So why build up to a big event? The first-ever mountain hill climb race I ever entered was the granddaddy of them all — Newton’s Revenge up the Mount Washington Auto Road in New Hampshire. Then when it was canceled I rode up Mount Evans in Colorado, the highest paved road in the U.S. Now one month later, I found myself in my first ever registered century ride. This was not a flat 100 miles like the Sea Gull Century but the most physically demanding one I could find — the Blue Ridge Extreme Challenge, which featured 11,000 feet of vertical climbing.
Early yesterday I went for a short ride which turned into one much longer than I planned. Just a stroll around the neighborhood and up some steep, but short, climbs, ended up as a 32-mile ride in 95° heat and 95% humidity. I was absolutely drained after that ride. I could not hear myself talk and was seeing black spots — or were they white?
I drove down to Afton Mountain Saturday afternoon to be near the start since leaving the house at 4:00 a.m. would probably in itself, wipe me out. I checked into the hotel and started reading the road rules. Problem number one: There was a five-hour cutoff to be under at mile 56 or forced to take a shorter route home. I didn’t know how that would work out.
The race promised two 10 km climbs, the first being a 10 km Category 2 climb at mile 50 and the second about 15 km Category 1. Each climb featured a 2.3 mile (4 km) 11% grade of “tantalizing joy.” Or higher — 18% on Reed’s Gap
View from the parking lot at race start
The race went off at 7:30, actually, it was 7:33 a.m. which would become important in my final time. It was overcast and 70° – perfect riding weather. Four hundred riders started with a police escort about four miles down the mountain into Waynesboro.
We were flying down the mountain which is important for calculating average speed. Nothing like a few miles at 30 mph. I looked down and noticed I was going zero. The magnet on the front spoke had slipped up and I was torn between stopping and fixing it or just letting it go. After all, we would have the official time at the end. But I eventually pulled over, did a quick fix, fell behind a hundred riders then jumped back in with the group.
The road was flat down in the valley and we kept a good pace and went flying by Rest Stop One at 17 miles. Here we formed a group of riders who would stay together much of the day. I met Ashley Hightower, a chef from Charlottesville. Eventually, we formed up with some others including Shana Garland, a triathlete from Virginia Beach.
When we arrived at the second rest stop (Mile 29) the one port-a-john had been tipped over. But that didn’t stop a number of the men from relieving themselves right beside where the port-a-john was. Even the Tour de France fines riders for public urination and these riders simply had no class or self-respect. There were women riders in our group as well as women volunteers at the tables that were set up offering food and water to the riders.
The ride was quite enjoyable until we reached Vesuvius. By then it was raining and we began the long climb each at our own pace. Ashley had an incredible spin and quickly was gone up the hill. I went at my own pace hoping to meet them at the top. Eventually, I looked up and to my surprise was Ashley, walking. This absolutely broke my spirit. She was the strongest climber and if she was walking I had no chance. I caught her and asked if we were going to ride or walk together. She chose walk which, truth be told, was fine with me.
I had never walked on a climb before but saw a number of riders had been beaten by the mountain. We stayed together for a while then decided to ride some more. She got into her rhythm and then I cramped (quadriceps). I was done. So I walked some more before resuming.
Ashley Hightower
We reached rest area number four at the top of the climb. I kiddingly asked one of the volunteers if it was 12:30, the cutoff time not to be allowed to continue. He said, “Sorry, you beat it by at least an hour.” We continued.
This time it was over the Blue Ridge Parkway and our “descent” started with another climb for another half mile or so. We sort of broke apart with me bringing up the rear but once we crested I eventually was able to make my way to the front. At one point I had a car in front of me keeping me from catching the other riders but was able to pass the car and still not cross the yellow line – a rules violation.
That left me wondering if I was that good at descending or just someone willing to take foolish risks to catch up? I’m not sure. But at one point I was so far ahead of our group that I pulled over and waited for them. My thrill for the day was bombing the descents and this was a ten-mile descent. Oh, how I wished the ride ended at the bottom.
While enjoying every descent you know you will pay for them later. And I did. Our sixth rest stop, at Mile 80, was at a store at the base of the climb to Wintergreen. Of course, I didn’t know what was in store for me having never ridden this route. We began together but eventually broke apart. It was a gradual climb, Reid’s Gap, that kept getting steeper. I went as far as my legs would allow knowing that I had been foolish for riding so far in the heat on Saturday.
The temperature in the last 20 miles had risen 14°. It had gone from 70° and cloudy to 84° and sunny. I worried about the heat but was thankful it wasn’t with us most of the day. But the humidity was draining me.
I looked up the road and could see riders starting to “paperboy” the climb (ride back and forth across the road). They were struggling. I had no energy and I dismounted. I was pushing the bike at 3 mph and noticed that the riders in front were not gaining any distance on me. I continued for a while then mounted and rode some more.
About half a mile from the top was the seventh rest stop. Here were some volunteers from the Wintergreen Fire and Rescue. One said, “Grab him and I’ll take the bike.” They met me and had me sit down right away. They gave me some bottled water and put some cold towels on my neck. I removed my helmet and soaked down my head too. After the forced stop of about 8-10 minutes, they gave me a push to get going again.
Someone asked me if they pulled every rider off their bike on the ascent. “No,” I stated, “probably only those who looked ready to die.”
I reached the top which is the Blue Ridge Parkway. I expected 13 miles of downhill but to my surprise, was met with another four miles of climbing. Grrr. It wasn’t steep, just unrelenting. I simply kept my pace and started clock-watching, wanting to get in under eight hours. At first I thought I could do the final 13 miles in 26 minutes (30 mph) but faced with uphills, I knew I was toast if I was to finish in less than eight hours.
Still, I hit the downhill portions and was able to roll. But I knew the last 200 yards was a 20% grade up to the finish line. And I got there a couple of minutes too late. It was 3:30 p.m. I had caught a rider, Malcolm Lively, on his descent and didn’t want to pass. So I “sat on his wheel” the last half mile and followed him around the last turn.
“Those sadistic bastards!” he yelled out to no one as he started to climb. “They just had to put this climb at the end like we haven’t suffered enough.” I agreed quietly.
As I reached the top I heard “Here is number 427, Barry Sherry, of Woodbridge.” I had finished.
At the finish line, there was pizza. While my body needed food it struggled to get a piece of cheese pizza down. I was offered a Blue Ridge Extreme beer glass from the event but turned it down. I just wanted to get out of my soaking wet clothes and go home.
Epilogue: More than anything my ride in the extreme heat and humidity the day before coupled with not knowing how to properly replenish left me woefully short of energy for this challenge. My time was 8:03 (remember those three minutes at the beginning?) but 45 minutes was spent at the various rest stops. One rider finished in less than five hours and 36 did it in less than six hours. They’re animals! By my account, I was number 160 and was still ahead of 19 other riders including more than one hour ahead of five riders and three who did not finish. Although I was disappointed virtually everyone comments how few people can attempt such a feat and accomplish it. Maybe. Still, I want to do better.
About this map — This was drawn from memory on RidewithGPS.com four years after the ride and does not reflect the actual route of the day. The ride to Waynesboro and from Vesuvius to Beech Grove back to the mountain is accurate. However, we went farther into the I81 valley and actually did 100 miles on the day.
It was difficult finding a place to rent a good road bike in Denver but I settled on 240 Ski and Bike in Idaho Springs. They didn’t have a true road bike but they basically had road bikes with straight, not drop-down, handlebars. I drove out I-70 to Exit 240 at Idaho Springs and was there by 8:15 a.m.
It was a beautiful morning and just a little cool. A great day for riding. The temperature was maybe around 60°. I wore a long-sleeve Under Armour base layer (cold) then my Mt Washington/Newton’s Revenge jersey. Bike shorts.
