2012 - peaceonabike

June 27, 2012July 23, 2015

Riding for Jake

CHARLES TOWN, WV

I was excited this morning because I wanted to take a page out of the book of my friends doing the 4K for Cancer ride across the United States. Each day these 90 young people write the name of a cancer patient or survivor or someone who has lost the battle on their calves. I had my son-in-law, Bryan Snow, write the name of Jake Grecco, a true super hero, on my calves.

Just 8 years old and battling brain cancer, Jake has taken chemo, radiation, and even brain surgery in stride. Weakened by my lengthy rides, I felt energized today riding with Jake’s name on my calves.

I arranged to meet with old friend and co-worker, John Dockins, in front of the Trek Tent, and we rolled out at 7:30 a.m. On the road he started to hammer it although we settled into a good pace (which means we passed everybody) but we were joined by two others. For the first 15 miles four of us worked together in the heavy winds, which would be present all day.

Following a tractor. You know, we go the same speed
as a tractor but nobody yells or throws things at a tractor.

We had caught a tractor pulling some machinery at 20-22 mph. Perfect. We pulled in behind him and he created the perfect wind block. We rode in his draft for about two miles before he turned off. Rest Stop #1 was at the Summit Point Raceway. It was pretty cool. Some riders took to the race track for extra miles.

Rest Stop at Summit Point

Rolling out of the rest stop, we formed a new group with some men and women and hammered home with them. After the second rest stop, it got real funky.

Almost from the start today my legs hadn’t recovered. I thought my body was weakening having ridden 300 miles in three days.

John took off from Rest Stop #2 dropping me. I was never more than 50-100 meters behind him but there the two of us went, passing everyone along the way, John, followed by me, trailing 50-100 meters later. The wind was very heavy and John seemed stronger cutting through the wind than I did. I chased for six miles, never pulling him back but never closing the gap. And I was getting pissed.

I wondered what he was thinking and later he said he thought I had dropped back to talk to some people and would catch him when I wanted to. I wasn’t buying that. In this wind he was stronger.

John Dockins, Barry Sherry

Although the two of us had been passing people for six miles, I was going nowhere until I was passed by two riders. That quickly became three when I jumped on their wheels. Perfect.

It was the perfect tow back up to John. As we got ready to pass him I tried to sneak past without him seeing me. But he did and he jumped on and briefly made four in our group.

But shortly after that the two guys in front passed a car that was going slow up a hill and I joined them. John initially came but clunked his gears and he was gone. Just like that.

If John truly thought that I was behind him and could catch him anytime I feel like it what I did then was a crappy move. But if he was going full out in the wind without regard for his friend then it was payback. Big time.

We joined up with some other riders and alternated the workload. One guy came to the front with about three miles to go to the rest stop and hammered it. He was a big rider and was “nose in the wind” going about 23 mph. I sat second wheel and felt like half the time I was coasting.

This guy (left) rocked it! Best “pull” of the five days.

After a lunch break, we hit the road. After 43 miles of hammering, it was time for solo work. John and I left the rest stop for one mile then he would take the cutoff road and skip the climbing loop. I turned onto the climb. It was a formidable two and a half mile hill, and one by one I started passing people on the climb. I’m sure I didn’t catch everyone, but I passed five or six and wasn’t passed by anyone.

Once over the top I bombed the descent and caught and passed 15-20 riders in the valley leading to the next rest stop.

At the stop one woman saw Jake’s name on my legs and made a smart ass comment: “Do you name your shoes too so you can get the right legs in the right shoes?”

I was pissed. And hurt. I told her quietly that I was riding for my 8-year old cousin who was battling brain cancer.

I carried that with me the rest of the ride. The thought was we need fewer smart asses in this world and more compassion. I wanted to tell her off but the comment was made by, well, a smart ass trying to be funny and not with malice. Her group took off while I sat down and ate some food.

When I left the rest stop I wanted nothing more than to catch the woman who insulted my family. They were long gone but I that didn’t stop me from trying.

I immediately hit the next hill. It was a shorter, one and a half miles, but steeper climb. There I passed by 10-15 riders on the climb and, over the top, bombed the descent. Once in the valley I started reeling in riders in front of me – maybe another 30.

Going through Martinsburg was like old home week to me since I know the area pretty well. Hitting the bike trail outside of town I passed 40-50 riders and was passed by none. I really felt strong in miles 80-90. Seriously, in the last 40 miles I was passed by no one.

Getting back, I sat down and ate lunch at the Bike Virginia campus. When it was time to roll out I needed 10 more miles for 100 and 15 for 400 for four days. As good as I felt in miles 80-90, I felt that bad for the next 10 miles. It hit me. I was tired. But I was riding for Jake. And I would finish.

I added enough miles to give me another century then went to Ashley and Bryan’s place and laid down on the floor. I fell asleep. Three centuries in four days. Four hundred miles in four days.

I was very tired.

June 26, 2012July 23, 2015

It’s About the Journey

CHARLES TOWN, WV

Day 3 of Bike Virginia and I didn’t know what the day would hold. And that was part of the fun. I had seen my friend, Vince Amodeo, and had texted my friend, John Dockins, but had not yet seen him.

