United States - peaceonabike

July 23, 2012July 30, 2021

Mr. Pork Chop

LAKE VIEW, IOWA

Sunday was hot and Monday (today) got hotter. With 20,000 cyclists you will never be first or last at anything. Never. Get up at 4:30 to be first? Guaranteed that someone is already on the road.

Even if you wanted to sleep in, which on RAGBRAI is until sunrise, it’s almost impossible. With our charter, we had a campsite and all tents were close together. Someone was always up before sunrise tearing down their tent and dragging their roller bags to the truck. And talking. And so I was up before sunrise.

The daily routine was to roll up the sleeping bag (used to lay on, never to crawl in), dress for the day’s ride, smoosh the clothes back into the suitcase, tear down and pack the tent, then take the two bags to the truck. Check the air in the tires, jump on the bike and roll. Breakfast, if at all, would come on the road.

I wore my new Cyclists Combating Cancer kit, thinking of 8-year-old Jacob Grecco getting hyperthermia treatments in Germany.

On the bus ride from Clinton to Sioux City we saw the official RAGBRAI welcome video. It was clear that Mr. Pork Chop was a tradition not to be missed. But there were other vendors too. And I found the Schwan Ice Cream Man.

RAGBRAI is a celebration of Iowa. Maybe of cycling too, but mostly Iowa. For the host towns, it is a major event to be selected. But even for the pass-thru towns like Schaller, it is huge.

Churches, schools, civic groups, clubs, and sports teams all come out to greet and welcome the riders. And to sell things, mostly food. But not everyone is selling. Like Punxsutawney with the Groundhog Queen or Meyersdale (Pa.) with the Maple Queen, and thousands of communities with their various themed queens, this town wanted to greet us with their best. And I met Schaller’s 2012 Popcorn Queen, Heather Hansen.

Heather was mingling with other friends when I asked for a photograph. Once I did it seemed a line form to get a picture with her.

I only had to walk a few meters through Schaller before being able to jump on the bike and roll. Once back on the road, I met Rod Ambelang from Kansas City. We were wearing the same CCC jersey so we talked about — cancer. We rode for a while before I joined an ill-formed paceline and went down the road far ahead of him.

I wasn’t with the paceline long and we broke up when we came to the roadside stand of Mr. Pork Chop, a RAGBRAI tradition. Unfortunately, so is the stupid tradition of rides going by yelling “Mr. Pork CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!” For $7 I got a chop so thick that I could not eat the entire thing. But I tried it.

At Sac City, I stopped to see the World’s Largest Popcorn Ball. It’s a celebration of Iowa and the Sac City natives were proud of their ball. This was straight out of National Lampoon’s Vacation.

World’s Largest Ball of Popcorn, Sac City, Iowa

After Sac City I caught Rod again. We rode together the last 10 miles to Lake View and then said goodbye.

Once I got to camp and set up, I surmised the situation. I just rode 65 miles. It was 100º. I could shower, put on clothes, then sweat through them. Or — I could ride.

I asked a local resident how far it was around the lake and she told me seven miles. So I did five loops of the lake trying to keep cool. And to see if it was foolish to ride 100 miles before tomorrow’s century ride.

After a shower, I took a shuttle (a wagon pulled by a tractor) into town for a $9 spaghetti dinner at the United Methodist Church. The line, unbeknownst to me when I entered it, was more than one hour, the first 30 minutes spent in the 100º sun. Inside we were ushered into the sanctuary until our number was called to eat.

I sat beside a couple and asked Emily Fuhrman where she was from. She said Fort Wayne, Indiana, and introduced me to her boyfriend who was from Houston, Ohio (pronounced House-ton, by the way). She was hesitant at first to name the town because it was so small no one would have ever heard of it. A small town about 40 miles north of Dayton. When she said Houston I paused and said, “Oh, I attended school there.” And I had attended school there in 1966-1967. It’s a small world indeed.

My good friend, Scott, came rolling in with a group around 3:00 or 4:00. He asked me when I arrived at I told him 11:00 a.m. He was astounded. “How you could do that, he asked?” And I told him I rode 100 miles today.

I proceeded to ask Scott about his day. He said they rolled out but stopped to grab breakfast in Cherokee. In Aurelia, they stopped for refreshments (not sure if this was alcohol or not).

