tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67900431201160642162024-02-18T20:36:33.952-08:00You Can't Tell A Book By Its CoverAn 8 day bicycle tour along the Chesapeke & Ohio Canal towpath connecting to the Great Allegheny Passage. Washington DC to Pittsburgh, PA.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-62162017051869201332010-10-12T14:28:00.000-07:002010-10-13T08:32:07.657-07:00Tuesday, October 12th. At home, a week and a half later..<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Writing all this from memory, my collection of maps, my pictures and the use of the Internet has been great fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure I left something out, and perhaps added where it did not belong, but on the whole, this is as good as it’s going to get out of this old memory of mine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It was, all in all, a most wonderful experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the great ones in my lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beauty of the places along the way, the connection with new friends, staying in touch with old ones, the physical challenge of that hill in the rain, all the work ahead of time training for the ride, the great food and camping out in small campgrounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It all came together much better than I had any reason to expect.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Two last things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">My greatest gratitude goes out to my wife, Carla Michelotti.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without her support, her patience, understanding and her encouragement, this ride would never have taken place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After bobsriverride, she admitted how concerned she was for my safety and I knew then that I was most likely never to take another ride by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This tour reassured her that I would be in good hands and safe along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you Carla for everything.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Finally, this tour completed the circle for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The disappointment I had after not completing my first ride along the Mississippi to New Orleans has been erased and I finally realize that bobsriverride was a success in every sense of the word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It does not matter how far one travels, for there are always miles still to go and to be seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is always tomorrow and another adventure to seek and complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is in the doing that success manifests itself, not in the dreaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the journey that is important, not the finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you have enjoyed reading about this trip as much as I had taking it and writing about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">See you next time along some other adventure on the road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-20739290081767005872010-10-12T14:24:00.000-07:002010-10-13T08:34:08.359-07:00Day 8. Saturday, October 2nd. Adelaide to Pittsburgh. 42 miles.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Our last day on the road together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day dawned misty, cool and damp. Fog-your-glasses kind of weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Wayne and I, along with a couple of others, all left camp about the same time, having packed our gear up for the last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road was flat, the bed of limestone and dirt hard and easy to ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> After some few miles, the sun peeked out and it turned into a beautiful day for riding. </span>I don’t know about others, but when I exercise for a lengthy time, I find that my mind has gone off into its own place, somewhat removed from my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That often happened on this trip and used to happen a lot when I ran. Such was the case today, as I thought back about all the fun, the challenges, the way the tour was led and supported.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a hitch and all we had to do was show up and ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all the training and planning, we had experienced a great accomplishment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As we rode into the suburbs of Pittsburgh, we rode through old neighborhoods where empty factories stood rusting in their decline and where abandoned rail spurts turned off into..... empty land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every now and then, we’d see signs of rejuvenation as new office and light manufacturing buildings rose, like the phoenix, out of the ruins of an old deserted industrial park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t tell a book by its cover.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7D-u4QVoTBIoYxBPY4acNmyhyU_kYuNK5bcYt0UHk0sYlYHc4XPFLztN8G81Z2o4MFkrCnemzG79HkHPEFvn8pYeBeipWKfrTAxhkRuGZNRluKr0FFTB_eVDu_LeCrMH418PPJuYgsgt/s1600/Day+6.++End+Of+The+Trail.+Loading+Up+To+Head+Home.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7D-u4QVoTBIoYxBPY4acNmyhyU_kYuNK5bcYt0UHk0sYlYHc4XPFLztN8G81Z2o4MFkrCnemzG79HkHPEFvn8pYeBeipWKfrTAxhkRuGZNRluKr0FFTB_eVDu_LeCrMH418PPJuYgsgt/s200/Day+6.++End+Of+The+Trail.+Loading+Up+To+Head+Home.JPG" width="150" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">In Pittsburgh, Loading Up to Head </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Back To DC</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And then, suddenly, there was the bus up there on the right, with those who had preceded us loading their gear on the bus and their bikes onto the truck for transportation back to DC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several of us pulled up, found our gear, changed out of our riding clothes into traveling clothes and after an hour or two, when everyone had completed the journey and was all packed into the bus, off we set for Washington, DC. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Was it really over?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were we really not going to see these folks again? Were we done?</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Yes, well, maybe and yes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The ride back to DC was quiet, for we were all exhausted and soon most were asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, the miles flew by, except this time, someone else was doing the work and we were all left to our dreams, our quiet conversations and the passing view.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I woke up once just in time to see the turn off for Uniontown. I'll be back soon to take the turn off and continue my search for family history.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We stopped at a roadside rest area where a large commercial store greeted us with clean restrooms and all the junk food you could want. Wayne offered to buy us an ice cream and so not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I ordered a double. I rationalize this by thinking that my body did not know it was not going to be on a bike the next day for another 50 mile jaunt. Sorry, Wayne, but thank you again.</span></div><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">And then. Home at last!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The Virginia Suites Hotel about a week to the hour we all were first meeting in the same hotel conference room. </span>Well, almost home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather quickly the gear was unloaded off the trucks, cars were loaded and started, goodbyes were said and rather quietly and sadly, the 8 day trip along the C&O Canal and Great Allegheny Passage passed into history.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-69713324696457908632010-10-12T14:05:00.000-07:002010-10-13T08:17:03.426-07:00Day 7. Friday, October 1. Rockwood, PA to Adelaide, PA. 47 miles.<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It was 5:00 am; I was struggling to get out of my sleeping bag and to get up off the concrete floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where the hell am I, and who are all these old guys moaning and groaning,” I thought?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, several things came to mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span>I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> one of the old guys, about 15 of us had spent the night in sleeping bags on the concrete floor of the basement of the campground owner’s house, I had to pee really, really bad and I ached from head to toe".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the day before, I had, along with these guys and about 30 other folks, ridden in a hard rain 22 miles up the side of a 2300’ hill, crossed the Mason Dixon line and crossed through the Eastern Great Divide and 23 more miles down to a little town, Rockwood, PA, where I was now struggling to get out of that sleeping bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than that, Ms. Lincoln, how was the play?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of months ago, when I signed up for this, it seemed like a really good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning, not so sure…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Looking around, I marveled at the collection of guys stretched out in their sleeping bags, or just barely moving like me, unwinding legs and arms after a long night on a concrete floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tall guys, fat guys, wiry guys, average guys, old guys and older guys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the noises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never heard so many noises coming out of a group of men in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stretching, moaning, sneezes, farts, burps, groans, coughs and noises I couldn’t begin to define the origin of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All we needed was a piccolo, a trombone and some fruitcake strutting around with a baton and we’d have a band John Phillip Souza would be proud of.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">How could this group of guys, along with the other 30 or so men and women crapped out around the camp possibly have the physical will and capability to ride up that mountain in the rain yesterday?