Day 3

From May 26-31, a group of Robert Morris University staff members, students, alumni, and friends embarked on a group bike ride from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C., with stops in Ohio Pyle (Pa.), Cumberland (Md.), Hancock (Md.), and Harpers Ferry (W. Va.). The following is an account of the third day of the journey as experienced by RMU Senior Writer Valentine J. Brkich.

DAY THREE – Cumberland to Hancock (Md.)

After a hearty breakfast at the hotel and a quick stop at the local drug store for some insect repellent – a MUST on the Chesapeake & Ohio (C&O) Canal Towpath – we set off for our next destination, Hancock, Md., a little over 60 miles to the east. Despite the previous day’s challenges and the uncomfortable task of putting on sopping wet shoes first thing in the morning, we were in good spirits. After all, we had made it through the toughest part of the journey—the long uphill climb to the Eastern Continental Divide. From here on out the path would either be flat or downhill.

Piece of cake.

As we started out, we were having a lot of fun riding through the muddy mess that was the C&O—the result of the previous day’s torrential downpours. Within just a few miles, we were splattered with mud and laughing at our utter griminess. A couple miles in, we stopped briefly to check out a Confederate soldier’s family cemetery along the trail, one of the first signs that we were officially on the southern side of the Mason-Dixon Line. (Photo: One of the many old locks along the C&O)

It didn’t take long, however, for the novelty of the mud to wear off. Before long, my legs had grown weary of fighting through the thick, foul-smelling slop. It soon became mentally exhausting as well trying to avoid the puddles, switching back and forth, back and forth, from one lane to the other. And when you did get a chance to stop for a break, you had to be sure to spray every inch of your body with a generous amount of insect repellant in order to fend-off the hundreds of blood-thirsty mosquitoes that would instantly descend on you. (Photo: Fixing a flat in West-Nileville)

And what about this “downhill the rest of the way” stuff I’d been promised? Every once in a while, when you’d come upon an old lock, you’d experience a brief downhill run. But for the most part it was up and down, up and down. The ups were never that steep, but when you’re slogging through thick, energy-sapping mud, even the slightest incline is unwelcome. It didn’t take long before I’d fallen back and was once again on my own.

Our first stop was the tiny town of Paw Paw, about 30 or so miles down the trail. Of course, I missed the turn off and had to backtrack a half mile once I realized my mistake. In town I saw a number of mud-caked bikes parked outside of Anthony Jr.’s, the local pizzeria. I found the crew I’d been riding with earlier in the day already inside. We were all getting some pretty bizarre looks from the locals, who’d probably never seen a grungier bunch of bikers. And I’m sure we all smelled delightful, coated in a mixture of stagnant canal water, mud, sewage, and bug spray.

Bon appetit, everyone!

After woofing down an Italian sub and pausing briefly to admire the Paw Paw Memorial Day parade (fire trucks, John Deere tractor, livestock, etc.), I returned to the C&O beneath the unforgiving midday sun. I was glad when I finally reached the cool shelter of the 3118-foot Paw Paw Tunnel. Since the tunnel has no lights and is nearly pitch dark inside, you have to get off your bike and push it the nearly ½-mile to the other side, hoping that you don’t stumble across a water moccasin as you focus on the light at the other end. (Photo: RoMo outside the Paw Paw Tunnel)

By the time I’d reached mile 40, I was really hurting. My legs, worn out from the previous day’s never-ending climb, felt like Jell-O, my back ached from hours of crouching over my handlebars, and let’s just say my bicycle seat and I weren’t getting along. I was also feeling sick—a combination of allergies and a lingering sinus infection. And since I had run out of water, I was forced to drink the “treated” well water along the trail, which had a lovely, metallic, slightly rusty flavor to it.

It was around this time when the other riders, seeing that I was near death, took pity on me and selected someone – Todd’s dad, Ed, – to stay back and ride along with me. He’d never admit to it, of course, but I knew what was going on. And I appreciated it greatly.

A little further on down the trail, we stopped at a local establishment known as Bill’s Place, one of the few watering holes along this section of the C&O. Jeff Foxworthy would have a field day with this joint. It’s the kind of place where you wouldn’t look out of place walking in shirtless, wearing a pair of oil-covered bib-and-brace overalls, a golf-ball-sized wad of tobacco in your cheek, and a “Git-R-Done!” hat on your head. We, on the other hand, clad in our skin-tight biker shorts and over-sized helmets, stuck out like a bunch of sore thumbs.