In Schaller, Scott and some friends went to a beer garden and spent a lot of time there then sought relief from some sprinklers. In Sac City, he went into an air-conditioned church (which was open to riders) and fell asleep on a pew. Then, perhaps, another beer garden.

Just rolling through Iowa
Photo Credit: **Rob Ambelang**

Two different approaches to RAGBRAI. Me, I just wanted to ride my bike. Scott, on the other hand, wanted to enjoy everything there was about Iowa. We were both happy with our different approaches to this ride.

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.

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.

February 26, 2012August 31, 2020

Velodrome Country

TREXLERTOWN, PA

I wasn’t sure that I would get back here. I was here to attend a fundraiser last night for Jake Grecco, a 7-year old battling brain cancer — he’s also the son of my 4th cousin, Stacey Lowmaster. After the fundraiser when Stacey asked if we would like to meet Jake. All cycling was off. Jake trumps cycling every time.

L-R: Gary Gravina, Betsy Sherry, Stacey Gravina, Jake Grecco, Barry Sherry

After a wonderful morning visiting Jake and his family, then saying goodbye to my sister, Betsy, I realized I still had just enough time to return and finish yesterday’s ride. It was windy but not with the unsafe gusts of yesterday. The route, downloaded to my Garmin, proved to be one with lots of turns. I had no idea where I was going – In Garmin We Trust.

Valley Preferred Velodrome, Trexlertown, Pa.

I retraced yesterday’s attempted route for six miles and then went down some new roads. I had hoped to ride 26 miles without putting a foot down but when I came to a beautiful barn I knew I had to stop to take some pictures.

I found a unique shed with implements attached to the outside. I stopped at the foot of the driveway then asked permission “to come aboard.” The owner was very pleased that I asked permission to photograph his shed and glad that I found it interesting.

Near Kutztown I realized I was in Amish Country. I passed an Amish wood working shop then met a group of cyclists coming in the opposite direction. They had good form but wore no helmets. They were on road bikes but wore no “fancy” cycling clothes. Then I realized they were young Amish men returning from church. I wanted a photo but respected their beliefs and simply waved. And they waved back.

I turned down a country road and spotted two women with three large dogs. And I had to go past them. I love dogs but still remember my encounter in 2010 in which two Rottweillers tried to get to know me better. I didn’t want to pedal past them and trigger a chase reaction. Well, a chase and bite reaction.

I slowed then called out “safe to pass?” One of the women said it was although the three dogs were running loose. They may have had different ideas. So I stopped. The women gathered up the dogs and two of them came over to sniff me and say hello.

We were friends. At this point, I was about three miles from the finish. I just pedaled home thankful for another day on the bike. After returning home, I found out from my cousin, Doug Sherry, that I had passed about two miles from his house. I feel so bad. Next time he better have food waiting.

February 25, 2012August 31, 2020

Safe, Unsafe, or Stupid

TREXLERTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA

We, or at least I, have a saying: There are three types of riding – “Safe, unsafe, and stupid.”
And often the line between unsafe riding and stupid riding is blurred.

I came to Trexlertown, Pa. which is home to the famous Valley Preferred Cycling Center’s Velodrome. It was cold (38°) and windy (winds were steady at 30-40 mph with gusts even higher). I had budgeted time to ride before meeting my sister, Betsy, in Allentown.

Sorry, folks! America’s Favorite Velodrome is Closed for the Season.

Snow was blowing. The roads were bare so the snow wasn’t sticking but it was blowing. And here in the mecca of east coast cycling, I saw no one.

I took my time. I didn’t want to go out in this weather but knew I must. Ten minutes passed. The van was rocking from the wind and I could feel the cold air blowing in. I didn’t want to go but yet…

…I was here and it was time to MAN UP!!

Then I saw three cyclists arrive and that was my cue. If they could ride, I had no excuses. I kitted up and headed off. I had briefly thought about asking to join them but figured they were stronger than me. Plus I am nursing a torn meniscus so I didn’t need to push it to keep up.

I headed off into the wind. And it was strong. I had downloaded a ride that was on RideWithGPS to my Garmin bike computer with just the right distance (28 miles) and turns (a bunch) to be interesting. After 3-4 miles of fighting the winds I saw three cyclists coming at me and they were soft-pedaling. It was the three guys that had been in the parking lot.