We had to agree on terms for the bike. A decent time to the summit, according to Bicycling magazine was 3.5 hours. Of course, there’s the ride back too. The salesman at the shop looked at me and said “You look like you’re in good shape so you should be able to do it in a decent time. I’ll put you down for five hours and call it four.”
I left Idaho Springs for what was to be a straight shot to Mt. Evans. I wasn’t sure how far it was and stupidly, was afraid to ask. I had read 28 miles but wasn’t sure if that was one-way or round trip. I also read it was 14 miles. Of course, it’s both, depending on whether you start at Idaho Springs or at Echo Lake.
As soon as I left Idaho Springs I crossed I-70 and immediately began climbing. I saw a sign for Mt Evans Fee Area – 14 Miles and hoped that it was 14 miles to the top of Mt. Evans. I pictured a plateau and even thought that perhaps the road continued down the other side. I was so ignorant.
The road up started pretty easy, especially the first six miles. Unfortunately, there are no elevation markers except at the major mileposts. I think I would have liked to know every time I went through another 1000 feet. There were no flats for the next 14 miles.
The route was through Arapaho National Forest and was absolutely gorgeous. I thought many times about stopping to take photos. But wanting to make good time and the absence of a good camera made me soldier on. I had just two bottles of water with me and every mile when I saw the mile marker I took a drink as I tried to ration the water I had with me. I wasn’t sure if I was climbing 14 or 28 miles and that affected how, and when, I drank.
Mount Evans Toll Road
Mostly when I ride I catch other cyclists and the few times I am passed it can be demoralizing. Around the seven-mile marker, I was passed by a cyclist. Then around Mile 10, I was passed by two more guys. This was getting old. They were seemingly telling me how old I was.
I didn’t have a computer on the bike but had started my watch. I had started at a 5-minute/mile pace (12 mph) but did not expect to maintain that as the grade increased and the air got thinner. The elevation at the start in Idaho Springs was 7,524 feet (2,293 meters).
At Mile 14 I reached Echo Lake. Here the road parallels the lake for a quarter-mile and is dead flat. The flat pedaling was a welcome relief. It was an accomplishment to reach Echo Lake and the entrance to Mt Evans. Here also was Echo Lake Lodge. And store.
Echo Lake
I caught the two cyclists who passed me as they had stopped for a rest. I borrowed an Allen key to lower my seat. It had been too high which prevented me from getting into a good cycling rhythm. I also learned that they were with a group and were the only two who could go off the front. The rest couldn’t keep up with them so at least the group didn’t pass me.
I went into the store and bought another bottle of water for the next 14 miles — to the summit of Mt. Evans. This would be the only stop I would make and I wouldn’t call it a rest stop. It was necessary to adjust my seat and get more water. Total time off the bike was only three minutes. Riding time to the lodge had been 99 minutes.
I left the lodge, started towards Mt. Evans, and immediately came to the main entrance. I was prepared to beg my way out of the three-dollar entrance fee for having “suffered enough already.” Indeed, I had told the other cyclists that I read one could beg their way out of the fee by stating that you were only riding to the summit then turning around and coming right back. I didn’t have to. The ranger said he could waive the fee if I told him I was going to ride the summit and then immediately come back down. I assured him I was.
Almost immediately the road turned up. There are two quick switchbacks then another two in about one mile. But then the road straightened out quite a bit until the final ascent.
Ahead on the first switchback, I saw two riders. By the time I rounded the switchback, I saw just one remaining with a rider much further up the road. I finally caught someone! I slowed as I passed trying to make conversation. This gentleman was from Evergreen, Colorado and it was clear he was going too slow for my pace. I was on pace for a three-and-a-half-hour climb and didn’t want it to take longer. Plus I knew the road would turn up in anger later.
Mount Evans Road
In a few more minutes I caught the second rider. And we began to ride together for a while. At a certain grade, we seemed to have the same pace. But on a lesser grade, maybe 3-4%, he seemed to be a little stronger. When the road turned up I would pass him. We didn’t discuss it but we took turns leading each other. And it worked.
Somewhere about four miles into this road we passed the tree line and entered a treeless alpine environment. For those miles, we stayed with one another. Around Mile 10 (24 total) we reached Summit Lake (12,830′ or 3,911 meters) and here the road turned down. It was paved but very rough. My new friend knew the road and took off down it. I struggled to keep up. It wasn’t steep but a gentle downgrade although the road was rough. Winter freezing plus spring thawing and refreezing had buckled the road in many places and left potholes in others. I didn’t want to crash out being stupid.
Mount Evans Road
After passing Summit Lake we started climbing the final section of the day. Only 1400 more feet (427 meters) of climbing. By my calculations, the grade kicked up to 9-10%. Here the switchbacks start in earnest. I think there were 14 of them. I went ahead of my new cycling friend. I saw him as we turned the next couple of switchbacks but after a while lost contact. I don’t think that either he or his friend made it to the top.
Made it. Must. Sit. Down.
I kept climbing higher. The switchbacks kept getting closer, maybe 200 yards or so between each turn and the grade seemed to increase with each one. I was trying to keep a steady rhythm as I pedaled but the legs were burning and sometimes it felt better to switch to a bigger gear and stand. But as I did I noticed that I no longer could stand long without getting light-headed or dizzy. Best to sit on the seat and tap away.
It was painful but always a good pain. Physically. Mentally it was tough because it was easy enough to turn around. I tried to focus no more than 100 yards ahead. Once above the tree line you can see that road climbing forever. If you allow yourself to look too far ahead surely you will want to quit.
I did frequently look back at the road just traveled. When I looked next to see if I could find my cycling partner I saw another cyclist. And he was slowly gaining on me. Except when he caught me, he was a she and she pedaled right by me. That was enough to defeat me. But it didn’t. I figured that I would do this ride once in my life and may as well dig deep to find the energy to continue.
I kept banging through the switchbacks, and getting close to the summit, saw a mountain goat. I wasn’t about to stop and take a picture because I don’t know if I would have got going again. But a car was about 25 yards behind me and I pointed to the goat. They stopped to take pictures.
I had a hard time determining where the climb ended. It just seemed to climb forever. Each time I made a turn I hoped I could see the top but when I looked up, always a bad idea, there seemed to be more road as far as I could see. But when I looked again I could see more switchbacks but this time they were crowded with people walking. No cars. No bikes.
I was there. I rounded one more switchback and could see the small parking lot. I found the energy for a sprint if you could call it that. Out of the saddle, I pedaled hard for the last 50 yards. Then I coasted home in the parking lot.
Barry Sherry at Mount Evans
I pulled in and talked with the young lady who passed me a few minutes earlier. She is from Colorado and rides for Whitman College (Washington). I think living at altitude helps and so does being young. She said it doesn’t help but she will understand in about 30 years. It helps.
(Note: Upon returning home I Googled Whitman College only to discover that Whitman women won the NCAA Div. II national title in 2005 and 2006 and finished third in 2007. No wonder I got smoked although it wasn’t that bad. One of their riders, Mara Abbott, just won the USA Cycling National Road Championship at Seven Springs.)
I dismounted and immediately became dizzy and looked for a place to sit. I can say that climbing at altitude was no problem for the lungs. Can’t say that they were burning nor that I was gasping for breath. I think I held something back from my effort all day as I wasn’t about to give 100% effort (sprint) then not have anything left. I didn’t know how much to ration so I kept the steady pace going during the climb. But I never felt sick or out of breath. Cramping was never an issue so my hydration plan was at least adequate. But I was very lightheaded once I was walking.
