Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Sunday, October 16, Mifflintown, Pennsylvania
When I crossed from Ohio through a sliver of West Virginia and soon pedaled into
Pennsylvania, I entered the East—that's how the state line declared itself in my
mind—and a subliminal current ran through my thoughts:
You're back in familiar territ-
ory. This coast-to-coast bike ride is no longer exotic. The great days of pedaling are behind
you, in Oregon, Montana, North Dakota, Minnesota, remote places with overwhelming di-
mensions and landscapes that a city dweller like you thinks of as occupying another part of
the world.
Still, a bike trip, like a ball game, as Yogi may or may not have said, ain't over till it's
over. It turns out I was wrong about the grand riding. For one thing, Jan and I had those
three great days on the GAP.
When she left, I had a down day, a little mopey; I didn't have Pittsburgh and New Or-
leans to motivate me anymore, and now I was waking up to the same damn bike ride and
thinking about nothing but being a returning hero to my friends, a former cross-country
bike rider. But what do you know? Over the weekend I had the best two days of riding
of the entire journey.
Actually, in Cumberland I'd felt a little hemmed in, emotionally because I was sud-
denly lonesome, and physically because the city is in a river valley amid the Appalachian
foothills, and as I learned from the guys at Cumberland Trail Connection, the local bike
store, climbing on trafficky roads was the only way out of town if I wanted to head
toward New York, north and east. The alternative was the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal
towpath, often called the C&O, a rugged trail that dates to the first half of the nineteenth
century and circumvents the mountains. It runs generally east and then southeast, all the
way to Washington, and on Saturday I followed its first sixty miles to Hancock, Mary-
land, wriggling with the Potomac River along the Maryland-West Virginia border.
It was a thrilling, daylong carnival ride on a muddy track. After a stretch of wet
weather, the sky was deep blue and the air was polished clear, the kind of fall day when
the world presents itself in high def. A stiff, cleansing wind was blowing from the south-
west, whistling and occasionally roaring through the treetops but rarely affecting the
ride—I was protected by the woods. The Potomac, winding gracefully and companion-
ably alongside me with the autumn sun angling off its surface, was simply beautiful.
The trail was another matter. Packed dirt with patches of embedded stones, it offers a
rattly ride in the best circumstances, but after two days of rain, there were intermittent
puddles up to a few inches deep, mud that caused my wheels to slide, and forest
debris—piles of leaves and tossed branches—that made my bike buck and rear like a
temperamental stallion. Near Paw Paw, West Virginia, a tunnel more than half a mile
long leaves you in darkness, walking your bike, hugging the tunnel wall.