My thought only turned to how slow they were going, with the wind, and me kicking myself knowing I could stay with them. I regretted not going with them.

I then hit the open road unprotected by houses or trees; just open fields. The winds were howling. At times they were incredibly loud and other times there was an eerie silence.
Down the road, a gust hit me and almost caused me to crash. I fought with both hands to steer and although I stayed upright, I had been blown across both lanes of the country road. Had another car been passing me, or another one been coming from the opposite direction, I would have been in a crash with an automobile. It was scary that I could not steer the bike in a straight line. Nor could I hear cars coming because the winds were howling so loud.

This was stupid riding. I guess it took me to realize that it was stupid to know that it was unsafe. And it was very unsafe. At that point, I decided I had to turn around.

I was determined to retrace some of my route but also to follow road signs for the shortest way back to the start. And then I discovered why my three friends were going slow even with a tailwind. They couldn’t hold their bikes in a straight line. I thought a tailwind was a reward for fighting the wind but today it was no reward. Today it was a menace.

In a year in which all my rides thus far went a minimum of 16 miles, I had to cut this off at 11 for which I was thankful. I was smart enough to park the bike knowing I can ride another day.

Now stupid riding was yesterday. Bob Ryan (NBC meteorologist) had forecast a high of 70° and I came prepared for 70°. It never got out of the 50s and I headed out for a ride in the pouring rain. Stupid.

I went around Hains Point and was soaked. What was the point? I hadn’t done a ride all year less than 16 miles and riding in the cold rain became a matter of pride. I couldn’t let this be the shortest ride of the year. So I suffered on. Yesterday was stupid.

Today — today was simply unsafe. It is why it was the shortest ride of the year although in a few days when I start evening rides I will go shorter.

This area is beautiful. I would like to return some other day but without these winter winds.

EDIT/EPILOGUE – This was my first day riding, or attempting to ride, at the Velodrome in Trexlertown. Cancer sucks but it has also giving me lots of opportunities and friendships that I otherwise would not have had. One of those has been an annual trip to Trexlertown with Spokes of Hope. I would come back to the Velodrome late each summer and have a chance to ride on the track as well as a Saturday morning group ride to Topton and back.

November 20, 2011September 5, 2020

A Perfect Fall Day for a Ride

THE PLAINS, VIRGINIA

With a forecast of 68° (it didn’t materialize but it did get to 62°) it was a perfect day to ignore the leaves piling up in the lawn and go for a ride.

I found a “CC” ride and decided I would jump in. But I arrived at 9:58 a.m. and decided not to rush but just leave on my schedule although the group was rolling out at 10:00 a.m.

There is something about pulling up with license plate marked UPDHEZ and wearing a jersey from Alpe d’Huez. It’s like a target on my back — I am expected to be better than anyone else.

ALPDHZ was taken so I got this plate to commemorate climbing L’Alpe d’Huez. Intimidating, huh?

As the group rolled out there was one other person who was getting ready. He looked at me and said “You don’t look like you’ll have any problem catching the group. Yea, a big ego stroke. So I waited for him to get ready.

We were “wheels down” at 10:10 a.m. We rode at a sensible pace — never hammering it to catch the group because we knew with our pace we would catch them. And we did just 7.5 miles into the ride. But the group was already strung out so we rode through the group, overtaking 10-12 more riders, one each at a time.

Like many group rides, we’re not much on formality. I never did catch the name of the guy I rode with. You never know if you’re going to ride with someone for 10 minutes or 10 miles.
At times as we rode I thought he might drop me then other times I was stronger, but as we approached Aldie I did pull away. For good.

At the Aldie rest stop, I was anxious to keep moving. I’m not a fan of rest stops unless it’s 100° and the lower level the ride the longer the rest stops are and just drag on. As soon as the first three guys left I jumped in and joined them. Greg, Adam, and John. The guy I first rode with was still resting. (I only know these guys names because they asked me mine with about five miles to go after we had ridden together for 30 miles.)

They had been riding together for the first 15 miles and I jumped in without a word. I sort of had to prove that I belonged. I stayed with them until the next hill and then took off. First up the hill. Then I soft-pedaled. I belonged.