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, even without the rain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All 43 of us rode up that hill and lived, although some in various states of pain, to ride another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we had two days to go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Today was going to be another special day for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our route this day would take us past the little western Pennsylvania town of Connellsville.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in that small town that my grandmother’s mother was born, where she met and married my great grandfather and after moving to Uniontown, PA just a short distance away, had two daughters, my grandmother and my great aunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was in Uniontown, PA, that my grandparents had two daughters, my mother and my aunt Jean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was from there that they moved to Los Angeles in the early 1920’s, where they built a home in Hollywood on Martel Street, a home where I would be raised by my grandparents after my parent’s divorce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my maternal side of my family, it traces back to Connellsville, and I would be there in a few hours of bike riding.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The rain was gone, although the air was wet and heavy with morning mist. The trail was again beautiful and we began to see the very first sign of autumn coming to the hills of southwest Pennsylvania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here and there, the leaves were golden and red as they fell from the trees, or covered the path in a blanket of yesterday’s greenery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another week, I thought, and this would be beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my mind was on Connellsville and as mile after mile flew by, I thought about my childhood in Hollywood, about my grandmother and grandfather who raised me in their home until I went away to college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered my grandfather telling me as a little boy about how he had to quit high school when his father died and had to go to work in the foundry to support his mother, brother and sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered my grandmother telling me about how when she was a little girl, going out with her country doctor father as he called on patients around Uniontown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About helping him from time to time with amputations and other major surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered all those stories as I rode along that morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And the most amazing thing happened as I was riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, just in front of me, a vision of my grandfather appeared, clear as any photograph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just out in front of my face a foot or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It came up so fast my reaction was, “Whoa”, what is that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it stayed with me for as long as I wanted it there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to pull up a picture of my grandmother and it took a little work and time, but I got it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not as clear as my grandfather, but there nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those two people who influenced me greatly accompanied me for several miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their spirits were there with me on that sunny Friday morning as sure as I’m sitting here writing this.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I rode into Connellsville around noon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped a couple of folks to ask about where the library was and when asked why, I explained I wanted to explore a little bit about the history of the Longanecker and Mathiot families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Directed to the library up on the hill, (of course), I parked the bike, went in and asked the librarian where I might find microfilm copies of old (1850??) newspapers or some history of Fayette County.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came out with about a thousand page book, (yes, it’s true!) of the history of Fayette County, (Who knew?), and I spent the next hour and half, sitting in the reading room of the Connellsville public library, out of place dressed in my sweaty biking gear, my helmet on the table, reading about my great grandparents on both sides of my mother’s family, their ancestor’s immigration to the colonies in 1733, their settling in western Pennsylvania in the early 1800’s and enough additional information that I will have great fun filling in the details this winter when it is cold and snowy out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God Bless Judith, the librarian in the Connellsville library, the <u>History of Uniontown</u> and the internet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will go back there soon to finish the search for deeds, birth, marriage and death certificates.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As I rode down off that hill, through old city streets, I wondered if perchance I might be riding on the same streets where my great-grandparents rode in their buggy 150 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could’ve been…</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPd43BXbe_1rBzwRPJNHKOSN5NJCm0JufynbFn2yvR60hgCvseyRXU8N5-MBjtMTOkrclBw3tN4mgQRH1vTjR3T4D4IbdoEgg1iQIT3wpc30MbhgmlJFmfRLwdH-lCsYmrZWrx3__YD4f/s1600/Day+5.++You+Just+Can't+Get+Tired+of+This..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPd43BXbe_1rBzwRPJNHKOSN5NJCm0JufynbFn2yvR60hgCvseyRXU8N5-MBjtMTOkrclBw3tN4mgQRH1vTjR3T4D4IbdoEgg1iQIT3wpc30MbhgmlJFmfRLwdH-lCsYmrZWrx3__YD4f/s200/Day+5.++You+Just+Can't+Get+Tired+of+This..JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It Doesn't Get Any Better Than This</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back on the bike trail, I was just several miles from the last stop on this tour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was out, the day was beautiful, I had experienced the spirit of my grandparents who I had not seen since they passed away in 1965, had read their history, visited their hometown and was now going to be, for a last night with new friends with whom I had shared a wonderful week of riding, laughing, swearing at inclimate weather, praising my Trek 7500 and all of whom had survived to ride another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dinner that night was wonderful and the laughter loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Small groups of new friends gathered around tents here and there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was all coming to an end and it had snuck up on us too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Tomorrow we would ride the last 45 miles to Pittsburgh and be bussed back to Washington DC, our departure city 8 days earlier.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4I_HHrqcN4eK-QZpRpCIkBRiSn-4PANEcJQkPzfWiYma4WO17OXRdQvVKhGT46XMHFI5o2x91ohhIunacpW14OKqayzSE2-UX2UDq9n8fQDtkIcCvHj75uUk9cPhMQ0vrhJ0l24RUXMm9/s1600/Carnigie+Library,+Connellsville.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4I_HHrqcN4eK-QZpRpCIkBRiSn-4PANEcJQkPzfWiYma4WO17OXRdQvVKhGT46XMHFI5o2x91ohhIunacpW14OKqayzSE2-UX2UDq9n8fQDtkIcCvHj75uUk9cPhMQ0vrhJ0l24RUXMm9/s1600/Carnigie+Library,+Connellsville.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Carnegie Library, Connellsville, PA. b1901-02</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Where Judith Got Me Started</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JTjsMxOfblbboWGFAM-dtAQ_lBkGKGazqLbm8p6kwhSN_StVvvBmMylN7TANRp0ZfcexBB-GFWqs95-Qx8_ozgwPcP6psWx5pKet-H50L_guHntWnypTJlbWc2-k3b8M-6MH-poOfGTF/s1600/Connellsville,+PA,+courtesy+Wikipedia..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JTjsMxOfblbboWGFAM-dtAQ_lBkGKGazqLbm8p6kwhSN_StVvvBmMylN7TANRp0ZfcexBB-GFWqs95-Qx8_ozgwPcP6psWx5pKet-H50L_guHntWnypTJlbWc2-k3b8M-6MH-poOfGTF/s200/Connellsville,+PA,+courtesy+Wikipedia..jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Old Downtown Connellsville</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Courtesy Wikipedia</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-voWMaY7ZMH5n-OItm8A-7j2XzLhMU8s2HTUWb_xw7uLTsn2tdDBt00kOCTNa5CvOtYg8CNnC5pnaBugOIjrTgjFjRHgWgZTT6kAx8AwqoYcDi30OIp6gRZIHVNqJfTQGrSi1J_E4-X8O/s1600/Day+5.+Our+Bikes+Gather+For+One+Last+Night+Together.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-voWMaY7ZMH5n-OItm8A-7j2XzLhMU8s2HTUWb_xw7uLTsn2tdDBt00kOCTNa5CvOtYg8CNnC5pnaBugOIjrTgjFjRHgWgZTT6kAx8AwqoYcDi30OIp6gRZIHVNqJfTQGrSi1J_E4-X8O/s200/Day+5.+Our+Bikes+Gather+For+One+Last+Night+Together.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our Bikes, Getting Together On The Last Night</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For One More Conversation</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iPdB31YG3uznB5OmpxA7Z_qtb0SrfDiC6azZLHqtPAdhwQBLqFc__WyL5kU3diw123oe1cqTYrgwuaX825PHr1L4S0xeoh_w0RpoGWMa1PhjahQsCWXXrqBvueG6sQZ33xkQlp2KcfQs/s1600/Day+6.+View+From+My+Tent.++Peaceful.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iPdB31YG3uznB5OmpxA7Z_qtb0SrfDiC6azZLHqtPAdhwQBLqFc__WyL5kU3diw123oe1cqTYrgwuaX825PHr1L4S0xeoh_w0RpoGWMa1PhjahQsCWXXrqBvueG6sQZ33xkQlp2KcfQs/s200/Day+6.+View+From+My+Tent.++Peaceful.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The View From My Tent</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTlFjmMWstDsbVA2pa5wmxg5R-dPj_Xk8KbtkVGeXG1O3XY6IYovwx1zqgvlIzfhmReXiEKogrVlDnqv86nCZqxeAxLusr8tcQqeEwk_vL9uMIBRkMWx8b3lNDfXA6hbmXbQ-Itrkv5jf/s1600/Day+5,+Autumn+on+the+Great+Allegheny+Passage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTlFjmMWstDsbVA2pa5wmxg5R-dPj_Xk8KbtkVGeXG1O3XY6IYovwx1zqgvlIzfhmReXiEKogrVlDnqv86nCZqxeAxLusr8tcQqeEwk_vL9uMIBRkMWx8b3lNDfXA6hbmXbQ-Itrkv5jf/s200/Day+5,+Autumn+on+the+Great+Allegheny+Passage.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fall on the Great Allegheny Passage</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4Vrm4c7QiutQjMS2RqpHlx3koL8cgLr47YLk_yNOPWLWito9FfBHWVBzp7xETOln4QeHPRGTwXvSKCi1-eouva4YxpkOEg2-wrpAoHPW2lhnbb9yZF2o_HfocTqS0bt_lfo3AFM9ozhj/s1600/Day+6.++View+From+My+Tent,+Adelaide,+PA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4Vrm4c7QiutQjMS2RqpHlx3koL8cgLr47YLk_yNOPWLWito9FfBHWVBzp7xETOln4QeHPRGTwXvSKCi1-eouva4YxpkOEg2-wrpAoHPW2lhnbb9yZF2o_HfocTqS0bt_lfo3AFM9ozhj/s200/Day+6.++View+From+My+Tent,+Adelaide,+PA.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The View From My Tent, Last Night In Adelaide</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-67348924389926182392010-10-12T13:27:00.000-07:002010-10-13T08:07:06.555-07:00Day 6. Thursday, Sept. 30th. Cumberland, MD to Rockwood, PA 45 miles.<span style="font-size: large;">Good morning...