I sat down and took in the view. Probably could see for 50 miles although that view lasted about three minutes. Out of nowhere, a cloud moved in and all of a sudden one could see about 50 feet and that was it. And the temperature dropped as well. The temperature was in the low 40s when I arrived at the summit but quickly dropped when the clouds moved in.
Most cyclists had jackets on as they descended and I had brought my cold-weather gear. I was surprised that my jersey was wet with sweat since I never felt sweat dripping off my face or arms. But I had worked hard and knew it was time to put my jacket on. And after no more than five minutes resting it was time to descend.
While I had started my stopwatch and looked at it climbing to Echo Lake, I forgot to look at it again to measure total time to the summit. I thought it was about 3:45 but I reset it to zero to clock the time back to Idaho Springs.
I looked forward to what could be a 28.5 mile descent coasting all the way. But my body was tired and aching from the climb and the thought of throwing my bike in the back of someone’s pickup truck was even more inviting. But there were no offers.
I headed down 50 yards to the first switchback, turned then went another 100 yards and knew it was cold. Temperatures may have been in the high 30s. I pulled over and pulled on my leg warmers and went to the full-finger gloves. When I restarted I quickly started following a car descending and had to brake for him as he was cautious. For a lightheaded cyclist, which I still was, it was much safer to follow someone who was being reasonable. When the body is tired is when one loses focus and makes stupid decisions, sometimes tragic.
The drops off Mt. Evans were huge. There are no guard rails the entire way and in some sections, even the roadway had buckled and dropped off. If one were to ride too close to the side of the road, despite pleas from ignorant drivers to do just that, it would be too easy to hit a section of road that simply disappeared. And so would the cyclist. My focus was 100% on the road and I never looked down at the large drops I was riding next to. To look down would make me dizzier.
And I was cold. My legs were shivering uncontrollably and so were my arms. My chest was tight as I was fending off the cold. I knew this was the beginning of hypothermia. I wanted to go faster to get off the mountain as quickly as I could but also knew the faster I went the colder it was.
I followed the car to Summit Lake where the road becomes somewhat straight for one mile. Even if one could coast through this section one had to be very diligent in watching the road hazards. But passing Summit Lake this road has a rise to it for about a mile. I reached down for energy to pedal some more and it was very difficult. But I knew that I would only have to get past this section before beginning my descent the rest of the way.
I think there was yet another section to climb, not difficult mind you, just a pain in the butt and legs after all the earlier climbs. But once I passed it I was out of most of the switchbacks and on better road. I switched into a bigger gear and started pedaling. I had shaken the extreme cold and wanted to go fast — as fast as I safely could that is.
While I was pedaling I allowed myself to be caught by two guys descending. Whether or not they were the two that passed me going up, I don’t know. I didn’t see them at the top. I didn’t have a road bike with 23cc tires and couldn’t descend quite as fast. I was descending about 40 mph and they were going a couple of mph faster. As they passed I picked up my pace and followed their line. I figured they knew the road and how fast they could safely take the turns. It helped following them. My total time descending back to Echo Lake was 42 minutes which included the slow sections at the top and the climb by Summit Lake.
My pacers pulled off and went into the lodge. I started the descent past Echo Lake then down to Idaho Springs. This truly was downhill and while one could presumably never turn a pedal the entire way the speed couldn’t have been that great either. There were technical turns that I had to slow down for but I was still moving at a 30 mph pace. How do I know that? I was timing the miles as they were ticking away at two minutes every mile.
It hurt to pedal but I wanted to get off the bike as soon as I could. I missed my Trek Pilot carbon bike and could feel every bump this aluminum Scott bike hit. I kept the pace up celebrating every time I passed another mile marker sign. There was another reason to hurry back. It was raining too. Lightly, but still raining.
Mile Marker One went whizzing by and I could see Idaho Springs ahead. It was easy to find the last remaining energy to pedal across I-70 and into the parking lot at the bike/ski rental store. I had rented the bike for four hours and although I was outside the four hours the manager graciously told me I didn’t owe him a thing more.
I thought about what I had accomplished. Mt. Evans. For some, one of the holy grails in cycling, at least in the U.S. The highest paved road in the country. Very high altitude. Although I was passed on the climb by some cyclists, the only people who succeeded at this climb are incredibly fit and are true cyclists. And I think everyone was younger than me. While there may have been four that passed me on the way up, that was four in 28 miles and all were in great shape. And did I mention young?
I immediately said to myself “Never again.” I accomplished it and don’t need to try it again. However, I wouldn’t rule it out either. I don’t think I would plan a trip to Denver to ride Mt. Evans but if I was in the area again, who knows?
The USA Cycling National Championships were held over a two-week period at Seven Springs Ski Resort. I saw an article in the Somerset (Pa.) Daily American looking for volunteers. I contacted Rachel Shaffer, the Seven Springs volunteer coordinator, three weeks before the event. She gladly accepted my offer and told me she would use me Saturday and half-day Sunday as a course marshal.
One week before the event, I hadn’t heard anything from her so I contacted her midweek to simply ask when and where we meet. She emailed me and said that we would meet at the Center Lobby at Seven Springs Saturday at 7:00 a.m.
I left my parents’ place in Friedens shortly before 6:00 a.m. for the 35-40 minute drive to the ski resort. I arrived around 6:40 a.m. but did not see a volunteer check-in, something I expected. I did see some folks with orange vests on and figured I should have one as well. A Seven Springs bus was leaving and a couple of cars followed. I jumped in my car and followed as well. The bus drove out to Trent and then at certain intersections of country roads either stopped to let someone off or the people inside waved to a volunteer already in place.
At one point the bus pulled over and a woman, Rachel I discovered, got out to talk to the people in the car behind the bus. Then I pulled up beside her and introduced myself. She replied that I was late and that she already filled all the positions.
I started to do a slow burn. I had driven from Northern Va. to volunteer. I didn’t have a second car and rented a car just to volunteer for this event. Rachel backed off the “you’re late excuse” after I pointed out to her that I was at the Springs by 6:45 then stated that she simply used the same volunteers she has been using all week. She said she didn’t need me.
But she said she would give me a t-shirt. Big effing deal.
I pulled out a copy of the email she sent me in which she wrote my reporting time was 7:00 a.m. She looked at that, realized that she had been caught in her lie, and then stated that she could use me back at Swiss Mountain (Seven Springs) so that I would “at least get to see the course.” I figured that was a “nothing” assignment and indeed when we reached Seven Springs, after dropping off all the real volunteers, we stopped by some condos about 50 yards off the main road. The condos weren’t even on course. I wasn’t needed.
Further, there were no cars at the condos. No one was parked there. I was to guard an intersection of an empty parking lot that wasn’t even on course. What a bogus assignment. I immediately went out to the main road and told the policeman I would help him. I put on my orange vest and we waited for the first activity.
The policeman had both police and race radio and I was glad I wasn’t stuck on the course out in the country with no information. Throughout the day I would have updates on where the riders were.
The 17-18 Men started at 7:30 a.m. from the ski resort. It took perhaps 6-7 minutes for the peloton to leave the resort and climb the hill by the golf course. A State Trooper led the procession over the hill followed by 7-8 motorcycles. As they crested the hill, all but five or six of the riders were still in the peloton, which started with 175 riders.
As they descended the mountain road it was foggy and cool but visibility should have been no problem. There was some moisture on the road from the morning fog. The peloton flew by sounding like a swarm of bees. Just as quick as they crested they were gone.
The 15-16 Men group should have passed 10 minutes later (scheduled start 7:40 a.m.). But they didn’t. We waited some more and still no group.
They were to race on a “lollipop” course. The stem, about 8 miles, would go out to a loop, of about eight miles. The 17-18 Men would go first, followed 10 minutes later by the 15-16 men. The older group would do three loops on the course before returning while the younger guys would do two laps. Once out on the loop, there would be numerous riders, of both age groups, circling.