After the rest stop at Atoka, and I tried to convince them not to stop, I set the pace for the next two miles. Then I quietly pulled off and moved to the back. Without a word, they were all experienced enough to recognize that we should ride in a paceline with each rider taking turns at the front.

And we did. My last two pulls ended up with me pulling away so I simply backed off the pace. I never thought of hammering home solo today although I knew I could pull away by myself.

This is horse country, lots of money here, and I saw deer running through the woods and jumping over the fences. So graceful. So beautiful. And I thought how differently I see them from some of my Facebook friends who see them only as a target.

Near the end, we were adjacent to Great Meadows at The Plains, Va., home of the Gold Cup races. It was a beautiful four miles back to start. We passed a farm stand with fresh produce and apple cider. It is definitely Fall in Virginia.

As we pulled back into town I went to the front, but not attacking and being a jerk, just enough so I could say “last to start, first to finish.” I had no problem with the pace today — we rode at a BB clip and may have been one of the last good days of the year for a long ride.

I left the parking lot, then stopped by the farm stand and bought their two remaining jugs of cider. I love riding. I love Fall. I love cider.

Distance: 50.8 miles
Average Speed: 16.1 mph

October 22, 2011September 6, 2020

Mt Lemmon – A 30-Mile Climb

TUCSON, ARIZONA

Peter Jenkins, author of a A Walk Across America, wrote something to the effect that if two strangers told him he should see something he took notice but if three did, he had to do it. I have made that sort of my mantra in life too.

Traveling last May from Oakland to Phoenix I flew with Dr. Paul Mittman who told me I should come out and ride Mt. Lemmon. I had never heard of Mt. Lemmon. Then one of the riders on last year’s Tour de France trip, Deirdre Mullaly, told me about riding Mt. Lemmon. That was two.

Last Christmas, Adrian Register from Great Britain was visiting his grandmother in Arizona and rode Mt. Lemmon. And he also told me that I must do it.

That was it. Three recommendations from three people who don’t know one another.

Mt. Lemmon, it is.

Although I have a nice bike crate, it is still such a pain to fly with a bike that for one day I decided to rent. I located Broadway Bikes, online, and made a reservation. I picked up the bike Friday at 5:00 p.m., found an In N Out Burger for dinner, then went back to the hotel.

Wheels down at 8:00 a.m. I was at the Safeway at E. Tanque Verde and Catalina Hwy, it was 66°.

The first four miles were on Catalina Highway a straight-as-an-arrow road that leads to the base of the climb. Then the road kicks up.

I rode for a little while with a man and his exchange student son from Madrid. Like many cyclists, he was very nice but we didn’t hang around long enough to exchange names. In many ways, cyclists are just two ships just passing in the night and there usually isn’t any attempt to become personal. I may be the exception because I enjoy meeting people.

But we rode and talked and I found they were only going to Mile 5 or 6. He asked if I was going to Mile 10 and seemed surprised when I told him I was going all the way to Mount Lemmon. I didn’t have a good feel for where the road would lead me – I just knew the road signs pointed to Summerhaven, some 25 more miles ahead. And up.

At Mile 5, or 6, they pulled over and I kept going. At first. As we said goodbye he turned and offered me his water. I said no. As I rode away I thought differently, turned around, and told him that I would take him up on the offer.

He told he I didn’t have enough water to make it to the top and he was right. I finished off one bottle then refilled it. It was like having three bottles instead of two. But I would want four.

At the base of the climb you are in the desert with tall Sagura catci all around. The Tucson valley is at approximately 2,500 feet. I’ve read there are six different eco systems; it’s like driving from Mexico to Canada in a span of 30 miles. I can point out four and I’m no biologist.

At 5,000 feet, the cacti are gone and you are in a barren area with lots of rock croppings. Yet higher about 7,000 feet, you’re in a fir forest and at 8,000 feet there are Aspins.

I don’t think there were many cyclists on the road. I would guess less than 50. I do think at 8:00 a.m. I was one of the last to start the climb. And for good reason. It gets friggin hot in the desert, even in late October. But what goes up must come down and most cyclists seemed to be coming down while I was going up.