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It was raining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As those of us staying at the Fairfield Inn made our way down to breakfast early that morning, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone’s thoughts were on the rain, the ride, the new trail – our first day on the Great Allegheny Passage (</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Allegheny_Passage"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Allegheny_Passage</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– the mountain we had to cross, including passing by the Mason Dixon line near the summit and at the summit, 2390’, the Great Eastern Divide, that point at which rain falling over there makes its way down to the Mississippi River and falling over here, makes its way down to the Atlantic Coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All in all much to think about as we dressed for rain, ate our breakfast and put our gear out for the vans to pick up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention it was raining? Hard?</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I need to mention a couple of things here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had just ridden 155 miles on a trail that was composed of crushed rock, clay and dirt, all compacted down and baked hard by rain, sun and bike traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Great Allegheny Passage Trail was different in that this trail had been laid on top of an old railroad bed with an under packing of rock, on top of which had been placed a bed of crushed limestone and dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Limestone is porous and rain does not accumulate nearly as quickly as it does on a trail of dirt and clay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The limestone trail was more firmly packed than the C&O Canal Trail and had virtually no rock sticking up through the dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except for the rain, the trail was almost as easy to ride as asphalt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would ride for the next two and half days on much firmer trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Less difficult on us and certainly so on the bikes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The other thing is about the rain gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone said, “Proper rain gear is not designed to keep you dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is designed to keep you comfortable”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happens is that the rain gear keeps the rain and cold out, but keeps the heat and sweat in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the ride is long and the exercise even mildly strenuous, the sweat accumulates on the inside while the rain runs off on the outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very quickly you have the same effect as in wearing a wet suit while surfing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The inside water gets very warm and insulates the body against the cold and wet outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You actually become quite comfortable, once you get past the idea that you’re gonna be wet no matter what.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And so it was, on the 6<sup>th</sup> day, God said, “There shall be water, and I will call it rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it will rain mightily on the Great Allegheny Passage”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Archangel Michael, not wanting to question God, said, "What’s an Allegheny?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God replied, "Never mind, check it out in Chapter 2”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so it was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And so it was, I set out from the comfort of the dry Fairfield Inn and off on a double adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I would climb in elevation from 620’ at Cumberland to 2390’ at the Great Eastern Divide, a trail distance of 22 miles to the top, and then ride back down to Rockwood at 1820’, another 23 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would do so bundled up in my raingear looking somewhat like the Michelin Tire Character and would do so while it rained almost 4’ of rain on the trail in the face of 10-15 mph gusts of wind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Strangely, I was not worried, just curious about how all this would turn out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There would be 44 of us on the trail that day plus our guides at 2 rest stops, so there was no concern about being left behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And by now, I had complete confidence that the 45 miles would be of little physical consequence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And finally, I will say again, I’m like the little boy that likes to watch rain, lightning and snow and loves to jump in puddles along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the rain posed no serious question to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just all made it very curious and the most interesting kind of adventure for this old guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I knew there were older, there were those in not such good condition and those more timid, so what the hell, this would be a grand adventure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Boy, it sure was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After leaving the hotel, in about 2 miles the trail started<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>up, and just continued so until it got to the top about 20 miles later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are reading this in Barrington, IL, imagine Route 59 between 14 and 12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, if you are reading this in Los Angeles, imagine Beachwood Drive above Franklin Ave before you get to the junction where the small market is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or in Palos Verdes, Hawthorne Blvd. between Pacific Coast Highway and Silver Spur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or in Hollywood, Doheny Dr. between Santa Monica Blvd and Sunset Blvd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you know those places, you know that’s not steep up, just up, up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And imagine 22 miles of it, with no place where it is level or downhill until you get to the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now throw in a hard, steady rain with a little wind now and then, and you’ve got it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">At the first rest spot, the hot chocolate was more fun than a shot from a bottle of 25 year old Macallan and just getting off the bike for a few minutes, standing under a shelter even though water was running off it like water out of a fire hose, was so welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very wet apple, banana and handful of M&M’s was just the thing for this needy body and then most of us, like the old pony express riders of yore, quickly jumped back on our bikes to continue to the top of the mountain. Did I really just say that??? Riders of Yore?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">At some point a couple and a half hours into all of this, the trail began to level off just a bit and there in the distance, a big sign indicating that we were approaching the Mason Dixon Line, the boundary separating Maryland and Pennsylvania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, there were a couple of my tour mates stopped taking pictures and were kind enough to take a couple of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good news is that I was just near the summit but the bad news is that this location is one of a few with fabulous views back across Maryland and out over Pennsylvania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supposedly fabulous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Low clouds obscured everything further away than a ¼ mile so our satisfaction would not come with the view, but with the knowledge that we had made this ride in the face of some severe weather conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, just had made it at all.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2z5t_n3iRl0cq45WAFk9zMJ2vwXMWUHPAZenf-bZXW1CYBDwnxAQtGODVWI4D_89H_bMKZ99YLeb64SZnD6C47drgFmlP5Oj-ptIEULCAP4y5T0io3gxbT9tQL9IwLjoFkgjF_fdDQISl/s1600/Day+5.+Close+To+The+Top,+At+the+Mason+Dixon+Line.++Raining+But+I'm+Happy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2z5t_n3iRl0cq45WAFk9zMJ2vwXMWUHPAZenf-bZXW1CYBDwnxAQtGODVWI4D_89H_bMKZ99YLeb64SZnD6C47drgFmlP5Oj-ptIEULCAP4y5T0io3gxbT9tQL9IwLjoFkgjF_fdDQISl/s200/Day+5.+Close+To+The+Top,+At+the+Mason+Dixon+Line.++Raining+But+I'm+Happy.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Almost to the top. The Mason-Dixon Line!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Pennsylvania over there; Maryland over here.</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">In just under a mile, we approached the Great Eastern Continental Divide, (</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_Continental_Divide"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_Continental_Divide</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">), and finally made it to the top of Savage Mountain, the highest elevation we would cross on this ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several of us standing around just inside the entrance to Big Savage Tunnel savoring the moment were in conversation and somebody said, “Drinks to the person who makes it down all the way without using brakes”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How silly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once out of the tunnel, back in the rain, we all found out the descent was very gradual and the rain and wind would prevent any of us from coasting even 5 feet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No coasting on this day, just <em>pedaling our bikes downhill</em> towards our stop for the night, Rockwood, PA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As we descended on the trail, by about 3:00 in the afternoon, the rain began to let up a little and the wind to subside and once again the beauty of these wooded trails began to be apparent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 3:30, wet, muddy, the bike looking like it had been rolled in wet sand and the rider in mud and grime; I rolled into our campsite at Rockwood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything and everyone was drenched and we all looked like wet rats just off the sinking ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our bike again to the repair center, our bodies into hot showers and dry clothes, and it was our turn to compare stories of our day in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out that only 4 people had to use the Vans on the day’s ride, and even then, except for one, those for only a portion of the distance. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It’s time here to talk a bit about Kate. It did not take long early in the tour for her story to make its way through the group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had been a marathon runner, a triathelete and a long distance bike rider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A top competitor in all those events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hard to tell her age, but I’d reckon somewhere around 50.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trim, fit and wiry, short cut gray-blond hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walked with a bit of a limp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It soon became apparent she was outgoing and gregarious, never hesitating to grab a beer at the end of the day and sit with the guys and ladies to compare stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And always, a big smile and a good word for everybody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the trail or off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her bike though, was what we call a tricycle bike, low to the ground, two wheels in the rear and one in front, with the pedals sticking straight out almost over the front wheel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tough to get traction that low to the ground although the seat is like a bucket seat, much easier on long rides than a conventional seat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">One day a few years ago, after a training run, Kate was sitting on a park bench talking to someone on the telephone when a car came up and over the curb, driven by a drunk driver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car took flight and came down in her lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In her lap!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Broke her pelvis in several places, broke both legs and badly bruised her spine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was left with months and months of rehabilitation, including nerve damage to her hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her balance was permanently impaired, thus, the three wheeled trike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Now the miracle is that Kate is even walking, let alone riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the bigger miracle is that Kate is an inspiration to anyone who ever thought they had a problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kate doesn’t dwell on this accident, she only works hard to continue riding, walking, getting the use back in her hand and trying to live as normal a life as she can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why all this fuss about Kate?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not see it, but those who did say she had the biggest smile of all time as she rolled into camp at Rockwood that afternoon in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had made the whole ride up 22 miles, up and over that hill, all 2390’ of it, and down another 23 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only with determination and a strong will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was one of the first things she did when she got into camp and got her trike cleaned up and her shower?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She grabbed a beer and sat with us to talk about the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the in extraordinary sense that she was special, just that she had made it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like all the rest of us. On pure energy, a goal and hard work in pretty awful circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember what I said earlier about not knowing a book by its cover?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kate was one of those who would have fooled you, for sure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dinner that night was a great celebration of victory over a hostile environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was wet everywhere. We ate in cramped circumstances in the warehouse of the fellow who owned the campground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The campground was flooded so everybody was on garage floors, on the basement floor of his home, in local hostiles, anywhere where one could find a dry spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you know what, not a word of complaint, for we had all just shared in a group victory, a great ride on a miserable day. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s how I got on the floor in the basement at 5:00 in the morning. You remember?</i></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9emlh729kacZLRaSgs_9ZpmYk7CqSIxbRfsjJlpi1SSEQGXUrmo1vq38_dgBr8MjLWrXn_luvBxONhI4PcnMkQxXjLbY9UUKjLqVDfvZoNA-38VqcozD6Gwwzr3sEuf8qnpunW3qcFLX/s1600/Day+5.,+Cumberland+to+Rockwood.+50+Miles,+Rise+in+Elevation,+1787'+First+22+Miles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9emlh729kacZLRaSgs_9ZpmYk7CqSIxbRfsjJlpi1SSEQGXUrmo1vq38_dgBr8MjLWrXn_luvBxONhI4PcnMkQxXjLbY9UUKjLqVDfvZoNA-38VqcozD6Gwwzr3sEuf8qnpunW3qcFLX/s200/Day+5.,+Cumberland+to+Rockwood.+50+Miles,+Rise+in+Elevation,+1787'+First+22+Miles.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We started out at Cumberland and ended at Rockwood</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3M7Hg0LpwfVeRbQ6oxVB688ahsfoDks5r5M5nk-cQSn3hHEgLMxURLiRP1ng2NbiyJc4QplBcySVbHX5bErUeErf3kQ1enuP5L-NwRjdXJIx4itrjTPJevipTYxSjWkKE8tX_0c6YCgx/s1600/Day+5.+The+Top.++Eastern+Continental+Divide.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3M7Hg0LpwfVeRbQ6oxVB688ahsfoDks5r5M5nk-cQSn3hHEgLMxURLiRP1ng2NbiyJc4QplBcySVbHX5bErUeErf3kQ1enuP5L-NwRjdXJIx4itrjTPJevipTYxSjWkKE8tX_0c6YCgx/s200/Day+5.+The+Top.++Eastern+Continental+Divide.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why'd the bear go over the mountain?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Just through that tunnel is the other side.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Big Savage Tunnel. El. 2390'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Click on an image to make it larger</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-40019199922251866222010-10-12T12:52:00.000-07:002010-10-13T20:29:49.548-07:00Day 5 Wednesday, Sept. 29th. Little Orleans, MD to Cumberland, MD. 45 mi.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxT90bWfBYRKrJ3HBhQAKQAECINmfRD4O_urqoC32ZkeKtIA-prNV6bIWfYvkTBECwarE6CP63mGkZRoNxiDsDEUuzKJeGJcwn6RfyjX8QrYu3nYlP-GXMq2hwSzFHyjgIIw0Nt05t7JP/s1600/Day+3.+The+Towpath+and+the+Lock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxT90bWfBYRKrJ3HBhQAKQAECINmfRD4O_urqoC32ZkeKtIA-prNV6bIWfYvkTBECwarE6CP63mGkZRoNxiDsDEUuzKJeGJcwn6RfyjX8QrYu3nYlP-GXMq2hwSzFHyjgIIw0Nt05t7JP/s200/Day+3.+The+Towpath+and+the+Lock.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another Beautiful Ride, Our Last, on the C&O Canal</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">The day will take us again through beautiful forests with the trail sandwiched, as always, between the Potomac on one side and the canal on the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At just about 5 miles, we would come to the single most impressive feat of engineering along the whole C&O Canal route, the Paw Paw Tunnel, (</span></span><a href="http://www.fred.net/kathy/tunnel.html"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://www.fred.net/kathy/tunnel.html</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is impressive for several reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was constructed between 1836 and 1850, there were only Irish and German laborers using picks, shovels and dynamite to blast, shovel and muscle their way through 3,100' of hard rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No bulldozers, cranes, earth movers or trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just men with their hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took years longer and much more money than originally estimated to complete, but allowed the engineers to cut several miles off the length of the canal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As always, water was lifted up the grade to and through the canal via locks along the route.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qMgszjRKbAllW77tyHFArrcZejBQ4TURtrTpvQwH5yQUWl-i8tKaO2XuGo9fGk5k7XYk9MSRbVTKqSSJyXXlngZKRJ9d4eVEiPY3NTJAR8XdIc5gL6ai1BgU505CiJevW5cfsWIeY14n/s1600/Day+4,+Paw+Paw+Tunnel,+Waiting+for+Kim+the+Ranger.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qMgszjRKbAllW77tyHFArrcZejBQ4TURtrTpvQwH5yQUWl-i8tKaO2XuGo9fGk5k7XYk9MSRbVTKqSSJyXXlngZKRJ9d4eVEiPY3NTJAR8XdIc5gL6ai1BgU505CiJevW5cfsWIeY14n/s200/Day+4,+Paw+Paw+Tunnel,+Waiting+for+Kim+the+Ranger.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gathering at the Paw Paw Tunnel</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We Had To Walk Through That. 3100'</span></td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">On this day, we had an explanation of the process of building the tunnel by Kim, a very knowledgeable Park Ranger who explained, the history of the Canal and the economic and social ramifications caused by the delay in building the tunnel and after a short break, we walked our bikes through the tunnel – it is not lighted - so we had only the lights on our bikes to light the way and the ambient light from the tunnel entrance 3100’ feet away to guide us. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Once through and to the other side of the tunnel, we all got back on our bikes and set off for Cumberland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These last few miles would be bringing us to the end of our time on the C&O Canal and tomorrow we would start another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those last few miles were both satisfying and a bit sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Canal had come to be a friend, a beautiful place along the way filled with history, new friends made, challenging distances to ride and a short few days away from the real world in which our families, friends and loved ones lived waiting to hear from us when they could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would be hard pressed to understand our physical accomplishments and for sure, hard pressed to appreciate what we would be going through over the next couple of days.