Tents at the Middle School
Flowing Springs Rd in the background

I rolled out and over to the Bike Virginia campus. I thought I’d meet my cousin, Kay Walborn, but she wasn’t out and on the road yet when I rolled out. So I took off by myself.

Riders turning off Flowing Springs Road

On the road I teamed up with some riders and ended up having a slow day – truly enjoying the journey, as I like to say. The first rest stop, after a harrowing ride on U.S. 11 going to Williamsport, Maryland, was at the Williamsport United Methodist Church. Most rest stops had the same water and Gatorade, fruit and snacks. I suspect Bike Virginia buys the food and the rest stop simply provides the space and volunteers.

Outside the church they had a “blessing of the bikes.” I skipped it since I had already been hit. Inside the church they served noodle soup, fried potatoes, and hot donuts, in addition to the normal fare. Bike Virginia also sponsored a contest for best rest area and this one got my vote. Extra points for not subjecting us to live bluegrass music too.*

Part of the journey was swimming in the Potomac River, although my participation was limited to wading. I didn’t want a squishy butt full of river water in my shorts.

But a number of people did.

Some of these roads were new to me and some weren’t. But most were new to the riders around me and they loved the road in Antietam National Battlefield. Perfect asphalt and no traffic. Nice.

We rode through the park then stopped for a photo op.

Antietam Battlefield

Actually, I was waiting for the all clear sign so that I could absolutely bomb the descent. I put my gear in the big ring and pedaled hard and got in my tuck. It felt like 50 mph. I looked down and my Garmin was — off.

Oh well. I will have to come back on my own and try that one again. The road is perfect – smooth pavement, no traffic, straight as an arrow down then rises on the other side. No turns.

After lunch in Sharpsburg, those cyclists “in the know” went back to Nutters for ice cream. It was an excellent way to finish.

At the end of the day I turned a planned 57-mile ride into a 73-mile ride but didn’t feel like stretching it beyond that.

_________
*EPILOGUE – This rest stop did win best rest stop award. Noodle soup, hot fried potatoes, and freshly cooked donuts in addition to the blessing of the bikes. Wonderful job!

June 24, 2012August 26, 2021

A Double Triple

CHARLES TOWN, WEST VIRGINIA

After being struck by a car I wanted to go home yesterday but ended up getting a wheel repair at the local Trek bike store in Charles Town. At no charge. That always helps.

The newly trued wheel rolled well and I was thankful for the coolness of the morning air to ride. But I also thought of the bike and remembered that a carbon fiber bike must be checked out before being ridden again after a crash. While I was thankful the local Trek store fixed my wheel I wish the mechanic would have asked to check out the bike. I was in no frame of mind to think to ask him to do that.

Trek mechanic onsite checking out the Pilot

Arriving in Berryville, I found the on-site Trek mechanic who checked out the bike and was able to reposition the shifters. He gave the bike a clean bill of health. More importantly, he gave me peace of mind.

Since the mechanic took time checking the bike, it felt as though I was the last to leave Berryville. As I rode I began to catch and pass everyone. It would be one of those days where I would pass everyone and not get passed. Period.

After making my way through the first group of riders I passed five riders stopped along the side of the road, all supervising some poor schmuck trying to fix his bike. I asked if they needed one more person to watch and they said yes. So I stopped. Poor guy had a broken chain and other than making a phone call (for SAG support), I couldn’t help, but by then all those slow, old (my age) people came rolling by so I let them pass then worked my way through them again.

When I passed a rider named Karen, she jumped on my wheel and followed me. She announced her presence and stated that I was the right speed to follow. And she did. For a while. Then she admitted I was too fast but I backed it off and we rode together and picked up some other riders as well.

At Rest Stop Number 1 in Rippon, I saw a family with young children in cycling gear. How cute. As they were getting ready to leave I talked to them. I told them I saw a family down at River Ride on the Northern Neck about five years ago who had a triple Co-Motion bike with dad and two daughters on it while the mother pulled a — “Burley Trailer,” everyone pretty much said in unison.

“That was us,” replied the mom. The family is from Front Royal, Virginia.

My memory of that day on the Northern Neck was seeing this extremely cute family pull in at the end of the ride. The youngest girl was sound asleep — head over folded arms on the handlebars — with her feet clipped into the pedals going in circles.

The oldest daughter said “yep, that was Kylie. She can do that”*

But now there were six. They’ve added to their cycling family. Three on dad’s bike and three on mom’s. How very cute. A double triple.

They left the rest stop before I did and although I caught them on Kabletown Road, I didn’t see them the rest of the day. Hopefully I will see them again.

The route would zigzag around Charles Town on some of the roads I had ridden down to Berryville to the start. I was almost getting dizzy going in a circle. Like yesterday, my cousin, Kay Walborn, started earlier than I could, and from Berryville.

Although this was billed as a recreational touring ride and not a place for pace lines, occasional lines formed and it was fun riding just a little faster with other people. Or a lot faster than other people. I had missed out on that yesterday except for the first 10 miles or so when I had jumped in with a group of four.

But today I rode with a woman and her dad for a while, and also with Paul from Allentown, Pa., plus Karen from Ashville, N.C. At the lunch stop around Mile 48 (my mile 68) I had caught my cousin, Kay Walborn, and we then rode together the optional 20-mile loop. Near the end of the ride, I was ahead of Kay and her friend, Wanda, on Job Corps Road, when I was left shaken.