Look carefully. Someone left water in a jug by the pole. It was hard but I resisted the urge to fill up from this jug. Actually, I should have but maybe it was hot water.

Notice the retaining wall for this highway at the top of the picture

At Safeway, as I was getting ready, a couple was also getting ready to go and I thought I might jump in with them but decided not to. They were never far ahead of me and I sawe them turn around about Mile 10.

This couple thought the views were nice. They were overdressed.

The road seemed to average 5-6% which makes it the equivalent of the first seven miles of Skyline Drive coming out of Front Royal, Va. Except this would be for 30 miles. In the heat.

Looking back, and down, at the road just climbed

As I saw people going back down I was beginning to wonder if I should do this. Or if I should go all the way to Mount Lemmon. Yet I came for this purpose and there would be no turning back.

No water for you. (In fairness, I may have looked parched but neither did I ask for any.)

Halfway up I was passed by four guys with Carmichael Training Systems. This is a training camp that cyclists can go to. They were in their 30s and 40s and I thought about riding with them but wisely decided not to. Running out of water, I passed their support person. He was holding out new water bottles for the paying customers. I wanted him to offer me some water but he did not.

I was allocating my water — one sip/gulp every mile, when I came to the Palisades Campground around Mile 25 and saw the one source of water on the ride. I pulled over and filled my bottles from the faucet.

Water! at Palisades Campground. I hope it was free.

Back on the climb the four guys came whizzing down past me. I thought it strange they didn’t go to the top but in 200 meters or so I was at a summit. It was clear this was where they turned around but where was Mt. Lemmon? I kept going.

I was flying downhill over the top and wondering where the heck I was going. The only thing for sure was I was getting there fast and eventually, I would have to turn around and climb this on the way back.

Three miles later I was in Summerhaven, and after missing the turn and righting myself by talking to a local, or at least a local tourist from Tucson, I started the climb up the ski road. After almost 30 miles of climbing at 5-6%, the road kicked up to 8-9% with grades of 12%. I was hurting.

I passed a famous pie restaurant (I know because it said “famous pie restaurant”)* and entered a section beyond a gate. I saw a sign for “next two miles” and wondered how I could finish this climb after having climbed for 30. But I must. It’s one time. It’s Mount Lemmon.

I’m not the strongest climber – just enthusiastic, and my bike is made from carbon fiber (light) with a triple front ring (low of 30 teeth) and a pretty helpful 27 or 28 tooth cassette on the rear. I rented an aluminum bike (not as light) with compact crank (low of 34 teeth — harder than 30) and a rear cassette of 23 (much harder than 27 or 28). I divided one number by another and I calculate that it was 38% harder with this gear setup than the one at home. I may be grossly wrong because it didn’t feel any harder than maybe 35%.

I really did not look ahead at the road – just kept turning over the pedals. At the end of the two miles I came to a small parking lot and the road was fenced off with a no trespassing sign. The end.

There was no summit sign. In fact, I don’t think this was the true summit if there is a true summit. But it’s as far as the road allowed. I met three women from Germany having a picnic in the back of a pickup truck. They were gracious enough to take my picture and offered me a tomato. I declined the tomato.

I headed back down the road, and came to a hairpin curve and pulled over for another photo op. None up here offered a clear view but this was one of the best. Two women had pulled over and were picnicking by the drop off. They offered me a nectarine and strawberries. I accepted.

Back on the road, I hit 45 mph, disappointed that I didn’t hit 50, but I wasn’t on my own bike and the road didn’t allow for more. At Summerhaven, I began the three-mile climb back up to Palisades. Shut up Legs!

Once I crested at Palisades I began the 30-mile descent to my car. And it was sweet. While many curves were marked at 20 mph for cars, I never had to brake. Not once. I even went through one at 40 mph.

Reaching the valley floor it was hot – it hot 100° – and I regretted not having stopped for more water before my descent. I was parched, again, but the car was only 5-6 miles away.

I reached the car satisfied. Mount Lemmon is a beautiful ride. Water is probably the hardest thing to prepare for. If I did it again I would probably carry a couple of water bottles in my jersey as well as on the bike. Or a Camelbak.

Dr. Mittman. Deirdre. Adrian. You were right. This was one super ride.

___
*This was the Sawmill Run Restaurant