Day 4. Tuesday, Sept. 28. Williamsport, MD to Little Orleans, MD. 46 miles.



A Bend in the River. 
God's Handiwork

I left camp about 7:45 on a beautiful sunny morning.  As always, the trail is relatively flat, the Potomac on the left and the canal with its locks on the right.  Just a few miles up the trail, I stopped for a few minutes at a most beautiful spot along a bend in the river.  Beyond beautiful. It was warm, quiet and peaceful. The sun shining on the trees and river, creating more shades of green than imaginable.  All offset by the bright blue of the bend of the river.  Truly one of God’s Kodak moments.  It seems like each of these trips offers me a place to quietly give thanks for my blessings and good fortune.  This was such a place.  At this place, at this time, all was right with the world and I was lucky enough to be part of that space.  I was blessed as God’s handiwork was spread out in front of me in all her glory.

Another mile or so, just up on a hill to my right, just off the bike path, was Fort Frederick, a fort built 1756 by the Brtitish to limit the influence of the French who were using the territory for fur trade. Moreso, to limit the French government's expansionist goals in the new world.  The fort was used in the revolutionary war and again in the Civil War.  For more about Fort Frederick, see: (www.dnr.state.md.us/publiclands/western/fortfrederick.html).

Just another few miles and I came to something I had been anticipating for a couple of days.  A slight detour of the towpath onto the Western Maryland Rail Trail, an asphalt bike trail of about 30 miles, we got to ride on asphalt, not burdened by the rock and gravel of the towpath.  After 3 days of riding on rock and dirt, the paved part was heaven.

Along our path was the small town of Hancock, famous in ACA circles for a coffee shop and bakery, Weavers, where allegedly, the best pies of any in the world are made.  Of course, to be able to combine fresh coffee and fresh hot pie in the middle of this ride was beyond tempting.  The cherry pie was very good and the cup of coffee was hot and delicious.  After about 30 miles, my appetite was up and all that pie and coffee hit the spot.

The remainder of the paved pathway seemed to glide by in minutes and too soon we were back on the towpath.  It might have been my imagination, but the rock and gravel after the paved path was really, really rough.  Much more so than before.  Of course, I realize that such was not the case, just my imagination after those smooth 22 miles.

This stretch of the ride was the most remote of the entire trip, with virtually nothing mile after mile except woods, the canal and off in the distance from time to time, the Potomac, now a quiet, meandering river.  Even riding with one of the tour members, the quiet was startling.  Just the afternoon sun, an occasional bird call, the snake – THE SNAKE???? – and the noise of the tires on the towpath. Yes, a snake.  A black snake, harmless but probably 4 feet long and guaranteed to attract one’s attention.  As mentioned earlier, laying out in the sun to warm itself.  With all the commotion created by several goofy bike riders, Blackie slowly slithered off into the brush and into the woods.

In another few miles, we came to the town of Little Orleans, our destination for the day and our campground for the night.  The prime attraction in Little Orleans is Bill’s Joint.  In fact, I think it’s the only attraction in Little Orleans.  Bill’s is known far and wide as a biker bar and grocery store and sure enough, upon entering the place, 3 guys, all bikers, all looking like Willie Nelson, all sitting at the bar, cast us a wary eye, ordered another round and started for the door to go outside to drink in peace.  I made the attempt to let them know that they didn’t need to leave on our part.  “You don’t have to move.  We’re just a bunch of bikers”, I said, and then of course realized how stupid that must have sounded to them.  “Well, not bikers but bicyclists”.  Even stupider.  They left to go outside and drink in peace.  Duh!



Bill's Place. Where the Real Bikers Go.

 Bill’s is a classic joint and Bill, now in his late 80’s looks like he’s seen it all.  Wizened, white hair, slightly stooped over but eyes clear and fully alert, he minds the bar day after day, playing host to all manner of local characters. He works with oxygen helping him to breathe now.   The beer was cold, cheap and was a fitting end to our day, for our campsite was just up the hill.  The sign over the bar says you gets your cheeseburger the way it comes and the crowd looked like that was just fine with them.

Just up the hill, was The Little Orleans Camp Ground, our home for the night and after 46 miles of riding, which included my visit in God’s country, a piece of homemade Cherry pie, the snake and finally Bill’s place, it did not come a moment too soon.  That evening was like every other.  Arrive in camp, pitch the tent, get the bike tended to, eat and like every other night, a short meeting after.  Then sleep.  By now, I had gotten used to the sleeping bag and tent, and so slept like a baby.                                                                                                                  





Good, but not as good as some others'
I've had.

 



"Think I'll go out on the trail and
sun myself, Ma."







"Nuff said!