While descending a hill, I was doing about 30 mph and was hugging the white line at the edge of the road. There was no shoulder. Then I heard it. A large diesel pickup truck was barreling down on me and wanting to pass. But there was an oncoming car and hardly room for the three of us. He gunned it.

I was over as far as I could get and the truck passed within inches. Kay told me that the truck missed my head by two inches. What is it? Two accidents in two days?

When we finished I had 90 miles so it was easy to get 100 before going back to Bethany’s.

Two Days. Two Centuries.

___
*I’m not sure of the daughter’s name – but let’s go with Kylie.

June 23, 2012August 26, 2021

Struck by a Car

The day started with promise. Attending Bike Virginia, I rode 20 miles from Charles Town to the event’s registration in Berryville, Va.

Once on the road, I reset my odometer so as not to remind myself that I had ridden 20 miles farther than anyone else. And it worked.

I was surprised that at a park and swimming pool rest stop at Mile 80 near Winchester I ran into my friend Vince Amodeo. I had been chasing my cousin, Kay Walborn, for these 80 miles and had given up finding her.

I said goodbye to Vince and sat down to text Kay. We had been texting at each rest stop and I had no idea I was close. My legs felt like it was 80 miles, not 100, and then I heard her call my name. I had caught her. What a nice surprise. We rolled out together and rode together for just six miles before I broke from the route and headed back to Charles Town.

In Charles Town, as I came up Washington Street, a car started to overtake me at an intersection. This is a common occurrence and I didn’t think much of it. As I went straight the driver got just far enough in front of me then she whipped the car to the right and made a right turn. Into me. The classic right hook.

I tried to evade her by turning sharper but I couldn’t. She hit me and sent me flying.

I remember nothing after being contacted by her car until I was on the ground. My shoulders and back seemed to take the worst of it and I lay on the street in pain with my bike on top of me, still clipped into the left pedal.

I had ridden 115 miles, my farthest ever, and combined with the heat, 86º, and the effort to get up the rise before the intersection, I was breathing heavy. Laying on my back I was afraid to open my eyes. I was scared.

I was breathing very heavily and heard the woman who hit me scream at me. “DIDN’T YOU SEE MY SIGNAL!!!” “DIDN’T YOU SEE MY SIGNAL!!!”

I paid her no attention and within another minute a passerby stopped her car and came to my assistance. If I had any idea of getting to my feet she made sure that I was to remain immobile. In fact, she held me around my shoulders so I wouldn’t move. And I was too weak to fight.

Another passerby tried to unclip my shoes. And in the moment, I could not remember how to release them. I was afraid they were going to cut them off. Not my Louis Garneaus!

An ambulance arrived pretty quickly followed by the police and then a firetruck. As the paramedics attended to me the woman who had been attending, also a paramedic, introduced herself to them. I was holding the back of my leg, not because I was injured but because the position I was in, combined with riding 115 miles in the heat, was causing me to cramp.

She told the paramedic crew that I was cramping because I had ridden 15 miles. “115 miles,” I corrected her, and I threw water on her.

They extricated me from my bike (is that a thing?) and moved it next to a building. They helped me to my feet then checked my vitals, checking to see if I was dizzy. I could move everything but was sore from the crash. I had some road rash but it wasn’t bad. I refused a trip to the emergency room in the ambulance.

My handlebar tape was torn and the shifters were out of place. I was able to forcibly realign one mostly. Against the wishes of, well, everyone there, I decided I would keep on riding.
As I got close to Bethany’s I noticed the front wheel was wobbling. More damage that I hadn’t seen.

I was shaken up and really just wanted to go home. I just wanted to end my five-day Bike Virginia trip after one day.

I set a new personal best for miles ridden in one day: 119.2, and would have gone farther except for the crash. But my bike and I were sore and beat up.

Bethany reminded me that there was a bike store in Charles Town and I took my bike there. It was Three Points Cycle and the manager/owner on duty couldn’t be nicer. He looked at me, still walking in a daze, listened to my story, and told me he grew up in Woodbridge. He attended Gar-Field H.S. He took my front wheel and trued it. No charge. I started feeling better.

But I was still shaken.

It sucks to get hit by a car.

The driver was not charged.

June 17, 2012May 29, 2023

Wendel of York

YORK, PENNSYLVANIA

Before I rode many miles on the road I rode many miles on the trail. I returned to the trail today. It is different than road riding but a more relaxed ride since the only cars one has to worry about are when you cross roads.

York, Pa. is an ancestral home for me. My 5th-great-grandfather, Wendel Laumeister, arrived from Germany aboard the ship Priscilla in Philadelphia in 1750 and settled in York. My 4th-great, Frederick Laumeister, and 3rd-great, George Lowmaster, were born there. George would later leave York and settle in Indiana Co., Pennsylvania.

The York Heritage Trail is a crushed limestone trail that runs next to a rail line
for 21 miles to the Mason Dixon line where it becomes the Torrey C. Brown Rail Trail in Maryland. In Pennsylvania it parallels the former Northern Central Railway but the tracks end at the Maryland line. While signs and some websites warn it is an active railroad, it isn’t. Well, I didn’t expect it to be.