The only real charm of the place is in the ceiling, which is covered with dollar bills that people have signed and left there over the years (Bill’s and bills…get it?). We even located the one Todd left there the last time he and his dad rode through. (Photo: Hamer’s bill at Bill’s)

Since Billy Bob and his cousins weren’t exactly giving us that warm-and-fuzzy feeling from over by the bar, we just ordered a few waters and skedaddled whilst we still had the chance.

With about 13 miles to go until Hancock, I found myself riding alone again amidst the jungle-like vegetation of the C&O. Every pedal was agonizing by this point, and the mud and slop had caked both me and my bike in a layer of thick, heavy, smelly filth. Somehow I missed the turn-off to the paved Western Maryland Rail Trail, which would have provided a smooth, almost effortless ride for the last 10 miles of the trip. Instead I continued on down the muddy trail, past the ruins of the Round Top Cement Plant and something with the charming name of the Devil’s Eyebrow. (Photo: Ruins of the old Round Top Cement Plant)

When I finally rolled into town, hungry, thirsty, muddy, and somewhat delirious, I came upon some of the other riders relaxing in the shade enjoying some ice cream. Seeing that I was in no mood for joviality, they hopped on their bikes and led me directly to the hotel, which, of course, sat atop a punishing hill about a half mile down the road. When I stumbled into the lobby looking like the Swamp Thing, they said they couldn’t find my reservation and that there were no vacancies either.

Fabulous.

I ended up having to get a room over at another hotel—at the top of ANOTHER HILL!—and it was one of the filthiest, least inviting hotels I’d ever stayed in. The lock on the door was broken, so before I went to sleep I jammed my mud-caked bike between the door and the wall, hoping that it would buy me some time should someone try to break in. Which, after the day I had, seemed totally plausible. (Photo: My filth-covered shirt right, before I threw it in the garbage)

It was an appropriate ending to one of the most physically and emotionally taxing days of my life, and I couldn’t bear to think that I still had two more days and over 120 miles to go.

Robert Morris Pittsburgh to D.C. Bike Ride – Day 2

Fom May 26-31, a group of Robert Morris University staff members, students, alumni, and friends embarked on a group bike ride from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C., with stops in Ohiopyle (Pa.), Cumberland (Md.), Hancock (Md.), and Harpers Ferry (W. Va.). The following is an account of the second day of the journey as experienced by RMU Senior Writer Valentine J. Brkich.

DAY TWO – Ohiopyle (Pa.) to Cumberland (Md.)

I dragged myself out of bed at 6 a.m. on Friday, feeling sore but refreshed following the best sleep I’ve had since before my kids were born. I think my body put itself into some sort of comatose state in order to recover from the previous day’s abnormal physical exertion. Today was to be the toughest day in our itinerary: 72 miles, over 40 of them uphill, to Cumberland, Md., where we’d leave the G.A.P. and begin along the C&O Canal Towpath.

You may have been awakened by a horrific scream around 6:30 that morning. It was just me sitting down on my bike seat.

After an 11-mile, taking-it-easy ride to Confluence, we stopped for breakfast at the Lucky Dog Café, which had graciously agreed to open its doors early for our group and provide some much-needed nourishment for our long ride ahead. One of the people I ate with was Steve, an Oracle database guru for Highmark, who’s pursuing his M.S. in Computer Information Systems from RMU. He and Garrett, an associate consultant and researcher for RMU’s Bayer Center for Nonprofit Management, were our group’s speed demons, and they usually finished the day’s journey hours before the next closest rider. For Steve, who rides his bike 45 minutes to and from the office every day, this journey was all in a day’s work.

It started to sprinkle as we left the café and began our ascent towards the Eastern Continental Divide, forty-some miles away. An ominous sign greeted us as we hit the trail: no cell phone service for the next 30 miles. I felt like we were entering into the dreaded land of Mordor.

Fueled by a hearty meal of eggs, bacon, home fries, and coffee, I managed to keep up with a few of the riders for a little while as we rode through the light morning drizzle. However, by the time we reached the now closed Pinkerton Tunnel, about a mile south of Markleton, Pa., I was ready for a break. From that point on, until I made it to our lunchtime stopping point at Meyersdale, thirty-plus miles away, I’d be on my own. (Photo: Taking a break at the old Pinkerton Tunnel)

When you’re out on the trail alone, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a million things run through your mind:

Boy, it must have been something when the trains used to run here…

Look at the beautiful wildflowers!

I wonder if there are any bears out here?

God, my rear-end is killing me.

Was that a banjo!?!?

HOW MUCH FARTHER DOES THIS HILL GO, FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD!!