Still, the 15-16 men didn’t come by. The first indication of a problem was around that time a fire truck from Seven Springs went screaming down the hill. Soon a number of ambulances and police cars raced down the hill, just out of sight of our vantage point. We started to hear bits and pieces coming from race radio and knew something was bad. Later we saw two life-flight helicopters circling above.
There was bad news. There was a crash at the bottom of the hill. More than three dozen cyclists were injured. The 17-18 race went on but the 15-16 race was held for a couple of hours.
The following article appeared on the KDKA website:
Dozens Hurt In Seven Springs Cycling Accident (KDKA) SEVEN SPRINGS
Anxious parents soon came out the road and wanted to drive down to the crash site. We couldn’t allow the cars on the course but some walked the half-mile down to the crash. Later, a Seven Springs bus went down to bring back riders with minor injuries. Some came walking back on their own. Some had been attended to, evidenced by the bandages on their bodies. I met a couple of riders coming back. One carried two pieces of his bike. He actually thought it was pretty cool that his bike had snapped in half.
The leaders of the race had gone through and were unaware there had been a crash in the main field. The winner of the day was Ben King, of Charlottesville, Va., who simply destroyed the competition. His winning time was 2:23.05 and the next three finishers, Nick Bax, Cheyne Hoag, and Danny Summerhill, were all 7:41 behind. Coming in the 18-20 positions at 8:47 were Jose Blanco, Taylor Phinney, and Ryan Zupko.
Chrissy Ruiter
Once the riders were safely off the course, I was able to ride a little on the course. I rode out to Trent and then on the way back met up with three women from Team Cheerwine. I chatted for a while with Chrissy Ruiter (pictured left) from Bend, Oregon. All the women seemed very nice.
On the rollers, I was keeping up fine but don’t know if I could have stayed with them all the way up the three-mile climb. But then I clunked a gear shift and it about threw me off the bike. The chain caught and just stopped. I was still pedaling. They passed on by and I circled back down the hill to shift. By then I lost 100 meters on them and never regained it. But we were soon at the top of the Seven Springs hill.
In the afternoon the 17-18 year-old women got rolling I was surprised when only 14 crested the first climb. I thought that was a breakaway but was more surprised to learn that was the group. Well, 15 of them. The winner on the day was Lauren Shirock at 2:21.22 (two loops). Sinead Miller was second at 2:00. The Mens’ 15-16 winner (also two loops) was Nathan Brown coming in at 2:03.07. The Women’s 15-16 winner was Coryn Rivera.
This was a complete screw-up by the volunteer coordinator at Seven Springs. But in the end, I made my own assignment and it was one of the better ones. And I got a t-shirt.
It had been my dream for some time to climb mountains like the riders in the Tour de France. In researching all the great climbs and how to get to Europe to ride them I discovered something I didn’t know. In the U.S. there is a road that is often considered tougher than any on the Tour.
I had hoped to enter the Mount Washington Auto Road Hill Climb scheduled for August but the Hill Climb registration sold out in 20 minutes on February 1. That opened a second race, Newton’s Revenge, sponsored by Louis Garneau (they have some great clothes!) to be held on the “lucky” date of 07/07/07.
The climb up Mt Washington is tough. Just under eight miles, it averages 12% grade and tops out at 22%. If the road isn’t tough enough, it also features the world’s worst weather with very strong and unpredictable winds.
My daughter, Ashley, agreed to go with me, and on Thursday, July 5, I picked her up from her new in-laws where she had been spending the week in Bethany Beach, Delaware. We started the day by taking a brief walk in the ocean. We drove to Windsor Locks, Connecticut.
On Friday we continued to the tourist mountain town of North Conway, New Hampshire. After checking in to the hotel, we went out to the race start. I was the second rider to pick up a race packet at the Mount Washington Auto Road.
I carefully watched what I ate (pasta loading) and made sure to get a good night’s rest. Actually, that would be impossible and I was very anxious about the climb. Morning came too soon and we were out of the hotel by 5:45 a.m. Anticipation was in the air as we drove out to Mt. Washington.
We arrived by 6:30 a.m. — cars needed to go up the mountain by 7:00 a.m. but there was something wrong. The sun covered the valley but many people seemed to be leaving. The view of Mt Washington was gorgeous. Sun blanketed the mountain except for the clouds that covered the summit. Stunning.
Mount Washington sticking its head out from among the clouds
One problem. Inside those clouds were 70 miles per hour winds, just 40° which translated to a wind chill of 27°, and zero visibility. There was rime ice at the summit and overnight rains made the one-mile dirt section impassable. The race was canceled. (Postponed)
It was surreal. Although there was a rain date of July 8, I had not envisioned staying. It was too far from home. Our plans were to drive back to Connecticut after the race on Saturday then continue home on Sunday. I was greatly disappointed. But Ashley said, “Dad, we have to stay and try again tomorrow.” I thought I had imposed on her enough to come with me and be my driver off the mountain but she was insistent that we find a way to stay.
Ashley at the Eagle River, Jackson, New Hampshire
We didn’t know if we could work it out with the sold-out hotel but then decided to take some time to think about it. We drove to Jackson across a covered bridge then waded in a mountain stream. We took a train ride on the Conway Scenic Railroad and were able to work out another night at the hotel.
We had met a wonderful woman at the Discovery Weather Center in North Conway who encouraged me to ride Hurricane Mountain Road — a beast of a climb. So in the afternoon I went and rode it.
This is not a straight road but a 17% grade (looking down). Hurricane Mountain Road is a beast.
I struggled for air and for legs as I crept up this mountain road. I’m not sure if the ride was to give me confidence or to break my spirit. It turns out that the average grade was a monstrous 18%. As soon as I got back to North Conway I went to a bike shop and asked if they could change my gearing. But it was too late since they would need to order a cassette and maybe change the derailleur. Doubt crept into my mind if I had low enough gearing to complete the race.
The first message we saw Sunday was at 4:45 a.m. that they were checking the condition of the auto road. Winds had calmed to 30 mph and the temperature was 45°. It looked promising.
On our drive back to the mountain we saw two cars off the road. Ashley said they must be looking at a moose. While my goal was to climb Mt Washington, her goal was to see a moose. Sure enough, the cars were pulled off because there was moose eating by the side of the road. We joined them and Ashley got out and much too close to the moose to take pictures. The trip was a success. We had our moose.
Marty Moose
We continued on to the mountain and it started raining. I wasn’t too worried about riding in the rain since I exercise all winter long outdoors. Getting wet would not bother me. We arrived and parked by the big tent anxiously awaiting the departure of the cars to head up the mountain. Then we learned the race was canceled. This time for good.
Anticipation and adrenaline were the order of the day Saturday. When it was canceled Saturday it was like a giant balloon having all its air sucked out. Not so on Sunday. Not nearly as much air went back in that balloon and when it was canceled for good it was simply time to go home. We had 700 miles of driving ahead of us.
This venture started as my sole reason for going to Mt Washington was to test myself against the mountain. The mountain won. Twice.
But all in all, I spent four days with my daughter that I probably won’t get to again. It was not a wasted weekend. Actually, I loved it. Wish I got to ride but spending time with my daughter, meeting other riders, and seeing a moose — it was all good.
Because my anticipation wasn’t as high as Saturday the disappointment wasn’t as great either and we just headed back home in the rain. Although we left behind temperatures in the high 50s and rain, we were reminded we were close to home when we stopped at a rest area in Maryland and it was 97°.
Since the race, my registration has been rolled over to next year’s event — July 12, 2008.
A very wide two-lane road with equally wide shoulders, it was only 10 miles from Las Vegas but could have been 100. I found McGhies Blue Diamond Bikes which rented Trek Bikes.