I brought my mountain bike with fat tires although I saw a few road bikes on the trail. None passed me though and there were sections the gravel or sand would have presented some tough steering.

Around Mile 7 I was passed by a maintenance car (speedster) on the track coming from another direction. And a second. And a third. Maybe ten in all. The occupants in the cars didn’t look like railroad workers. And some of the cars looked old while others looked like they just rolled out of the factory. It was a strange site.

The Heritage Trail is a beautiful wooded trail that goes through miles of forest and passes some farmland. Unlike the Great Allegheny Passage which I have ridden many times, there are no stunning vistas looking out over the valleys nor high trestles. There is but one tunnel, the Howard tunnel.

I had gone one mile and realized that my water bottles were on my road bike – back in the van. I worried about riding the entire 42 miles (round trip) but it was cool (60s) when I left so I wasn’t too worried. At 10 miles I passed a bike shop on the trail and knew I could stop there on the way back.

After seeing the bike shop at Seven Valleys, I came upon more potential stops. Glen Rock presented a few places to stop and shop if I wanted to, and New Freedom had a beautifully restored train station with two cabooses, painted in the Pennsylvania Railroad colors. And clean restrooms.

After New Freedom the tracks end and the grade turns down for a mile to the Mason Dixon line. There I turned around to go back.

Back at the Howard Tunnel the speedsters were all stopped and I heard a cyclist ask how one get ride one of those. One of the guys said “you had to buy one of these 18 years ago.”

And thus I learned that the speedsters were all phased out by the railroads, replaced with pickup trucks that run on the rails. Many railroads dumped these cars for $25-$100 just to have someone haul them away. Private individuals bought these cars, refurbished some, and now have organized group rides on railroads. This railroad is perfect since the tracks are still in place but apparently no rail traffic runs on it. It would be interesting to know if they run every Sunday. Note: They were probably members of North Central Railcar Association.

I doubt that I find out. This was a nice trail but not one I would normally plan to return to.

Back in York, I went searching for Christ Lutheran Church. This church, founded in 1733, was one my ancestors were affiliated with. I found it. I walked around a bit, even through the old cemetery which has been encroached by a parking lot.

I don’t know that any of my ancestors are buried there and most of the stones were impossible to read. But it certainly was a nice way to end a bike ride.

June 11, 2012July 23, 2015

FUCANCER Doesn’t Quit

CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA

My third year in a row for the Air Force Crystal Classic. Two years ago I rode on my own and my timing chip on my shoe didn’t work. It had recorded just two of my eight laps.

Last year I rode with friends from The Bike Lane and at the start of the second lap my Garmin mount broke, my Garmin went flying, and I had to retrieve the Garmin and lost contact with my group.

Today, well, today was going to be different. Meeting up with some riders from The Bike Lane, we were planning to average 20 mph over the course. But we were at the back of nearly 1,000 riders at the start. On Lap One we had to pick and weave past slower riders, until we came to the turn around near the Iwo Jima Memorial. There a girl had crashed, the police were attending to her and one line, not lane, got by. It seemed we spent about four minutes with a foot on the ground.

Adam Lewandowski kitting up

Adam Lewandowski, James Mortson, Dennis McDonald, Rich McAfee, and I formed a “team” which was going well. After a slow first lap due to a bottleneck when the girl crashed, we hit the second 10 mile loop in 22 mph. I looked down and saw we had recovered and were averaging 20 mph for the ride.

Dennis McDonald

There were times the heat was starting to get to me. Almost from the start I wondered how long I could hang with the big boys – all racers for The Bike Lane. But I hung.
We finished the fourth lap and Rich needed a “natural break.” James and I continued on although we soft pedaled. We decided to pull over for water at the Air Force Memorial. As I was climbing the hill I flatted. That made my decision easy.

But then I blew the repair. I used my one tube and one CO2 cartridge and it popped. I popped.

At this point, having ridden 45 miles (4.5 laps) and thus having qualified for a silver medal, I was pleased we had averaged 20 mph. I had had enough. I looked for a SAG vehicle to take me back to my van. but I found none.

James Mortson and Rich McAfee

I started to walk. As I walked I thought about where I was going. Back to the van. And back in the van was — a spare wheel. I did a quick time calculation. If I ran to the van and made a quick wheel change, I could get back on course and finish the six laps in the required three hours and earn a gold medal. I took off my cleated shoes and ran barefoot to the van.

Back on course I rode the last 1.5 laps at 18.7 mph, solo. On the last lap I probably passed 100 cyclists and got passed but no one. Well, not technically true. I cramped in the hamstring with two miles to go and while soft pedaling someone passed me. Once I learned how to not make it worse, I pedaled by him.

I came in, picked up my medal, and had time to reflect.

I wore my FUCANCER kit today. Perhaps any other kit and I would have accepted my fate that a flat that ended my day. But when you represent FUCANCER you do not quit.

The first 45 miles until the flat.

June 4, 2012July 23, 2015

Bats in the Belfry

ALTOONA, PENNSYLVANIA

Yesterday, on my way from Virginia to Punxsutawney, Pa., for a wedding, I stopped at the Logan Valley Mall for a “quick” ride up the mountain. I always love the climb and it’s always just enough to make me wonder if I will have to dismount and walk.