A little before Rockwood, I caught up with the Eschenfelder crew at one of the trail’s rest points. As I chit-chatted with Mike and Jonathan, I noticed Mark was staring directly down at the ground. For a moment I thought he might be praying, which is something I found myself doing many times out along the trail. But then I noticed he was staring at some sort of beetle/caterpillar/crustacean-like creature slinking along the trail’s rocky surface. I have no idea what it was, but let’s just call it the Black Scorpion Monster Thingy From Hell. (Photo: Black Scorpion Monster Thingy From Hell)

After a quick pause to stretch my legs and refuel with one of those cardboard-esque energy bars, I was back on the trail. Bypassing Rockwood, I decided to push on to Meyersdale, where the promise of a downhill trail lay just beyond the horizon at the Eastern Continental Divide. Along the way I paused in Garrett where, coincidently I ran into Garrett, who had just finished his lunch. After making sure that I was OK, he popped in his ear buds and was again on his way. In a flash he was gone, like some sort of bicycle-riding superhero.

From there to Meyersdale I encountered a variety of wildlife including a copperhead, two turtles, and dozens of suicidal grinnies (i.e., chipmunks) who, inexplicably, kept darting out in front of me, narrowly evading the knobby tires of my mountain bike. (Photo: Copperhead, I think)

Arriving at Meyersdale I felt a renewed sense of positivity as I joined up with others for a short lunch break in town at the Java Café. We were getting close now. It was a mere 11-12 miles to the Divide. From there we’d be able to relax and glide downhill for the next 25 miles to Cumberland. Meyersdale, a.k.a., The Maple City,seemed like an inviting town, unless, that is, you were drunk. (Photo: Not-so-subtle warning to drunks) I even met a woman in the café who hailed from my hometown of Beaver—a coincidence I took as a sign of good things to come.

But then, as I enjoyed an iced coffee, it began to drizzle again. Off to the west a line of seriously dark clouds was moving in. I decided it was time to get moving and get to the Divide before the real heavy stuff started coming down. So I pushed my bike back up the long hill to Meyersdale Station to rejoin the trail. (Photo: RMU bikers at Meyersdale Station)

Before I had embarked on this journey, when people asked what I would do if it rained, I scoffed at their concern. It would be fun to ride in a storm, I said. It would only add to the adventure.

Then the rain came. And the thunder. And the lightning.

Should I take cover under the canopy of trees off to the sides? No, they tell you not to do that. Then again, if I stay out here, I’m the highest point on the trail…

FLASH!. . . BOOM!

Great. They’re going to find me dead out here. Fried to a crisp by a bolt of lightning! And just as the trail was about to get easy…

More lightning and thunder…

I want my mommy.

The rain was relentless, and the condition of the trail quickly deteriorated. For 10 miles or so, It was like riding through oatmeal.

Then, finally, I saw it—the Eastern Continental Divide, just a few hundred yards ahead inside a small tunnel! After one final and, in my opinion, highly unnecessary incline, I pedaled my bike into the beautiful, lovely, dry concrete shelter. Todd was only a hundred yards or so behind me, and when he reached the tunnel I felt like hugging him. However, I make a strict policy of mine never to hug a co-worker. So we just high-fived. (Photo: Todd, after the high five, holding RoMo in front of the map at the Eastern Continental Divide)

Soon the rest of the group from the café joined us as we celebrated the official end of the climbing. From here on out, it would be nothing but an effortless downhill ride into Cumberland…and then on to D.C.!

When you’re out on the trail, you can’t get your hopes up. The minute you think you must have ridden for three or four miles, you pass a marker and see that you’ve only gone one. The minute you think there just can’t be another hill, you turn the corner and see another mile-long rise ahead of you. And the minute you think the ride is going to be easy, another monstrous, hail-producing storm blows in.

Riding through the Big Savage Tunnel, we reached Frostburg and began what should have been a relaxing 16 miles into Cumberland. But then Storm #2 struck, complete with hail, lightning, and a stiff wind that was trying to blow us back up the hill. Instead of coasting down the trail, I had to pedal with all my might, all the while beseeching the Almighty to protect me from being scorched by a fiery bolt of electricity. (Photo: RoMo at Frostburg before Storm #2)

By the time I reached Cumberland, my entire body was a giant prune and there was an inch of water in my saddlebags. I’ve been dryer swimming pools. At the Holiday Inn, I took a shower and then, since I wanted to remain in the shower but no longer had the strength to stand, I took a bath for the first time in around 20 years.

I couldn’t believe we’d only made it through two days. We still had three more to go along the C&O Canal Towpath, which, I’d been told, was basically a narrow, bumpy, 185-mile dirt path.

But surely things couldn’t get any worse…right?