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">As always, we ended the ride with dinner for all over at the campground where a few hearty souls were spending the night in spite of the forecast of heavy rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">This night we had some interesting news to discuss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A weakened weather front was making its way up the east coast of the US and the weather forecast predicted rain, heavy rain as far inland as to cover virtually all of Maryland and Pennsylvania, with rain predicted to start in the middle of the night while we slept in Cumberland on day 5 and to rain hard most of the next day, clearing sometime late afternoon or early evening. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It appeared that this strong weather front might either continue on its path just directly east of us or veer slightly further east.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the former situation, it would be really, really, really wet and in the latter, just really, really wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The options were to remain in Cumberland and stay inside all day, avoiding the rain, or get up in the morning and ride.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">After some discussion it was decided by a vote that we would ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Easy to decide when you’re sitting around a camp dinner table, no rain coming down and nice and dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us had decided the previous evening – in fact, most of us – had decided to get hotel reservations for this night to get a good night’s sleep before we took on the heavy rain predicted by the weather service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A fellow I had met, Wayne Maloney, had already had his wife make such a reservation at the Fairfield Inn in Cumberland and asked if I’d like to share the room with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, and with that settled, we all went off to bed that night in the Fairfield Inn in Cumberland, MD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">Just as we turned off the light, we switched the TV over to the weather channel to get the latest forecast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The massive green overlay stretched from Virginia almost to Pennsylvania and across all of New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was moving slowly north and slightly east.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very slowly, and the forecast was for strong rain and winds, 10-15 mph across southwestern Pennsylvania that evening and most of the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweet dreams.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxgUdKrbC119lqd1WaOc9lFhy-yGkdi3SBNVJ-qVCY0aiiLZLZfjLHOfyxhmutiNyyPwbdtbE3inDWr69ISlZokGW93JrvOK8ThT9B4bdt0JuRZzsmaaEuojQDf3A33xDHwC3rEDoMr-rw/s1600/Day+4,+On+Top+of+the+Paw+Paw+Tunnel.++There's+One+in+Every+Crowd.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxgUdKrbC119lqd1WaOc9lFhy-yGkdi3SBNVJ-qVCY0aiiLZLZfjLHOfyxhmutiNyyPwbdtbE3inDWr69ISlZokGW93JrvOK8ThT9B4bdt0JuRZzsmaaEuojQDf3A33xDHwC3rEDoMr-rw/s200/Day+4,+On+Top+of+the+Paw+Paw+Tunnel.++There's+One+in+Every+Crowd.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">There's one in every crowd.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsjVzEnQ-tMoHd-X3GnoJQMD1BKVvPfmXvOD_mEB7p8-b8ST33n-LqB40-V92PEImIEAAgJxernM0IQahDi8n36SZcFS-ulT0MVVvpl6wPRZWXLHnP49wYbDZZEDEMEW3gEh88RGetNoF/s1600/Day+4.+Last+Day+on+the+C&O+Canal,+Last+Length+of+Canal,+Cumberland,+MD.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsjVzEnQ-tMoHd-X3GnoJQMD1BKVvPfmXvOD_mEB7p8-b8ST33n-LqB40-V92PEImIEAAgJxernM0IQahDi8n36SZcFS-ulT0MVVvpl6wPRZWXLHnP49wYbDZZEDEMEW3gEh88RGetNoF/s200/Day+4.+Last+Day+on+the+C&O+Canal,+Last+Length+of+Canal,+Cumberland,+MD.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">At Cumberland, the last length of canal on the C&O Canal</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-40741433230799432472010-10-12T11:59:00.000-07:002010-10-13T07:53:03.595-07:00Day 4. Tuesday, Sept. 28. Williamsport, MD to Little Orleans, MD. 46 miles. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjip9PzlY9OgpSipmEMLvjiRrkmoK4dN-sYG3pqB47rHIGVjAFfG8NLG2W6b-xh67636_d_IUWlB28lBWVC8-MDtQdAZZD436iZD4CdZbKpP3MHa5ohur39w5MRsSQwIz89LHFKmC0dZbBZ/s1600/Day+2.++A+Bend+In+the+River,+Potomac.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjip9PzlY9OgpSipmEMLvjiRrkmoK4dN-sYG3pqB47rHIGVjAFfG8NLG2W6b-xh67636_d_IUWlB28lBWVC8-MDtQdAZZD436iZD4CdZbKpP3MHa5ohur39w5MRsSQwIz89LHFKmC0dZbBZ/s200/Day+2.++A+Bend+In+the+River,+Potomac.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A Bend in the River. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">God's Handiwork</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I left camp about 7:45 on a beautiful sunny morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As always, the trail is relatively flat, the Potomac on the<span style="color: black;"> left</span> and the canal with its locks on the right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a few miles up the trail, I stopped for a few minutes at a most beautiful spot along a bend in the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond beautiful. It was warm, quiet and peaceful. The sun shining on the trees and river, creating more shades of green than imaginable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All offset by the bright blue of the bend of the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly one of God’s Kodak moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like each of these trips offers me a place to quietly give thanks for my blessings and good fortune.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was such a place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this place, at this time, all was right with the world and I was lucky enough to be part of that space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was blessed as God’s handiwork was spread out in front of me in all her glory.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">For more about Fort Frederick, see: (</span></span><a href="http://www.dnr.state.md.us/publiclands/western/fortfrederick.html"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">www.dnr.state.md.us/publiclands/western/fortfrederick.html</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">).</span></span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Just another few miles and I came to something I had been anticipating for a couple of days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A slight detour of the towpath onto the Western Maryland Rail Trail, an asphalt bike trail<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> of about 30 miles, we got to ride on asphalt, not burdened by the rock and gravel of the towpath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>After 3 days of riding on rock and dirt, the paved part was heaven. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, to be able to combine fresh coffee and fresh hot pie in the middle of this ride was beyond tempting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cherry pie was very good and the cup of coffee was hot and delicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about 30 miles, my appetite was up and all that pie and coffee hit the spot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The remainder of the paved pathway seemed to glide by in minutes and too soon we were back on the towpath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might have been my imagination, but the rock and gravel after the paved path was really, really rough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much more so than before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I realize that such was not the case, just my imagination after those smooth 22 miles.</span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even riding with one of the tour members, the quiet was startling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just the afternoon sun, an occasional bird call, the snake – THE SNAKE???? – and the noise of the tires on the towpath. Yes, a snake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A black snake, harmless but probably 4 feet long and guaranteed to attract one’s attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As mentioned earlier, laying out in the sun to warm itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With all the commotion created by several goofy bike riders, Blackie slowly slithered off into the brush and into the woods.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">In another few miles, we came to the town of Little Orleans, our destination for the day and our campground for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The prime attraction in Little Orleans is Bill’s Joint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I think it’s the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only </i>attraction in Little Orleans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made the attempt to let them know that they didn’t need to leave on our part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t have to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re just a bunch of bikers”, I said, and then of course realized how stupid that must have sounded to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, not bikers but bicyclists”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even stupider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They left to go outside and drink in peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Duh!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh718APdiLqfOT0UtLO5lkWxAP7Aaw_QlTQc_166_BVJVa8FYtBdUVD2x7W22qRjKuy_wdZlXR2H4-OUrC7lIbpA_OoZSkthw6_5nWeDBRHNHf8vq86tKPEaCHmGFCNDQSKsMsESxJId4o7/s1600/Day+3.++Bill's+Place.+A+Watering+Hole+Along+The+Way.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh718APdiLqfOT0UtLO5lkWxAP7Aaw_QlTQc_166_BVJVa8FYtBdUVD2x7W22qRjKuy_wdZlXR2H4-OUrC7lIbpA_OoZSkthw6_5nWeDBRHNHf8vq86tKPEaCHmGFCNDQSKsMsESxJId4o7/s200/Day+3.++Bill's+Place.+A+Watering+Hole+Along+The+Way.JPG" width="150" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bill's Place. Where the Real Bikers Go.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bill’s is a classic joint and Bill, now in his late 80’s looks like he’s seen it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beer was cold, cheap and was a fitting end to our day, for our campsite was just up the hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That evening was like every other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arrive in camp, pitch the tent, get the bike tended to, eat and like every other night, a short meeting after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By now, I had gotten used to the sleeping bag and tent, and so slept like a baby. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Good, but not as good as some others'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've had.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Think I'll go out on the trail and </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">sun myself, Ma."</span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FL9LUz4TOpuODyhS2C_Fk0IGkZCh2yB_tv1pChOvuW3z4ubdMy7Xk3roEkYwsLCyivYpEcWNhH0lXObGFYUt0EuQgP-ZAkz4uQzllwOXGAX9WUF8yPca-58N5tjNEPsu4e8feYhUf5Ok/s1600/Day+3,+They+Call+It+Like+It+Is,+At+Bill's+Place..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FL9LUz4TOpuODyhS2C_Fk0IGkZCh2yB_tv1pChOvuW3z4ubdMy7Xk3roEkYwsLCyivYpEcWNhH0lXObGFYUt0EuQgP-ZAkz4uQzllwOXGAX9WUF8yPca-58N5tjNEPsu4e8feYhUf5Ok/s200/Day+3,+They+Call+It+Like+It+Is,+At+Bill's+Place..JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Nuff said!</span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-86767547988402377102010-10-12T09:17:00.000-07:002010-10-13T07:41:44.789-07:00Day 3 Monday, Sept. 27th, Brunswick, MD, to Williamsport, MD. 48 miles.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Today the C&O trail will enter the Appalachian Mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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, (</span><a href="http://www.nps.gov/hafe"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">www.nps.gov/hafe</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">), 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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will make our way 48 miles along the trail to the Snug Harbor KOA campground.</span></span></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCHw4SwNyFmlOP7-gKywJ1abd_wNGaJA2FLSIw9vKcM0zMnHR3xVt_KvXFbJRSxHywGVknASDQXWaz1K-z-UbMNa0fi7uIKxDF38e6oRe2-Qs9B-nT2teXsrHm9w-W7Y7WDiN2M-RiiNO/s1600/Day+2,+Main+Street,+Harper's+Ferry..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCHw4SwNyFmlOP7-gKywJ1abd_wNGaJA2FLSIw9vKcM0zMnHR3xVt_KvXFbJRSxHywGVknASDQXWaz1K-z-UbMNa0fi7uIKxDF38e6oRe2-Qs9B-nT2teXsrHm9w-W7Y7WDiN2M-RiiNO/s320/Day+2,+Main+Street,+Harper's+Ferry..JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Harper's Ferry. Just to the left, the foundation of the origiinal Armory </span><span style="font-size: large;">taken over by John Brown. This less than two years before the civil war.</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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 (</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harpers_Ferry,_West_Virginia#John_Brown.27s_raid"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harpers_Ferry,_West_Virginia#John_Brown.27s_raid</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The town was almost deserted; the stores still yet to open for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOspeFjVLWJO9KCR33p7sG3qzgNRiD6XGvaiB3ye3l0KOCq2IJaqdZC5RQWD8oARTVrq4yfU37ofWHbsteeZGtoqKnKK-dPE185pjq4cK4l1nHsyGx9KtB5T4-HwoNQiBFHGiI7bggxo5/s1600/Antitium+Battlefield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOspeFjVLWJO9KCR33p7sG3qzgNRiD6XGvaiB3ye3l0KOCq2IJaqdZC5RQWD8oARTVrq4yfU37ofWHbsteeZGtoqKnKK-dPE185pjq4cK4l1nHsyGx9KtB5T4-HwoNQiBFHGiI7bggxo5/s1600/Antitium+Battlefield.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Back on our bikes, the trail still wet, we pedaled on<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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<sup>th</sup>, 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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For more about that battle, click on the following link: (</span><a href="http://www.nps.gov/anti"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">www.nps.gov/anti</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once such marker was at a little draw that comes down off the cliffs above, identified as McCoy’s Ferry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today it is nothing more than a spot on the road, but in the evening of September 20<sup>th</sup>, 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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crossing was made at night and allowed General Lee to come back and fight another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ghosts and spirits abound.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:Robert%20A%20Colvin" datetime="2010-10-10T12:49"></del></span><span style="font-size: large;">All in all, the day which started out drippy and wet, turned out to be a beautiful early fall day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Sure enough, by about 4:00, the rain came down with a vengance and continued throughout the night. </span>With the 3 other fellows in the cabin that night, the fee to stay dry was $15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such a deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A long hot shower, dinner and meeting later, I shut my eyes for some much needed sleep.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">A final word about day 3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two of my cabin mates that night were 2 fellows who would, over the length of our adventure, become two of my favorite riders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sean Sweeney, reportedly the oldest rider of our group at 75, is also THE legendary rider of the ACA organization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has reportedly ridden more of the ACA tours than anyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would never tell us how many, but has ridden them all multiple times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the country west to east, east to west, north to south and south to north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Local rides like this and longer regional rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only that, he is the first to leave each day and the first to arrive at the next stop on the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a standing offer of a drink to any rider who beats him on any segment of the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a great gentleman both in camp and on the trail.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">My other cabin mate that night of great consequence was Earl Wooten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a made-for-movie experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He couldn’t find his left hand if life depended on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, once he got on his bike, he was a machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 73, he put much younger riders to shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now please understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of this ride is a contest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a race, not in any way one person against another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having said that, each rider finds his or her own cadence and pace, and that’s pretty much how we each rode every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Earl’s pace was just mechanical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching him pack or get his act together, you’d be fearful to let him near a bike, but once on the bike, unreal…</span></span> </span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">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</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-64699079349728036952010-10-12T08:23:00.000-07:002010-10-13T07:31:30.705-07:00Day 2. Sunday, Sept. 26th Washington DC to Brunswick, MD. 59 miles.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">This day, we’ll ride on the C&O Canal Towpath following the Potomac River to the town of Brunswick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way, we’ll pass the Great Falls National Park (</span><a href="http://www.nps.gov/grfa/"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.nps.gov/grfa/</span></a></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later we’ll ride by White’s Ferry, the only working ferry on the canal and shortly pass over the Monocacy Aqueduct, </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">one of the most impressive structures on the entire trip.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">A few words here about the C&O Canal (</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chesapeake_and_Ohio_Canal"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chesapeake_and_Ohio_Canal</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The <b>Chesapeake and Ohio Canal</b>, abbreviated as the <b>C&O Canal</b>, and occasionally referred to as the "<b>Grand Old Ditch</b>," operated from 1831 until 1924 parallel to the Potomac River in Maryland from Cumberland, Maryland to Washington, D.C. The total length of the canal is about 184.5 miles (300 km). The elevation change, start to finish, of 605 ft (185 m) was accommodated with 74 </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lock_(water_transport)" title="Lock (water transport)"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">canal locks</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">. To enable the canal to cross relatively small streams, over 150 culverts were built. The crossing of major streams required the construction of 11 </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aqueduct" title="Aqueduct"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">aqueducts</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"> (10 of which remain). The canal also extends through the 3118 ft (950 m) Paw Paw Tunnel. The principal cargo was coal from the Allegheny Mountains. The canal way is now maintained as a park, with a linear trail following the old towpath, the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chesapeake_and_Ohio_Canal_National_Historical_Park" title="Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historical Park"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historical Park</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">.</span></span></div></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5h6psUfjJUpO5_M2ryHalmncpj_o7K10G8AlsoVhwGt7BOhnguN6UwvQulLccMtrE9c4XjD0kBYWEbwXymbX60mwv1sK8rj9OtJ3KT7dKfVyk5CD_g-1FePp_-cX0RypiHXOnlYcbkscj/s1600/Day+1,Gear+Loaded.++Where's+My+Raingear..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5h6psUfjJUpO5_M2ryHalmncpj_o7K10G8AlsoVhwGt7BOhnguN6UwvQulLccMtrE9c4XjD0kBYWEbwXymbX60mwv1sK8rj9OtJ3KT7dKfVyk5CD_g-1FePp_-cX0RypiHXOnlYcbkscj/s200/Day+1,Gear+Loaded.++Where's+My+Raingear..JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">All I need is my rain gear and I'm ready</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxEHn2RlNHIAGABBE1RDmHPVkgc9haQMSS3WLQN-2eSVq_nMawZ_pjOAE2iFo-ZZ67sDJ9jrIuPtIJsOlS2-hkNJDu3lV-Ii9CRmNvYHPTNTSQGdOCUiNnJp0-MzlyvcviEW6whypInNF/s1600/Day+1+Unloading+Bertha.