PUNXSUTAWNEY, PENNSYLVANIA
Today was the STATES family reunion in Canoe, Twp., Indiana Co., Pa., near Punxsutawney. I had hoped to leave my parents’ place near Somerset and bike 75 miles to the reunion while they drove there. And I hoped to beat them there. That would not happen.
The temperature was 56 degrees (13℃) when I left. The ride was uneventful until I reached Johnstown. I had planned to follow Rte 271 through Johnstown for about 25 miles, so you would think I could stay on it without a cue sheet for more than one mile. You would be wrong.
I went through Franklin borough just outside Johnstown and was barely paying attention to the signs when I briefly saw one that stated “TRUCK ROUTE 271.” At first, I followed it, but then I doubled back to double-check the sign. And it was clearly marked “truck route.”
To my thinking, this was the truck route, which was longer and not as steep as the regular route. You’d think. You’d be wrong. Or I would be wrong.
So I went straight instead of turning, and I immediately began a really nice three-mile climb and did not regret following this route. Until I reached South Fork, that is. Then I knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
I found two guys who were “railfans” alongside the tracks with their huge cameras. One was from New Jersey. The other was from Vermont. Nice guys, but they certainly couldn’t help me since they were not locals.
I found directional help in the form of a man at a gas station. He had to think about how to help get me back to Rte 271, then discounted a road because it had a “big hill.” He said no bike could get up it. I told him the bigger the better. So he sent me that route. He was right (about the big hill, but wrong about not being able to ride up it). I enjoyed every minute of the climb. I also called my mother and told her not to worry if I wasn’t at the reunion within an hour or two after they arrived because I went far out of my way.
Once back on course, I stopped for a brief break at Duman Lake County Park near Ebensburg. After the break, I made it to Nicktown and then paused to read my cue sheet. I remembered I could turn right and end up in Northern Cambria, where I could refill my water bottles – now empty. But my cue sheet, which I made, had me turn left. I turned left, then made a right turn in half a mile.
As I approached the tiny village of Marsteller, I spotted two huge Rottweilers ahead and fast approaching. I stopped and immediately dismounted. I turned my body to hold my bike between the dogs and myself. And they came right at me.
I figured I had little chance against one dog. And my odds dropped to zero against two of them. I was successful in holding one at bay, but the second one could see my trick and was about to go around my bike and greet me from the back side. It’s almost like pack animals know how to work together to kill their prey.
I was holding a carbon fiber bike. Lightweight and expensive, although the cost meant nothing. In an instant, I wish I were on a $100 steel bike. Or at least aluminum. I figured my only chance was to swing the bike wildly. It was a stupid plan.
I was on a road, but here was more like a street. There was a car parked a little behind me to my right. I thought maybe I could quickly climb onto the hood, then maybe the roof. But what happened next was too fast to accurately recall.
A tiny terrier in the lawn next to me came running out of his yard right to the two huge dogs. They immediately lost interest in me and saw a furry meal instead. The little gal let out a yelp – a big yelp from a little dog – and somehow she got away. I thought she would be mangled to death. Its owner quickly appeared, and with the two of us there, and perhaps confused over what just happened, the Rottweilers scurried away. I really don’t remember why they left or where they went.
During the 60 seconds or so, I was scared to death but outwardly calm. I tried to talk to the dogs, but did not appear aggressive, other than keeping my bike between us, nor did I try to flee. And I kept my eyes on them, never turning my back, which is why I never saw the terrier who came to my rescue.
I am convinced that that little terrier came out of her lawn to protect me. I also believe that had she not appeared, I would have been hurting pretty badly tonight. Or possibly mauled to death. I like dogs. It is a shame that some people don’t train or control theirs.
I was shaken and shaking. I got back on my bike and rode away, not fully comprehending what occurred nor expressing enough gratitude to the dog’s owner for what the terrier did for me.
I have a chance to ride this route again next Saturday, but I’m not sure I want to ride past this stretch of road again. I may elect to drive instead, stopping to thank the owner properly.
I reached Cherry Tree, Pa., and found a country store to refill my bottles. As is my custom, my bike and I went inside the store, and no one questioned me.
The last 20 miles of my day were trying on me. These are real country roads with few houses and a lot of farms. Many folks own dogs, big dogs, and allow them to roam freely. I was on edge the rest of the ride.
At the end of the day, I had ridden 90 miles, climbed more than 8,000 vertical feet, and narrowly avoided one nasty mauling.
EPILOGUE
One week later, Saturday, August 14, 2010, I rode to the same location near Punxsutawney for the LOWMASTER reunion. This time, I avoided Marsteller completely and went through Northern Cambria.
The next day, I drove 50 miles, one way, from my parents’ house in Somerset, Pa. I carried two bags of doggie treats. My quest: To meet the owners and thank the dog.
I took two bags of doggie treats to Biscuit, a 3-year old Yorshire terrier. The family was glad to meet me and wanted to thank ME for saving their dog. That is not what happened.
I explained that I was the one in trouble, and their dog bounded over the 18″ – 24″ retaining wall from their lawn right into these two Rottweilers that had me cornered. I believe Biscuit acted only because she saw me, a total stranger, in great trouble with these dogs. And she counterattacked those dogs on my behalf.
On Friday, August 27, 2010, I did a phone interview with Ashley Watt, a newspaper reporter for the local newspaper in Ebensburg or Northern Cambria. I thought the focus was on Biscuit, the Yorkie, who saved my butt/life. I don’t know when or where it was published, but a magazine called Punxsutawney Hometown picked up the story for their October issue.
“Dog Saves Former Punx’y Resident” (I was born in Punxs’y but I’m not from Punxs’y.)
Professionally, I would get to know the Postmaster of Cherry Tree, Mike Perrone. He told me later that the owners of the store didn’t say anything that day, but thought it was weird someone would bring their bike into a store. Obviously, they never had a bike stolen before.
AND THE REAL EPILOGUE
Gabby would go on to be part of my family. In July 2019, she married and became my 4th cousin, twice removed. Well, spouse of my 4c2r.
On October 25, 2019, Biscuit crossed over the rainbow bridge to doggie heaven. I will be forever grateful to the little dog that likely saved my life.
Map and Stats for August 7 (from Ride with GPS.com)
Map and Stats for August 14 (from Ride with GPS.com)
Those were my dogs and you injured their psyche. I going to sue. My pits won't come out of the yard anymore. You bike people think you own the road. Well, I'm telling you, that next time we'll be ready. I'm feeding them bike parts just to get their psyches back in gear. A big gear, if you get my drift.
Guido
I went back on Sunday to meet the little dog.