A wonderful surprise was new blacktop. This is so much better than three years ago when in September they put down a chip and tar surface. It was treacherous descending in all that loose gravel. But today was fresh blacktop. Sweet!

A bit chilly, 66 degrees, and I could have used arm warmers at the top, but didn’t have time to contemplate my choice. At the top I rode one mile to make sure I had 10 miles in so I could hit 20 on the round trip. Then I decided that it was shorter going back to turn around and ride that great black top than to continue over to Sugar Run Road. I don’t know if it was or not.

Beautiful road surface and still going UP
Glenwhite Road

But I had a nice descent. It was 55 minutes up and 16 minutes down.

I was able to come back today. For more.

Mid 50s and overcast at the start. Wheels down at 10:00 a.m. with a forecast of 70% chance of rain by 1:00 p.m. I wasn’t sure that I would want to do the long route (70 miles) that I planned and would play it by ear.

My Garmin was finicky. Although I had mapped out a “Three Church Ride,” it seemingly wasn’t calling out the turns for me so I was left to guess. Instead of climbing to the top of Frankstown Road via some neighborhood streets I found Garmin routing me around the mountain. Maybe it was smarter than me after all.

Canoe Creek Church

I rode out Scotch Valley Road and followed the signs to Canoe Creek State Park. Seeing an old church and cemetery I almost kept pedaling but the building next door, a garage, caught my eye with its handicapped parking. Out in the country, a country garage, and there was a handicapped spot.

That didn’t make a lot of sense to me unless this was a location people came to. And it was.

The church was the former Canoe Creek United Methodist Church.

In 1958 my father followed his calling to enter the ministry and as a student pastor was assigned to East Freedom with a three church charge. Canoe Creek, then Evangelical United Brethren Church (E.U.B.), was one of those three churches.

No longer an active church, it has been taken over by up to 20,000 bats. And people come here in the evenings to watch the bats.

Getting back on the road I saw a couple of cyclists go through the intersection I was approaching. After turning back onto Scotch Valley road I could see four cyclists riding about 300 meters in front of me. I tried to bridge to them.

As the line of four went up a hill, I caught them as one, Sean, who was on his first ride coming off shoulder surgery, was dropping back. We briefly continued as four and I wondered how long it would be before they realized they had four but it wasn’t the same four.

Sean and Anna

I started rolling with them then introduced myself. All kitted up in green of the Spokes N Skis shop, I met Bryan, Anna, Richard, and Sean.* Finding myself next to Anna I asked her how far they were going and she said they were 10 miles into a 30-mile loop returning to Hollidaysburg.

Perfect. For me.

I decided to ride with them and they were great hosts. They showed me the foot of Locke Mountain Road while we stayed in the valley. Bryan offered to show me the roads to my mapped out route but I told him the roads will always be here – I’d rather stay with the riders today. And we did.

Bryan

Bryan and I chatted, as did Rich and I, and I told them how much I love riding in Altoona. I even reminisced about riding three years ago while battling cancer. Although at first I couldn’t remember all the names, I mentioned the Stacy as one of the riders I met. Joel and Richard were the other two riders. Bryan couldn’t recall a Stacy.

Our formal ride of four, or five to include me, ended at Hollidaysburg. I said goodbye to Bryan and Anna, who will be married on September 15, then Richard and I pedaled on towards Altoona. Once back at the Mall where I parked I decided I could squeeze in a mountain ride too and headed up Sugar Run Road for another 19 miles.

Richard and Anna

On my descent down the new blacktop of Glenwhite Road, I hit 48.5 mph but was disappointed I did not reach 50 mph. This one is a little tricky. You can fly coming down off the Wall but there is a curve of which you cannot see the transition. The mind says to brake but I have been through this before and know I can lean through it.

I braked.

Just a touch. But that was just enough I’m sure to keep me from doing 50. I have to try again.

___
*Bryan Caporuscio, Anna Gauriloff, and Richard Fiore.

EPILOGUE – After returning home, Bryan remembered Stacy — Richard’s wife. He liked that I love the roads around Altoona and that I love to ride. He also stated that Stacy always wondered what happened to that guy with cancer who encouraged her while climbing up the wall in August, 2009, and was quite please I joined their group ride.

May 29, 2012August 31, 2020

Wishing I Could Go

MANASSAS, VIRGINIA

Patrick Sheridan said they would have wheels down at 6:30 a.m. which I thought was too early after a long and hot first day. But the forecast was for another 90° day.

I drove to Nottoway Park in Vienna where I parked then biked to the W&OD and smoked it hoping to meet the cancer group coming up from Alexandria. I reached the end of the W&OD and continued on the Four Mile Run Trail. At a difficult-to-determine intersection, I came upon what looked like 20 riders, all holding cue sheets, discussing which way to go. And some already decided to go straight – which was the wrong way.

I pulled up and said, “can you guys make it all the way to San Francisco without me giving you turn by turn directions?”

I heard someone, I think it was Chris, yell out “Barry!”

Since I rode with four riders yesterday, most in the group did not know me although I did say goodbye to a number of them in Alexandria the day before.

