Day 3 Monday, Sept. 27th, Brunswick, MD, to Williamsport, MD. 48 miles.

Today the C&O trail will enter the Appalachian Mountains.  We’ll intersect the Appalachian Trail at the Red Brick House and if interested in doing so, will pass over the Potomac River to Harper’s Ferry, (www.nps.gov/hafe), where just under two years before the civil war started John Brown and a band of accomplices took over the Federal Armory in the first overt act against slavery.  We’ll ride past Antietam National Battlefield, the site of the single greatest number of casualties  in one day of fighting of any war fought by US troops in history.  We will make our way 48 miles along the trail to the Snug Harbor KOA campground.



Harper's Ferry.  Just to the left, the foundation of the origiinal Armory taken over by John Brown.  This less than two years before the civil war.



The day dawned wet and drippy again, not a hard rain, just enough to get our bikes full of dirt and sand, our rain gear on for the better part of the day and enough to keep us damp and cool.  Just up the trail from the campground a mile or two, on the West Virginia side of the Potomac is the historical town of Harper’s Ferry.  On this rainy fall morning, several of us crossed over the river and spent some time in this historic town. Click on the link to read more about the significant role the town played in the Civil War (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harpers_Ferry,_West_Virginia#John_Brown.27s_raid).

The town was almost deserted; the stores still yet to open for the day.  We found the location where the old armory stood before it was burned down and the last remaining building of the original town, now rebuilt and moved from its original location.  Just up the street, the National Park Service has its office and the Park Rangers inside were helpful in directing us to various points of interest. 

Back on our bikes, the trail still wet, we pedaled on  to our first rest stop, coincidentally, at the road which would take those interested in a visit to the Antietam Battlefield at Sharpsburg on up the road a piece for a visit to that historical battlefield. On the dates of September 16-18^th, this was the first big battle of the civil war, fought to a standstill with the loss of life, captured or missing, 23,000 in a single day of fighting.  For more about that battle, click on the following link: (www.nps.gov/anti).  It was quite moving to stand in the observation tower and look out over the fields that had been so tragically bloodied on that fateful day, now so long ago. Quiet, so very quiet with just the sound of the wind blowing across the grass, up and over the gently rolling hills.   

As I would be riding along, posted occasionally would be a historical marker with some point of history explained to those who would take the time to stop and read.  Once such marker was at a little draw that comes down off the cliffs above, identified as McCoy’s Ferry.  Today it is nothing more than a spot on the road, but in the evening of September 20^th, 1862, JEB Stuart and his Confederate Cavalry crossed the Potomac at this point to escape the Union Forces out to cut him off from escape.  His mission had been to cover the retreat of the remainder of the confederate forces under General Lee as they abandoned their aborted thrust into Maryland from Virginia.

The location at McCoy’s Ferry is one of only a couple places on the Potomac where the water is shallow enough to allow such a crossing.  The crossing was made at night and allowed General Lee to come back and fight another day.  It is strange to stop there in that quiet place and imagine tens of thousands of men and horses riding down the cliffside, across the towpath and on into the river.  Ghosts and spirits abound.

All in all, the day which started out drippy and wet, turned out to be a beautiful early fall day.  The ride itself was uneventful, except that the ghosts of a conflict long ago whispered in the wind as I rode back onto the towpath and finally, 48 miles after I started the day in the rain, I finished the day under cloudy and threatening skies at the Snug Harbor, KOA.  Rain was again forecast for tonight and tomorrow and I snagged a bunk in one of the small cabins which were part of the KOA offering.  Sure enough, by about 4:00, the rain came down with a vengance and continued throughout the night.  With the 3 other fellows in the cabin that night, the fee to stay dry was $15.  Such a deal.  A long hot shower, dinner and meeting later, I shut my eyes for some much needed sleep.
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A final word about day 3.  Two of my cabin mates that night were 2 fellows who would, over the length of our adventure, become two of my favorite riders.  Sean Sweeney, reportedly the oldest rider of our group at 75, is also THE legendary rider of the ACA organization.  He has reportedly ridden more of the ACA tours than anyone else.  He would never tell us how many, but has ridden them all multiple times.  Across the country west to east, east to west, north to south and south to north.  Local rides like this and longer regional rides.  Not only that, he is the first to leave each day and the first to arrive at the next stop on the way.  There is a standing offer of a drink to any rider who beats him on any segment of the ride.  Quiet, slightly hard of hearing, slightly hunched over at over 6’ tall, he is imposing in both his size, reputation and once one gets to know him, his kindness.  Just a great gentleman both in camp and on the trail.

My other cabin mate that night of great consequence was Earl Wooten.  A combination of Ichabod Crane, Lurch and a thin Santa Clause, with white hair and a white goatee, Earl was genuinely a happy contradiction in terms.  Off the bike, he could never find anything of his. I watched as it took him 45 minutes to pack, constantly forgetting to put something or another in his gear bag.  It was a made-for-movie experience.  He couldn’t find his left hand if life depended on it.  On the other hand, once he got on his bike, he was a machine.  At 73, he put much younger riders to shame. 
 
Now please understand.  None of this ride is a contest.  Not a race, not in any way one person against another.  Having said that, each rider finds his or her own cadence and pace, and that’s pretty much how we each rode every day.  Earl’s pace was just mechanical.  He’d start out, within a few minutes he had his groove, and barring a rest stop or lunch, he’d keep that pace all day long. He’d ridden across the country, west to east in 2002 and had ridden several others of the ACA routes.  Watching him pack or get his act together, you’d be fearful to let him near a bike, but once on the bike, unreal…

Sean, Earl and I spent some time at meals together, just thrown together by the availability of an empty seat at the table, but it was always fun to listen to their stories and to laugh with them at some of their antics