I asked the owner how to get to Red Rock Canyon. The bike didn’t have a computer. He simply sized me up and said ride for 30 minutes then turn left. At 8 miles or 16 miles per hour, mostly climbing, he was right.
The road turned up and my breathing labored. I was surprised to see that the scenic road within the park was almost a mile high.
It made for a nice downhill ride going back. I saw two wild burrows, or I saw the same one twice. Not sure. But it’s a great way to spend a day in Vegas.
It was August 1999 that I read an article in the Washington Post’s Travel section about a trail that would connect Pittsburgh and Washington, D.C. I live in northern Virginia but am from western Pennsylvania. The Pittsburgh to D.C. route passed through many locations of which I am very familiar.
Although I never lived there, my parents retired to Somerset Co., Pennsylvania. My daughter, Bethany, was attending Shepherd College in Shepherdstown, WV. Going “home” meant traveling, by car, roughly the same direction as the trail, of which I am sure I have done more than 100 times in my life.
By 2001 the seed had grown and this weed took root. Andrew was young (12) and his mind was not mature enough to know not to say no. He was big for his age and was going to ride with me. We borrowed a one-wheel trailer and attached it to my bike, loaded it with supplies, and headed out of Washington, D.C. We took a longer route, the W&OD out of Alexandria to Leesburg before crossing Whites Ferry and over to the C&O Canal. We rode 70 miles the first day before pulling into a campground. Our second day was Andrew’s 13th birthday. We were both sore but continued on. But we had an accident at Antietam Creek. My rear wheel was bent beyond repair. We had to abandon the trip.
Two years later I had a business trip to Pittsburgh. A smarter Andrew, then 15, was wise enough not to want to take this venture again. To him, mile after mile of forest and river views along the Potomac River was just “boring.” After ensuring that he did not want to ride with me I decided that I would finish the trip we started two years earlier. However, it would be west to east instead of east to west.
I rented a car and drove one way, taking my bike with me. I would bike home — Pittsburgh to D.C.
I did little training for this ride. Actually, I did none. I was barely on my bike. I had foot problems that were bothering me immensely. I never rode more than 10 miles at one time. I never thought about doing this ride until the business trip came up just a few days before I left. This lack of preparation would turn out to be a very critical mistake.
THE JOURNEY BEGINS
I printed out my cue sheet and thought I knew my way out of Pittsburgh. I left the Hilton at Point State Park and took a picture of downtown. This was a great beginning.
Downtown Pittsburgh at the Hilton
I started off on the Pittsburgh streets where my ride would be a short six blocks up to Grant and First streets. When I reached the beginning of the river trail I stopped again to take a picture of my “official” start. Within minutes I was pedaling the paved rail trail from downtown next to the Parkway East. I was enjoying myself. The temperature at 9:30 a.m. was in the low 70s and there wasn’t much humidity. It was a perfect day for riding.
The start of the trail in downtown Pittsburgh – Grant and First Streets
On my bike I thought I had everything I needed. Unlike two years ago when Andrew and I started out going from D.C. to Pittsburgh, we had tried to carry everything we needed. I towed a one-wheel trailer (“Bob”) and we had our tent and sleeping bags with us. We even had a cooler loaded with food. We probably had too much.
This time I wanted to take just the minimum. I had a small bag mostly with bike supplies (pump, extra tubes, wrenches) on the back of my bike and wore a Camelbak with my personal items. I had just taught a day at our arbitration advocacy course in Pittsburgh and had my “business casual” clothes with me as well. I rolled them as tight as I could and stuffed them in my backpack. Having filled my pack with clothes I had no room to fill the bladder with water. It was a calculated decision based on the pleasant weather and the presumed availability of water along the route I was riding. It was also a critical mistake.
I was taking in everything by riding this section of the trail next to the old J&L property. As a kid I remember driving into Pittsburgh from the Parkway East and seeing this gigantic steel complex belching out fire and smoke from its stacks. Now it’s gone and an industrial park is in its place.
I was following the Monongahela River. The trail featured a slight upgrade. While the grade was manageable, that would also be a theme for the next two days; continuous climbing.
I soon caught a young lady in her mid 20s who was roller blading. We talked briefly. She was just out exercising and I was riding from Pittsburgh to Washington. She wished me luck and I was gone. I can only imagine what she thought when I told her I was on my way to D.C.
How to travel light on a bike. Small pack on bike. Small water bottle in cage. Wear a Camelbak filled with clothes, not water. Dehydrate. Bonk. This method is not recommended.
Cruising along the “Mon” and feeling good I was surprised to discover the trail ended just 2.5 miles outside of Pittsburgh. I was on the Eliza Furnace Trail aka “Jail Trail” but it quickly went away from the river which told me that I did not want to ride there. I looked at my black and white map I had printed and was unable to discern river from trail. I had thought that staying on the north side of the river was the correct choice but then thought of Pa. Route 837 which I remembered was one of the detours to the trail. I realized that I had followed the wrong trail out of Pittsburgh and needed to cross the river.
Fifteen minutes into the trip to D.C. and already I had selected the wrong route!
I rode down to an industrial road and rode back towards Pittsburgh to the Hot Metal Bridge. The Hot Metal Bridge is now decked to carry cars on part but had been a railroad bridge at J&L built in 1904. While on the bridge I had my best view of downtown Pittsburgh and wanted to stop and take a picture. But there were no shoulders or bike lanes, only a jersey barrier and 5 inches of white paint. And not the most bicycle friendly population either.
Grafitti along the Eliza Trail
At the end of the bridge, I did stop to take a picture of downtown. It would be the last time I saw the tall buildings of the Golden Triangle. There was a trail here and I jumped on it. I never looked back. This was on the south side of Pittsburgh and it just felt right, that after the tactical mistake of following the wrong trail, I finally picked up the right one. I would state that most of the trails around Pittsburgh are virtual trails, that is, they exist in the future but aren’t yet developed.
I think had I left Station Square I would have ridden on a trail for a couple of miles but may have also been forced to ride on Carson Street. But now I was on a trail and immediately was beside the huge UMPC Sports Complex, which is where the Pittsburgh Steelers practice. I saw some Steelers in the far corner of one field but they were too far away to identify any of them.
As I rode the trail a huge CSX train passed me and the engineer waved to me. I waved back. After about three miles on this trail I came to a sign which stated “trail ends.” My only legal option was a U-turn. Getting out of Pittsburgh was proving to be extremely challenging. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
I stopped and surveyed my location. River to the left. Industrial plant or steel mill straight ahead. Two busy railroad tracks to the right. Sign marking the busy railroad tracks. “No trespassing.” I thought about backtracking again on this day and decided that was not in order. I needed to cross the tracks. I picked up my bike and carried it across the tracks where I had to cross a guard rail to get on Pa. 837. Once on that road I thought I could ride to Sandcastle, a Pittsburgh water park on the river where I was hopeful the trail would continue.
Pa. Rte 837 featured “modern” Pennsylvania road building techniques. Jersey barriers on both sides and no shoulders. This road carried lots of industrial traffic and sometimes one thought the tractor-trailer drivers just wanted to see how close they could get to this cyclist. I came to a ramp and had to navigate the ramp like any traffic. This was essentially a limited access highway except there were no signs prohibiting bikes. Or pedestrians. Or farm vehicles and the like.
I came to the Glenwood bridge and pulled into a small gas station which carried some snack items. Having exhausted the water on my bike already, I stopped and invoked one rule that would guide me along my journey. Never pass up a chance to take on more fluids. I stopped and bought a Gatorade and asked about the trail. Neither worker knew anything about the trail and told me I would have to ride to McKeesport on this road. I believed they were right.