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxEHn2RlNHIAGABBE1RDmHPVkgc9haQMSS3WLQN-2eSVq_nMawZ_pjOAE2iFo-ZZ67sDJ9jrIuPtIJsOlS2-hkNJDu3lV-Ii9CRmNvYHPTNTSQGdOCUiNnJp0-MzlyvcviEW6whypInNF/s200/Day+1+Unloading+Bertha.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Unloading our gear at the start</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Our day started out with a drip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in rain. Swell!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We gathered out behind the hotel, getting our bikes set up, and our rain gear on and like ducks behind their mother – in this case, father – we set off on our first day of riding. Riding behind Arlington National Cemetery, as a group we crossed the Potomac River along the Capital Bike trail for a couple miles until we came to the Lincoln Memorial, where we all got off the bikes for a group picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guy in the far lower left with the white hat on is me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow, does this rain gear on over bike clothes make me look heavy, or is it just me…</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And then, pointed generally northwest, we came to the C&O Canal Towpath trail and were off on our own to our first stop, about 56 miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A word about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In sports, I am generally a loner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Team sports were always fun, but tennis, running, biking were more so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I got to do it my way. No committees to decide details. No meetings, no consensus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So a bike ride with a group is ok, but more generally alone is more so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got to the Canal and could take off on our own, I was my happiest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, 44 riders of yet undetermined skill was still a group, but soon that would sort itself out and we would all be off on our own pace, needing only to reach our destination in time for dinner at 6:00.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The good news is that for the better part of 59 miles, the beautiful and wide Potomac River was just on our left sides and the canal, lock by lock, (30 that day) was just on our right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these sections of canal were full of water, and some not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, trees line the edge of the towpath where at one time, none existed to obstruct the mules as they pulled each of the canal barges up and down the canal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The towpath today is stunningly beautiful, most of the time a shaded pathway under a canopy of trees which offer shade from the hot summer sun, or in our case, some shelter from the light rain that fell that first morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pathway itself is a combination of crushed rock and dirt, compacted by the numbers of riders, baked by the sun and hardened by the rainfall that dries the dirt pavement hard.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Along the way, each day, the staff set up rest stops to provide us with water, energy bars, fruit, crackers and candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a relief to see those guys and the rest stop offered us all an opportunity to get off the bike for a minute, replenish our water supplies and grab an energy source.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">And so it went, the river on one side, the canal on the other, under a shaded bikeway, the surface made of almost smooth crushed rock and dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was always something beautiful or historical to see and the miles, as they flew by mile after mile, added up to that magic number of 59 when we each, in our own time rode into The Brunswick Family Campground (</span><a href="http://www.brunswickmd.gov/campground.htm"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://www.brunswickmd.gov/campground.htm</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for our first night on the trail.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">A word here about our nightly routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost always identical so I won’t mention it again except when it changed a couple of times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d ride into the campground and park our bikes over by the location picked where they would be under cover for the night and where, if they needed repairs, they got them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d pick up our gear, many of us would grab a beer out of the cooler, and we’d make our way to a campsite we’d pick out, put up our tent and head off for the shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, those showers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never enough hot water and never enough water pressure, but God Bless what we had, for at the end of a 45-50+ mile bike day, it was heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly then, folks would make their way back to the area where dinner was to be served.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All meals were better than good, with a varied menu and plenty of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never left the table hungry or grousing about the quality of the food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We’d then usually have a speaker who would talk about that day’s ride, or tomorrow’s, the historical significance of the area where we rode, the current state of the National Park or the condition of the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Larry would either begin or end the evening meeting with housekeeping information, just the do’s and don’ts of trail etiquette, information from past rides or things to look out for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few diehards would stay up past 9:00 but by 9:30 or 10:00, everyone was sound asleep. And so went day 2.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiE_quXX7dBJ7pycK_xXx_cJtaPbrvAOmzQ3CBLubfqML1gb-BO4F4JVRaJCpwP0QCOSOokZqPxBGoI7pbtPxa98UKlcsm85GAMveVWLaqERismyuIgo9DQHPX52i2WCCuO9vpLlbQ5l-V/s1600/2010+C&O+Canal.GAP+Tour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiE_quXX7dBJ7pycK_xXx_cJtaPbrvAOmzQ3CBLubfqML1gb-BO4F4JVRaJCpwP0QCOSOokZqPxBGoI7pbtPxa98UKlcsm85GAMveVWLaqERismyuIgo9DQHPX52i2WCCuO9vpLlbQ5l-V/s200/2010+C&O+Canal.GAP+Tour.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm the guy on the lower left in yellow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLN6fnvR_lsk_QJWZ6cttYNat3DY7mMF1CCbS-jfNhGKykGN-R6vHcq4CKgSMrKdbIxzKdCE5Y56FMn-ns-jjvJAecWvkXjeak4QSz3qunRdIfoORhr-1kav5c2skcCm-N0Kw_lM1Ueos/s1600/Day+2,+A+Dam+on+the+Potomac.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLN6fnvR_lsk_QJWZ6cttYNat3DY7mMF1CCbS-jfNhGKykGN-R6vHcq4CKgSMrKdbIxzKdCE5Y56FMn-ns-jjvJAecWvkXjeak4QSz3qunRdIfoORhr-1kav5c2skcCm-N0Kw_lM1Ueos/s200/Day+2,+A+Dam+on+the+Potomac.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Potomac, upriver from DC about 20 miles</span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTbyAOBupxVbHMtUyrLw-mSWojYl1a6C_YsMwvZ02ulCSGDLjlRsTi7B8E7YnkjCn9AQBp8PKukAEEIP4zFAX09C3TkOF1RSG_SvHh4H46xyVMZcsEd_sk-Szs2H6KxDjVdqA8yLLUZtw/s1600/Day+1,+C&O+Canal+Towpath.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTbyAOBupxVbHMtUyrLw-mSWojYl1a6C_YsMwvZ02ulCSGDLjlRsTi7B8E7YnkjCn9AQBp8PKukAEEIP4zFAX09C3TkOF1RSG_SvHh4H46xyVMZcsEd_sk-Szs2H6KxDjVdqA8yLLUZtw/s200/Day+1,+C&O+Canal+Towpath.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This was our trail. Everyday. Beautiful.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXoMvSpueOMykDHne_KvzuZW566JOBbhVY-W1Kkcakrtw_6PGbJLA304nYSYpm0UIwdhDv-3boNeOuWeimjqGmSN8gpqb5eKKfUtfbKY-1TFLj5V2sksePq20oDBkM5uOBjdZHfr-I1Zc/s1600/Day+1,+Setting+Up+Camp,+Brunswick+Campground.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXoMvSpueOMykDHne_KvzuZW566JOBbhVY-W1Kkcakrtw_6PGbJLA304nYSYpm0UIwdhDv-3boNeOuWeimjqGmSN8gpqb5eKKfUtfbKY-1TFLj5V2sksePq20oDBkM5uOBjdZHfr-I1Zc/s200/Day+1,+Setting+Up+Camp,+Brunswick+Campground.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our campsite, Brunswick,MD. The Pavillion with tents surrounding.</span><br />
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</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-73264793786950887542010-10-11T19:24:00.000-07:002010-10-13T07:23:03.498-07:00Day 1, Saturday, September 25th. The Virginian Suites Hotel, Arlington, VA<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">After flying into DC a couple of days early and spending two great days as a guest of Matt and his roommate Juan, just over near Capitol Hill, here I am on Saturday afternoon about 4:30 pm having checked into the hotel and registered with the tour company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My bike is waiting for me on the truck and tomorrow morning will be out along with everyone else’s, waiting to take me on this 335 mile adventure, up from Washington, DC, through the Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia and Pennsylvania countryside to Pittsburgh, PA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am anxious and excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have I trained properly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What kind of people will be on this tour?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I really going to camp out every night?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I have the right gear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, starting tomorrow morning, I’d begin to get the answers to all those questions.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">At 6:00, having repacked my gear twice, I went downstairs to the conference room, which had been turned into a dining room and conference room for the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first impression of everyone was, well, mixed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think about 12 or 13 ladies, the rest men, about 32 or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tall, short, stout, thin, wiry, old, older and ancient, younger, quiet, less so and more so, all in all, a mix of neighbors from any neighborhood in the good old US of A.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention all white?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, almost any neighborhood….</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We found places at various tables around the room, got our dinner – a first glimpse of the quantity and quality of our food for the next week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of food and remarkably good, given it was prepared for about 50 people. I sat down next to a fellow, introduce myself, ‘Hi, I’m Bob” and proceeded to eat the entire meal silently. Apparently new guy didn’t like to talk, or at least talk while eating. This guy was either a very shy person, very private or very disturbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was later in the tour that I’d get the answer to that question.