They were glad to see me and quickly decided which group should follow me. Five or six of us headed up the trail to the W&OD. I was talking with a rider from Dallas, Michael Wray.

As we made our way up the trail I asked where Patrick was. I was told he was “way out in front.” Uh, no he wasn’t. Since I had come down the trail I knew who was out in front – nobody.

They decided which group would follow me — even on trails they stayed true to riding in small groups rather than all 30 riding as one — and we took off up the trail. As I made my way up the trail I was asked to slow down. Repeatedly. My response was simply to ask them if they knew how a bunch of 20-something guys asking an old rider like me to slow down really stroked my ego?

Even better was the journal account of Stephanie Ausfresser.

“At the beginning we rode a trail for miles. When a fork in the trail
came and we didn’t know which way to go, Barry, Patrick’s pedal pal
found us and pointed us in the right direction. He rode with us for the
first two days. He was so strong and fast, I was pushing just to keep
up. We made a line to follow each other and break the wind. Even though
it was mostly flat, we were going about 16-18 mph.”

I guided our first group to Nottoway Park then went back to find the others, eventually leading all groups there. Patrick’s group had been first on the trail but missed the Four Mile Run turn and by the time they doubled back, they were last. So I rode with them from Vienna through Fairfax before saying goodbye and riding back to my van.

Checking a text before riding 3900 more miles

I took the long way home through Manassas and there I saw the riders again, far off course. I laughed and directed them back on course. I stopped at a Sheetz and bought 30 hot dogs and found their rest stop. The hot dogs were well received.

But this time I had to say goodbye for good. I had to referee a regional high school soccer match at 5:00 p.m. And some asked me to ride with them. I so wanted to.

I left Patrick’s group with my words of wisdom for them. They are too young.

Too young to really appreciate the good of what they are doing. They will look back in 30 years and say “I did what?” While for some this is a (biking) adventure of a lifetime, it is so much more important than that. We survivors can never thank them enough for what they are doing to raise awareness and, yes, funds. They really do make a difference. Godspeed my friends.

This day and this ride have made me want to retire. Not on the spot and ride with them, although that would be nice. But I want to retire from my job and move on to a place that will make a difference in people’s lives. I would like to elevate my cancer-fighting game like they are doing for 70 days.

May 27, 2012June 1, 2023

Pedal Pals

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

I am a “Pedal Pal.” That is a pen pal for a cyclist who is riding 4,000 miles to raise money and cancer awareness. The 4K for Cancer started at Johns Hopkins as the Hopkins4K but was now taken over by another organization. I was asked to be a Pedal Pal for this year’s group.

My friend, Alan, graciously allowed me to be at his house in Alexandria at 5:30 p.m. and he drove me to Baltimore. Then I could bike from Baltimore to D.C. and back to Alexandria.

When we arrived at 6:45 it was easy to spot the riders. Team Portland wore blue jerseys. Team Seattle wore gold jerseys. Team San Francisco wore white jerseys. The riders were standing in a dedication circle holding hands and one by one announcing who they were riding for on that day.

I had to find Chey Hillsgrove, the Team Portland leader. He is the Pedal Pal for Jake the Hero Grecco. I didn’t know when we would be rolling out and made sure I found him first. He was very gracious and very thankful that I came to say hello to him.

I then found Patrick Sheridan, my Pedal Pal. He introduced me to our riding team of Jeff Graves, Chris Chitterling, and Lauren Shoener, as well as Lauren’s father, who would be riding with us. At some point before we rolled out we had an alumni rider, Zack, join us but I don’t remember meeting him until I gave him my water bottle – because he forgot water bottles. He also looked like Screech on Saved by the Bell.

Shortly after 7:00 a.m., we rolled out of the parking lot and over to the Inner Harbor. A strange sight (to me) was seeing so many of the bikes turned upside down. Perhaps in my circle, we never do that because we would smash our bike computers. The riders were then called over for the opening ceremony.

After the National Anthem, the riders dipped their rear wheels into the Inner Harbor which was followed by a group photo op. The San Francisco group was called up and were ready for the send-off. Although I had pictured a peloton of 30 riders, that was not to be. We were sent off in groups of four or five, each one spaced seemingly 3-4 minutes apart. Our group was the third to go and it was then I saw the mystery alumni rider, Zack.

Within a few hundred yards we were caught up with the two front groups and were in the midst of a 10k run. Perhaps the four riders had cue sheets and our alumni rider did as well but I didn’t. I was simply along for the ride.

We had only gone one mile when we got on a trail littered with broken bottles and glass. Stay classy Baltimore.

We meandered, literally, about the streets. When we looked up we saw riders headed in different directions. So we followed them. We went east on Ostend Street then made a U-turn and went west. And others followed us. I was along for the ride.

Screech then led us down a street with a clear “No Outlet” sign visible. I enjoyed pointing to it while we passed it. We turned around. I was along for the ride.

As little confidence as we had in our alumni leader, others may have had less in theirs because they asked us to go to the front and be the lead group. Jeff then stepped up and took the lead on reading and calling out directions and I did most of the pulling. Just tell me where to turn. It worked well because I had a good odometer. Not sure about the other riders. I can’t imagine doing a cross-country trip without one though.