For all the talk about a rail trail to Pittsburgh, the reality of it is that the last 20 miles to Pittsburgh (or the first 20 miles out of Pittsburgh) consisted of some finished trails and many road detours. I was resigned to staying on the road. I left the station and climbed a steep hill into Homestead and saw no trails. I rode past a roadside sign commemorating the Homestead Grays, the Negro League team that played here featuring Josh Gibson among others. I stayed on Rte. 837 and came to Kennywood Park. It wasn’t quite 11:00 a.m. and the smells of 100 years of amusements came over the highway. Or maybe it was just creosote. I wanted to go into the park and grab some funnel cakes but had to keep going.
Passing Kennywood, I crossed a bridge over a rail yard and began a descent to the Mon river valley. This was a four lane road which I would not recommend for most cyclists, especially youths. But I came to McKeesport and crossed the bridge over the Monongahela into town. I rode through McKeesport and came to the last bridge on the Youghiogheny River. This was where the Youghiogheny flowed into the Monongahela. Try spelling that in Scrabble!
I found a sign marking the Steel Heritage Trail so I thought I had finally had found my path. I crossed the bridge and descended into a poor section of town. I started to follow the Steel Heritage signs but soon discovered that they, quite literally, led one in a continual loop. There was no way out of this section and I headed back to the base of the bridge. I saw a two lane road which paralleled the “Yough” and decided I would follow it upstream because it surely would lead to the trail.
The road continued for a mile or two and then came to an industrial plant. I wasn’t sure what I would do next but decided to ride another 50 yards. There, on a traffic sign, I could see a blue sign marking the YRT (Yough River Trail). I no sooner left the road and hit the asphalt of the YRT that I saw spray painted on the trail sign “Trail Closed.”
I didn’t know what to do. My experience is that even when a trail is marked closed that you ride it as far as you can and deal with the consequences later. It was especially true here because I saw no other options other than backtracking and riding the roads — roads which weren’t clearly marked and for which I had no map. I started up the trail and had an immediate climb. As I reached the summit of my climb I saw orange barrier mesh that had been placed over a section of trail that looked like it had succumbed to a hill slide where the trail simply gave way and was gone. However, there was enough repaired to continue through. My hopes of a paved rail trail soon ended as the trail turned to the crushed limestone base which makes up all these trails in this section.
I had an on-board computer tracking my speed and miles (sounds impressive, doesn’t it? — it’s just a $25 speedometer) and my odometer told me that I had gone 26 miles when I saw my first mile marker — 20. I assume that the mile markers are right and that when the trails are finally completed that will be the accurate distance back to Pittsburgh. But starting in the Golden Triangle, going up the wrong trail and having to backtrack, plus taking a road overland certainly added to the starting distance. There was a trail map and I could see that Connellsville was at milepost (MP) 58.
A boat went flying by upstream and I was a little surprised that this section of the Yough was navigatable. I wasn’t sure if there were dams on it or the white water was just further upstream. I hadn’t seen any cyclists but at Boston (Pa.) came to a park where some locals were riding. You can also tell the locals by the lack of equipment they carry. I was feeling pretty good but getting a little tired. I was sitting in the saddle most of the time.
Near West Newton I came to an intersection and saw an ice cream stand about 100 yards off road. I bought a vanilla-raspberry cone and continued on. I never rode a bike before while eating a cone and thought it was a stupid idea. Not because of safety but because of bugs. Who wants bugs in their cone? But I don’t believe I ate any bugs so it worked out.
At MP 40 I started cramping in my right thigh. Cramping is a sign of dehydration and I was suffering. The temperature wasn’t too bad, mid to high 80s, but I hadn’t been taken on enough fluid either this day or in preparation the day or days before. I was most unprepared for the mental agony of a continual uphill climb from the moment I left Pittsburgh.
Along the route I tried using my cell phone and was able to connect with my dad. My plan for Day 1 was to get to Confluence, Pa., where my parents would pick me up. I made four or five calls throughout the afternoon, each one pushing the time back. First from an ETA of 4:00 p.m. to 4:30 then to 5:00 and eventually to 6:00 p.m. The last call would not only push the time back but also the pickup point from Confluence to Ohiopyle. I was “in difficulty” and my speed was dropping.
I did stop at a Cedar Creek State Park and bought a snack and drink. I wasn’t hungry but forced myself to eat. I can’t say that it tasted good but I ate to get some energy. When you exercise hard you typically do not get hungry but you need to keep the body fueled so I knew that much.
Just a couple of miles outside of Connellsville the trail passed a campground where all trail users were welcome. I went into the camp store and asked for a banana. They didn’t have any. I did buy water (they didn’t have Gatorade either) and drank most of it on the spot.
In Connellsville I rode through a small downtown area which had a curbed lane especially for bikes. That was pretty neat. In front of a bike shop there was a drink machine with juices but it didn’t work. I reached the waterfront park and stopped to take a picture of the sign: Washington 280, Pittsburgh 58. It wasn’t much but it was a sign of progress. My 58 miles had been 64 and I still had 18 to go. Just as I entered Ohiopyle State Park two women leisurely rode by me from Ohiopyle. They said “isn’t it a gorgeous day for riding?” and I responded “too hot.”
Connellsville, Pa.
It is in Connellsville that the trail starts its increase in grade. From Ohiopyle, the river drops the most to Connellsville and I knew it would be a difficult climb to end the ride. I had ridden about five miles and it was here that I was passed for the only time. A teen pedaled by me and I wanted to yell “but you haven’t just ridden 70 miles.”
I continued on, alternating between being in and out of the saddle. Often I broke pace and sprinted then coasted, sprinting and coasting, just to change the pace up this last climb. The one redeeming feature was the beauty of the river. I tried to watch the river as much as possible and saw a blue heron which completely surprised me. I did not know that there were herons in southwestern Pennsylvania.
It was nearing 6:00 p.m. and I hadn’t reached the top yet. I knew I was getting close when I saw a sign on the trail warning users not to descend to the river far below for swimming in the rapids was prohibited. That was an ominous warning that Dimple Rock was waiting. Twenty people have lost their lives in the last 20 years, most of them at Dimple Rock, including one man earlier this summer.
In the 1970s I had purchased my own four-man inflatable raft and we had ridden these rapids many times. In 1975 while at Dimple Rock we capsized and in the ensuing struggle to remain afloat while being thrown through the turbulent rapids, my sister Brenda met one of the rocks in this section. She ended up in the hospital and had to have her spleen removed.
By the late 1970s the State Park began to limit access to the river pushing off private rafts like ours. I eventually sold the raft but riding this section brought back memories. However, I had never been on this rail trail before because when we rafted the river in the valley below this had been the right of way for the Western Maryland Railway. We always marveled at the trains that passed through those woods high above us.
About 6:10 p.m. I reached the trestle at Ohiopyle. I could look down 100 feet below and see the end of “the Loop” a place I rafted many times in my life. On this day those memories did not come streaming by. I just wanted to finish the day. Even more than finish I knew that only about 400 meters separated the first trestle with the second one that crosses above the falls and ends at the train station in Ohiopyle. And I knew that half way between the two trestles was a Powerade machine. I crossed the trestle and even though my parents were waiting, I stopped and got a drink. There were no trash cans present and my empty water bottle was already on the bike so after drinking half I mounted the bike again for the final 200 meters, carrying my drink.
Here stands one of the prettiest trestles anywhere. Following the old Western Maryland Railway it crosses the deep water right about the falls at Ohiopyle. One hundred years ago this line carried wealthy passengers from Pittsburgh to Ohiopyle for summer vacations. But the automobile changed that and passenger service stopped by the mid 20th century. Freight ran on these lines until 1975 when the WM was merged with B&O. Since the B&O has better rights on the opposite side of the river the WM was abandoned. Now this old trestle was rebuilt with a wooden road bed for carried bikers and walkers.