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Then it was time for introductions; Larry Brock our Tour Director and Larry 2, Chris, Arlen and Anne and her husband, our staff for this trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between them, I’d reckon they’d made this trip over 30 times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in good hands!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then our turn to stand up, introduce ourselves by name and say a few words about ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mumbled something I thought cute – not - and tried to see if I could really know something about each participant by what they said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Impossible to remember all that was said, and truth be known, that experience reaffirmed for me the old adage, you can’t tell a book by its cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From first my first look and impression of this gang of riders, I was to subsequently find out so much more about my trail mates that I came to realize my first impressions were so wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Larry went on to give us a preview of the days to come, some safety tips and that tomorrow, our first day on the trail would be 59 miles, rain forecast in the morning, with a stop at the Lincoln Memorial for a group picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeeez, can I do that? </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">He then went on to explain about a couple of things I seem to have missed in all the literature about this ride sent to me by the Adventure Cycling Association.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Larry explained that the reddish 3 leaf ground cover so prevalent along this path was poison oak and we should be careful not to wander off the path as we explored along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ALSO mentioned the snakes and bears. Yes, snakes and bears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Copperhead and Mountain rattle snakes abound out here in the Mid-Atlantic States and as if we needed to be told, should be avoided at all costs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems they lay out on the pathway sunning themselves in the early morning and late summer sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It follows that they don’t like to be threatened or run over by errant bikers, so riding with an eye out for a rattlesnake sunning itself is proper bike safety.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">However, in our caution to avoid snakes, we should not overlook the occasional black bear who also hangs out here in this part of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holy crap. It’s not enough we are riding 50 something miles a day, sometimes in the rain, we have to be careful when we go off the trail to pee not to do so in the poison ivy and when getting back on the bikes, be careful not to step on a rattle snake and finally, as if that’s not enough, be careful not to piss off a black bear in whose territory we’ll be camping in every night.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">And finally, were that really, really not enough, he strongly recommended watching out for oil, wet leaves, loose gravel, railroad crossings and foolish cyclists stopped in the roadway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if the foolish cyclists he referred to were the occasional person, making their way into the underbrush just to relieve themselves while looking out for poison oak, snakes, bears and whatnot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have met the enemy, and he is us!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Wonderful!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">With that, we all went up to our rooms for the last night of sleep on a bed for the next 7 nights, each to imagine the day ahead and try to get some sleep.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6790043120116064216.post-2148913571645663152010-10-11T19:09:00.000-07:002010-10-13T15:58:35.400-07:00It was 5:00 am...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It was 5:00 am; I was struggling to get out of my sleeping bag and to get up off the concrete floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where the hell am I, and who are all these old guys moaning and groaning,” I thought?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, several things came to mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> one of the old guys, about 15 of us had spent the night in sleeping bags on the concrete floor of the basement of the campground owner’s house, I had to pee really, really bad and I ached from head to toe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the day before, I had, along with these guys and about 30 other folks, ridden in a hard rain 22 miles up the side of a 2390’ hill, crossed the Mason Dixon line and crossed through the Eastern Great Continental Divide and ridden 23 more miles down to a little town, Rockwood, PA, where I was now struggling to get out of that sleeping bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than that, Ms. Lincoln, how was the play?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of months ago, when I signed up for this, it seemed like a really good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning, not so sure…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Looking around, I marveled at the collection of guys stretched out in their sleeping bags, or just moving like me, unwinding legs and arms after a long night on a concrete floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tall guys, fat guys, wiry guys, average guys, old guys and older guys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the noises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never heard so many noises coming out of a group of men in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stretching, moaning, sneezes, farts, burps, groans, coughs and noises I couldn’t begin to define the origin of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All we needed was a piccolo, a trombone and some fruitcake strutting around with a baton and we’d have a band the likes of which John Phillip Souza would be proud.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">How could this group of collectables, along with the other 30 or so men and women camped out around the campground possibly have the physical will and capability to ride up that mountain in the rain yesterday?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, even without the rain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All 43 of us rode up that hill and lived, although some in various states of pain, to ride another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we had two and a half last days to go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I get ahead of myself here, so let’s go back to the beginning, where it all started and see if I can put some sense to it all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It had been a couple of years since the last time I went off on one of these journeys and again, family and friends ask my "Why". Unlike "Bob's River Ride" where I really had only a little idea of why, this time I knew exactly why. It's all about fitness, adventure and perhaps, closure.<br />
<br />
This ride was to take me from Washington, DC to Pittsburgh, PA, approximately 335 miles along two trails, The C&O Canal and the Great Allegheny Passage, both important in the early formation of our country and later important in the great struggle to hold the new country together - the civil war. It also would take me close to the roots of my maternal family's home and history, my mother's parents, my grandparents, who were instrumental in raising me as a boy growing up in Los Angeles. They moved to Hollywood, from Uniontown, PA in the early 20's and built the home in which I was raised.<br />
<br />
A wise friend also suggested this ride might also be about closure. Perhaps a trip to complete the one I rode a couple of years ago, falling short of my goal of a ride from Muscatine, IA, to New Orleans. Although I did not go the entire distance, I did, for sure, accomplish a great deal in terms of distance, difficulty, people met and places seen. So perhaps this is also a way of completing the first trip, even though a different route and manner of traveling. <br />
<br />
From a historical point of view, and from a very personal point of view, this adventure was exciting to anticipate and I was sure, would be exciting to execute.<br />
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Training for this ride started way back in November, and was accelerated once good weather came to Chicagoland - that would be once the snow melted - and has progressed to the point that I could comfortably ride 50 miles a day for the 7 days required for this trip.<br />
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There are my family and a close group of friends who could just shake their heads and roll their eyes at all this. “An intelligent adult his age should probably not be off on these adventures”, was I'm sure, what was foremost on their minds. However, they all smiled, encouraged, asked questions and expressed support for my trip. Thank you one and all. Your support is greatly appreciated.<br />
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Unlike bobsriverride, where I rode for the 700 miles alone, i.e., “Unsupported”, this is a "Supported" tour, with 44 riders and a support staff of 7 from all over the USA participating. The tour is led by experienced leaders and riders, tour guides and caterers all under the umbrella of Adventure Cycling Association, a wonderful bike-oriented lobbying group, tour operator and resource center for all things, bike touring. The idea that I am not riding alone on back roads through strange territory allows for family and friends to breathe easier about all of this although I suspect some of the family still faintly hears the theme song, "Dueling Banjos" in their minds. Yikes!<br />
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My bike left for Washington DC, the starting point, 7 days before I was due there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like saying goodbye to an old friend as I watched it truck away. I was excited, a little intimidated and ready for whatever would come.<br />
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I had great faith, however, that it would all be great fun.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0