Once we finally got rolling we got to the BWI Trail. When we came to Stoney Run Road we turned left instead of right. We even stopped about 50 yards from where we turned to contemplate our decision and one of the 4K vans even stopped and didn’t say a word (that we were going the wrong way). Nice. We went 1.5 miles before turning around. We rode back four miles when we could have continued with a right turn and been back on course after two miles.

We stopped in Jessup for Rest Stop #1. While our bonus miles had dropped us back as the third or fourth group in we were the first to leave. As we rolled on the open road we noticed we soon dropped Zack, our “leader.” We waited and discovered he needed a tool to fix his saddle.

Once fixed, we dropped Zack again. This time we learned that he hadn’t eaten breakfast. And that he ran four marathons. And six half marathons. He loved telling us what a great endurance athlete he was.

Zack would have a rough day. He was on a borrowed bike (not his fault), lost his water bottle (partially his fault), and failed to eat breakfast before a 65-mile ride in the heat (completely his fault).

With our confidence in Zack waning, I asked Jeff to read me the street names on the cue sheet. That’s when I learned we would connect with the Capital Crescent Trail, a trail I ride 2-3 times per week. I told him to get us there and I would lead us home. We were brimming with confidence.

We rolled into Rest Stop #2 in College Park. Then things started to go terribly wrong. Zack was insistent that we would have to wait for all the groups to check in and we had heard one group was more than one hour behind. We were not patiently waiting.

To make matters more confusing, Zack told us that one of the drivers (alumni) stated we had to wait while another one was clearly telling us to go. Lauren’s father was with us and was really pushing the issue to ride. When three groups checked in, we left.

We followed the directions and then they just blew up. They made no sense. We showed locals and they simply shook their heads. We used Barry’s rules of navigating: (1) If you’re trying to get to the river (Potomac) follow the creek as it flows downward; and (2) If you don’t know where you’re going at least get there in a hurry.

Even stopping and asking a Maryland Park Policewoman, she was also confused by our directions. So at Queen’s Chapel Road in Hyattsville, we stopped in a broken bottle, glass-strewn Exxon parking lot.

It was hot and we were thirsty. It had been a while since we saw a support van and we were all out of water. I gave Zack some money and told him to go into the CVS and bring back a couple of gallons of water. Mark went across the street and got himself a Coke.

Eventually, both support vans found us and since we had been leading and chalking the turns, the other groups followed. Zack was insistent that we all stay together and Lauren’s dad not-so-gently informed him that we were in a pretty unsafe area. Common sense took over at that point.

That was the end of Zack’s day. Not literally because he kept riding with us but he fell to the back and didn’t say a word after that. He was useless.

Patrick found us a nice car route to D.C. although we rode on the sidewalk on Queen’s Chapel instead of in the street. I told Patrick we couldn’t ride down North Capitol Street which was his plan but we could find parallel streets. Although when he said we would run into Michigan Avenue I thought that could work an alternative route.

We came to the bridge that crossed Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor and I instructed the group to stop. I didn’t tip my hand, at first, but I knew exactly where I was.

I had twice ridden the Metropolitan Branch Trail at lunchtime in the winter and didn’t like it. But I at least recognized the area. I had Jeff chalk an arrow to turn on 7th, then on Monroe, then on 8th. Then we joined the Metropolitan Branch Trail. I told our group the MBT would take us right to Union Station, downtown. Talk about big smiles. They called the vans immediately.

We followed the trail to Union Station then down to the Mall. I took our group to 15th Street simply to chalk it then we backtracked for bonus miles. I took my group for a tour of Hanes Point then Jeff and I went ahead and chalked the rest of the route while the others took a rest in the shade of a tree at the Jefferson Memorial.

Once our task was completed, we took the 14th Street Bridge across the Potomac and followed the Mt. Vernon Trail to Old Town Alexandria. We did briefly stop at Gravelly Point and watched the planes land at Reagan National Airport.

I said goodbye to my new friends and had to find my way to Alan’s house, without a 4K cue sheet. It was easier that way.

May 26, 2012May 29, 2022

My First Bike Ride With Dad

FROSTBURG, MARYLAND

I bike. My dad bikes. (Badly) His bike riding is the subject of many jokes, all behind his back, of course.

I learned to ride a bike in our backyard in New Salem, (Armstrong Co.) Pa. when I was 6 or 7 years old. I never remember riding a bike with my dad.

As a dad, I rode with all my kids, even subjecting Andrew to two days of a planned D.C. to Pittsburgh ride on the last day he was 12 years old. But I never remember riding a bike with my dad. I don’t think I did.

We grew up below the poverty level. The two bikes we had were bought by my brother and me. Bernie actually sold magazine subscriptions enough to get a bike. I was a paperboy for the Piqua Daily Call. When I got enough money I bought a bike. We never had bikes for a family ride.

In Piqua, Ohio, my brother, Bernie, and I would ride together to the Piqua Country Club where we were caddies. We even somehow managed to ride to the public golf course, Echo Hills, with golf clubs on our backs. I was 12 years old. But I never remember riding a bike with my dad.

A few weeks ago I mentioned to my dad about going for a ride on the Great Allegheny Passage, a rail trail that goes from Cumberland, Maryland to McKeesport, Pennsylvania, and soon connecting to Pittsburgh. A large portion is in Somerset Co., Pa.