I crossed the bridge to see my parents sitting the bench at the station. My mother had a camera and as I approach I said, “no smiles here.” She handed me a power bar and I bought another drink. The end of a long day.
The end of a long day – Ohiopyle, Pa.
We drove back to Somerset and I took my parents out to the Grapevine Italian Restaurant to thank them and to celebrate their 53rd anniversary. Another tactical mistake before this day was eating wings and fries the night before. They are good but are not a high energy food. This night I went right for the pasta.
The check came and I got out my credit card to pay . When I went to sign the receipt I found that I could not grip the pen. Strange.
Andrew and I finally fell asleep and the trains seemed to quit their operations when we were awakened by a severe thunderstorm. It lasted for more than one hour and at times was quite close. The tent held up great and we didn’t get wet. But after the storm and we got back to sleep, another storm hit. And so it went.
Finally, we fell asleep again but by 6:30 a.m. we were up and ready. If we weren’t, the trains next door made us ready to go. We tried to air out the tent and carefully packed everything we needed for the day. Our supply of plastic garbage bags came in handy and we wrapped everything in plastic knowing that the trail ahead would be muddy.
We began the day like we ended the night before — at Mommers Diner in Brunswick, Md.. Once we left Brunswick we headed up the canal towards Harpers Ferry. We were only on the path for a few miles, dodging as many puddles as we could — some we couldn’t — when we came upon a tree across our path. It was felled from a fresh lightning strike from the storm earlier in the morning. We couldn’t move the whole tree but we could move enough to make one lane passable.
Just a few miles further we could see a group of about 40 cyclists stopped ahead. They were men and women, I would guess in their 40s through 70s. They all wore t-shirts with a Biking West Virginia logo. Some of the men were moving a large tree from their path. I told them one mile down the road they had another job to do since they had all the manpower.
During much of this stretch, we were separated from the river by a forest. But as we rode ahead we got closer to the river and eventually could hear the river. We were very near Harpers Ferry. The path was in much better shape. In fact, the two-track trail we had been riding on gave way to a crushed stone path the entire width. It was clear this was a high use tourist area.
When Andrew and I got to Harpers Ferry we stopped on the Maryland (canal) side and decided not to cross the river. To do so would mean carrying our bikes up a high steps on the railroad bridge then walking our bikes across. We could have locked up all our equipment and walked across but didn’t want to do that. We did walk up onto the bridge and took some photos of where the Shenandoah River flowed into the Potomac. But we got back on the bikes and began thinking of our lunch stop.
The next few miles were perhaps the prettiest on the canal. The path is wide and was in good shape. You are next to the river, so close at times that a wrong turn could end up with you in the drink. The C&O towpath tends to be flat as the canal is flat. The canal has 75 locks from D.C. to Cumberland which means as you travel west each time you come to a lock there may be a 50-yard stretch where the canal rises. But basically it is a flat ride and this ride was one of the flattest and nicest.
We stopped briefly to watch a young fawn beside the river. We were about 10 feet high in the path and the fawn seemed to be lost. I can’t imagine that its mother was far behind but we never saw one.
Further up the towpath, we came to a parking area for river fun. We briefly passed the parking lot and I called upon Andrew to stop and come back. It appeared that an outfitter company had just finished giving instructions to a few adults and a bunch of 10-year-olds for their rafting trip on the Potomac. They were just starting to portage their rafts to the river’s edge across the towpath. I asked for their help and when Andrew came back and joined us, perhaps 20 little kids sang Happy Birthday to him. I had felt bad that today was his 13th birthday and there was no one to sing to him. Now I got him.
At milepost 70 (the campground in Brunswick, where we spent the night before was milepost 54) we were talking about getting lunch in Shepherdstown. That was three miles ahead then up a very steep hill to the bridge that crosses Maryland into West Virginia.
We came upon the Antietam Aqueduct. This was just downriver from the infamous Civil War Battle where more men were killed than any other battle. The creek is said to have run red with all the blood on September 17, 1862. We approached the aqueduct and needed to dismount and walk across the structure. Or at least we thought we did.
THE ACCIDENT (THE FALL OF ANDREW)
Andrew had been wearing and practicing his cleats and pedals more than me. Still, one doesn’t stop quick in the shoes — it is best to see what’s up ahead and undo the shoes ahead of time. Plus mine were new while he had bought some used cleats from a friend and were a little more difficult.
We were almost to the stone pathway that crosses the aqueduct. The path was narrow at this point. A fall to the right meant falling down a hill into the canal (not watered). I was on Andrew’s left coming to a stop and dismount. He was beside me and said, “I can’t get out” (of the cleats).
Andrew’s bike stopped and he fell over onto me. I fell too, and we both dusted ourselves off to continue. We had no injuries – just a little dirt and grass on us. I had to upright my bike and the Bob trailer while Andrew started walking ahead with his bike. I started to roll my bike and noticed something wrong. The rear wheel was bent (taco’d in cycling terms). It was a freak accident and I don’t think it would have occurred without a trailer, but with my weight falling over and the Bob hooked securely to the rear axle, I was pulling the wheel in one direction and the Bob was holding it down. The wheel was bent and there was no way out.
When I saw this I was very disappointed. Not upset or mad, just disappointed. I told Andrew that we were done. But then I remembered the bike shop in Shepherdstown the girls in Brunswick whom we had met yesterday, had told us about. I and thought that perhaps I could buy a new wheel and continue. I removed the rear wheel from my bike and carried it on Andrew’s bike. I left him at the aqueduct, with a full supply of Gatorade. It was 11:20 a.m.
I told Andrew that I wouldn’t be back until at least 1:00 p.m. I rode as fast as I could up the muddy path to the road to Shepherdstown. Once in Shepherdstown, I couldn’t find a bike shop. After asking a few locals, I realized that the girls had actually gone to a general store which merely supplied them with the right hardware and helped them fix their bikes. Shepherdstown did have a store at one point, but no longer.
Now at 12:30 p.m., I decided that my biggest concern was getting Andrew and our equipment off the towpath. I walked into the Shepherdstown police department and told them I needed to get my son off the towpath. Even though that was out of their jurisdiction, it was in another state in fact, they were more than willing to help.
A policewoman got in her car and drove me back to the towpath. We were lucky in that from the Antietam aqueduct up to Shepherdstown a river road paralleled the towpath. We drove right to the aqueduct. We arrived at 1:00 p.m. We carried our equipment (I left Andrew’s bike at the police station) to the car and Stacy then took us to Martinsburg, West Virginia to a bike shop.
It was in Martinsburg, and through a couple of calls to The Bike Lane in Burke, Va., that I learned the truth about bikes. Many things can be fixed and we had all the right tools, but if a rear-wheel needs replaced that is a major undertaking. I had thought that I could buy a new wheel and keep going. But every bike is different and those rear cassettes all seem to be different brands.
Actually, major stores probably would have replacement wheels and my cassette could be moved to a new wheel but this store was too small to carry extra wheels in stock. I was told by the Martinsburg bike store that he could get me a wheel by Tuesday.
Well, a big part of the trip was also getting Andrew to Pittsburgh to go out west with my parents and we wouldn’t have time to continue beginning Tuesday. Our policeman friend took us back to Shepherdstown and we spent the night at the Days Inn. We returned home on Saturday.
When you set out to accomplish something and you don’t do it, there is a real sense of disappointment. For a day and a half it was a perfect world — just pedaling the cares away, enjoying the scenery, and occasionally meeting some nutty people just like you (always going the other direction since the ones in your direction are going about the same speed).
I hope to have my bike fixed by Monday or Tuesday then will DRIVE Andrew to Somerset to meet my parents.