My dad expressed desire at going but said that he could never keep up with me. I told him not to worry about that.

Although Dad had complained of back pain, he assured me that riding a bike would be no problem. After all, he rode 1.5 miles on the stationary bike in the doctor’s office, he reminded me. So we made a plan to ride on the trail. We would park cars strategically so he would only have to ride one way. And I would make it downhill. I thought.

Artwork at the Eastern Continental Divide

Our plan was to ride east to west going through two tunnels and crossing the eastern continental divide. My sister, Betsy, would join us as well. There was one thing wrong with that plan. Other than the section from Cumberland to Frostburg, the Frostburg to Deal section had the highest climbing of any section on the trail. We would ge going uphill. Damn me.

Arriving in Frostburg, I was shocked at how heavy his bike was as I unloaded it from my van. Dad had better bikes but at least one was stolen from his R.V. while my parents were camping in York, Pa. He ended up finding this old heavyweight bike at a garage sale. It had the one requirement he wanted – coaster brakes.

I love climbing. I am more enthusiastic than talented yet the satisfaction of reaching the top is, well, satisfying. My dad is not a climber. Although the rail trail is just a 1-2% railroad grade it’s not like we’re ascending Mount Washington and its average 12% grade. But to my dad it was.

We had gone but 300 yards and my dad says “I think I’ll walk now.” I can’t describe how I felt. I was annoyed that I drove up this weekend and we rode all of 300 yards and he was walking. I was annoyed at myself for starting here. In fairness, this was one the one section of the trail that wasn’t true to its railroad past and did climb up to 4% or so for 100 yards.

Once over the hump we settled into a pattern of riding for about 1/2 mile and then resting It was sort of funny. Sort of.

I do not know how I will be at 82 years old. Or if I will be. I don’t appreciate how the cardiovascular system works and how it may not replenish the red blood cells as fast. I do know that we didn’t see any other octogenarians on the trail.

The trail was full of wildlife. Five turtles, four snakes, (including one rattlesnake), three rabbits, two chipmunks, and one deer. One guy showed us where the mileage marker had been removed because it also marked a rattelsnake den.

We entered the Bordon Tunnel which was unlit and I think surprised my dad. When he saw through it he said “We can see right through it.” Only once inside did he realize how difficult it was for the eyes to adjust. Dad was in front of a guy who had two lights on bright and he was able to stay in front of those lights.

At the longer Big Savage Tunnel he had gone about 100 yards and I heard him say “Is this only 3/4 mile? – I can walk this.” Don’t walk. Don’t walk. I kept riding, leaving Betsy to stay with him. At the exit I climbed to the top of the portal to take pictures of them exiting, not knowing when they would exit.

But Dad had a brief acclimation to the tunnel which caused some dizziness but quickly adjusted and rode his bike through the tunnel. He made it through safely.

We stopped at the Eastern Continental Divide, the location where rainfall to the east flows to the Chesapeake Bay and Atlantic Ocean watershed and to the west to the Ohio (River), Mississippi, and Gulf of Mexico watershed. It was here I saw an elevation map for the trail painted on the wall. Frostburg was much lower in elevation than Meyersdale, something I hadn’t accounted for. That was my first realization that I had screwed up.

Family photo. Dad. Me. Betsy.
The guy taking the photo said “look mad.” Only Betsy played along.

At the Divide we had another mile to go before reaching Deal. It was here we parked his Jeep as a bailout measure. It was a good measure. He was tired and for someone who had only ridden 1.5 miles on a stationary bike, the 11 miles we just covered, on a trail, was quite an accomplishment. These were 11 trail miles by an 82-year-old with a couple of stents.

Storm clouds were rolling in, the temperature was dropping, and it was a good place for him to stop. I loaded his bike in his Jeep for the drive home. And that concluded my first bike ride with Dad.

Betsy and headed on to Meyersdale where she had parked. It was another seven miles. Arriving at Meyersdale we found my dad, who had driven there, probably to make sure Betsy got back to her card safely.

Our journey over 18 miles took almost 4.5 hours. A little more than four mph.

After dropping off Betsy, I headed back up to the trail to Frostburg. We had been hearing thunder for two hours but could tell it was two mountains over. Yet rain was near us and we had just a brief exposure to it. But going back through Deal the trail was soaked although I hadn’t got caught in it, it did make for harder conditions.

My attire for the day was “relaxed” and I wore sandals and had platform pedals on Andrew’s bike, which he never rides anymore. I went up the rail at a good pace. There are days on the road bike when I don’t average 16 mph yet I made the 18 miles back in little more than one hour. I averaged almost 16.5 mph. I say I smoked it.

I can reflect on the ride. In 82 years this was the first day I rode my with dad. And in Deal, we walked around, where I found a plaque commemorating trail builders. I think a commemorative brick back at the tunnel had been promised, but in the end, they simply erected a plaque. There on the plaque were the names of two trail builders – Barry & Andrew Sherry, a reminder of the days this dad used to ride with his son.

After uploading my ride data, I got an email that RideWith GPS made the Meyersdale to Frostburg section a timed segment. I’ve never been first on any segment but there I was in first. I smoked it going back.