EDIT/EPILOGUE – For a day and a half it really was the perfect time. Just a dad and his son, or a boy and his dad, pedaling away, making progress. A freak mechanical accident stopped this trip. Two years later I had a chance to make this trip again and asked Andrew if he wanted to come with me. Then 15, he just gave me the teenage stare.
Andrew upgraded his Wal-Mart bike to a Trek MTB and we continued to ride some rail trails, including much of the Great Allegheny Passage in Pa. But he never showed any interest in attempting the Pittsburgh-DC trip again.
Andrew and I went into work with my vanpool and loaded our gear for our departure from L’Enfant Plaza in southwest Washington. We each had a rack on the back of our bikes to carry one sleeping bag. I was pulling a “Bob” — a one-wheel trailer behind my bike. The Bob was fully loaded with six days supplies for each of us, camping gear, and every bike tool that one could think of.
A Bob trailer
It was hot and sunny. Even as we left the building shortly before 9:00 a.m. it was already pushing 80°, going up to a high of 90°. And humid. We rode out the building and got on the sidewalk to cross the Case Bridge which carries I-395 over the Washington Channel. At the end of the Case Bridge, we went under it, and rode the 200 yards to the Thomas Jefferson Memorial. There I took a picture of Andrew to commemorate our official starting point.
We then rode on the 14th Street Bridge on its sidewalk/bike lane and crossed the Potomac River into Virginia. At the bridge’s end we got on the Mt. Vernon Trail and within the first half-mile saw our first wildlife of the trip — a blue heron standing passively on the banks of the Potomac.
We rode through Gravelly Point, the excellent plane-watching park where we have been many times watching the flights in and out of Reagan National Airport. We continued past the airport down to Four Mile Run Trail and picked it up to ride to Shirlington.
Four Mile Run where it enters the Potomac appears to be a straight stagnant pool of water which was channeled out years ago for flood control. But within a couple of miles that would change. We followed the trail to Shirlington, crossing the pedestrian bridge over the very busy I-395. Once in Shirlington, we rode about two blocks to find the entrance to the Washington & Old Dominion Trail (W&OD).
The W&OD was a short line electric railroad that ran from northern Virginia to Bluemont, some 60 miles away, until the 1960s. When it ceased operating, the Virginia Electric and Power Company bought the right away for its power poles then later the Northern Virginia Regional Park Authority negotiated with VEPCO to use the old trackbed as a rail trail.
The W&OD is a nine-foot wide paved trail from Shirlington to Purcellville. Because it mostly follows a former train right of way, the grades are gradual. But from Shirlington to Purcellville, it is a gradual grade uphill when it’s not flat. Except for a couple of overpasses to cross busy highways or go through neighborhoods, there are no downhills headed west. It’s basically easy pedaling, but it’s pedaling all the way to Leesburg, our destination on the W&OD.
The first mile on the W&OD the trail parallels a busy street. There is no shade and plenty of road noise. Only three miles from Shirlington, the trail follows Four Mile Run and diverts through a wooded area. I didn’t know such a beautiful area existed inside the Beltway. I thought everything had been developed but this trail, while uphill, is worth a trip in itself. Four Mile Run at this point is a narrow stream, with lots of water cascading over the rocks on its way to the Potomac.
I was surprised when all of a sudden we were in Bluemont Park at a Frisbee Golf Course. I had played the course once before but never noticed the rail trail cut through it. We exited Bluemont only to be dumped into a residential neighborhood without good directions as to where the trail headed. It is poorly marked at this point. We waited until a cyclist passed through and followed him up about two blocks past a Metro Station where we rejoined the trail.
We were parallel to I-66 and rode through the city of Falls Church. We later crossed over I-66 then made our first milestone for the day, the crossing of I-495 — the Beltway. Here the trail was flat and we entered the town of Vienna. We stopped for our first break of the day and ate lunch. After refilling our stomachs and water bottles we started out the trail once again.
The difficult part of this section of the trail is that it crosses many busy streets at grade. For each crossing, we would lose our momentum as we had to come to a stop and wait for traffic. In Herndon, Andrew couldn’t get his shoes off the pedals quick enough (he had borrowed cleats that clipped in) and he had his first spill of the trip. He had to stop short of crossing the roadway but his shoes were locked firmly on the pedals and Isaac Newton’s law won here. Andrew was scraped up a little but we continued without needing the first aid kit.
Our first deer was spotted in Vienna, not in the residential section but here the trail goes through a wooded area. It was surprising to see a deer so close to where thousands of people live.
We continued on the trail and crossed busy Route 28 via a flyover. We knew this marked the end of the residential section, and also the end of any shade at all. I had set my watch so that every hour we would stop and rest/stretch if we hadn’t already done so. It was coming up on an hour since our last stop and there was a “bike rest area” at Smith’s Switch Station on the trail about one mile past Route 28. Picture a pretty straight section of trail and no other roads or houses around, then picture a rest area for bikes. We stopped and bought our first drinks of the day to supplement what we were carrying.
The rest area is just north of Dulles Airport so we watched a few big planes on their approach to Dulles. If the trail had been mostly flat to this point, it now became a definite uphill, but gradual, ride to Leesburg. The sun was beating down on us and we were quite thirsty but kept riding, stopping once to view some quarry operations that were beside the trail.
Once we entered Leesburg we stopped for a drink at a 7-11 then took our lives in our hands as we left the W&OD. We had traveled 35 miles on this trail and the trail continues another 10 miles out to Purcellville. But we needed to follow U.S. Route 15 North. It was only three miles but it could have been 30.
We had to ride on the gravel shoulder as the cars and trucks flew past us. I let Andrew lead so I could direct him and also I would be the first “target” seen from the rear.
We reached White’s Ferry Road and pedaled that back road 1.3 miles to the water’s edge. This is the only crossing point on the Potomac between the Beltway and Point of Rocks, Maryland. White’s Ferry shuttles vehicles across the river and we walked our bikes on and paid the one dollar fare.
Once across into Maryland, we were a little disheartened to see that we were only at Milepost 35 of the C&O canal. We had ridden 35 on the W&OD, plus 3-4 from Leesburg, and 4-5 from D.C. to the trailhead. It was now 4:00 and we were pretty tired.
We started up the towpath which in this section was two dirt tracks separated by a grass median. This is why a one-wheel trailer was required. We saw more deer but rabbits and turtles were spotted mostly. The canal has sections where it is fully watered and there were stretches covered with green duckweed, but much of the canal’s bed has been overgrown by forest. We met no one coming in either direction for the next hour or so.
The serenity of the forest was broken by noise ahead which sounded like white water. Indeed it was. We were crossing the grounds of Dickerson power plant and in 1992 they had built a kayak whitewater slalom run for use by the U.S. Olympic Team to train. There was no one training on this day but the course is still there including the slalom gates.
It was just a few miles further that we came upon the crossing on the Monocacy River. The C&O paralleled the Potomac River although much of this section you couldn’t see the river. But here, where river flowed into river, the engineers had built a stone aqueduct to carry the C&O over the Monocacy River so that the canal would not be prone to flooding like the rivers were. There is a beautiful stone arch bridge which carried the canal over the Monocacy River here.
Unfortunately, with the flooding in 1972 from Hurricane Agnes, the aqueduct was damaged and for the past 30 years has been shored up with additional supports. We could walk across the structure though and after a few minutes rest and some pictures, we did.
We continued up the canal to Point of Rocks, Maryland. While we were getting hungry, we didn’t see anything here and decided to push on. The time was 6:00 p.m. and we were hoping that Brunswick, Maryland would hold promise for us. We rode ahead to Brunswick and passed an RV campground between the trail and the river. The owner rented us a site for the night so we went ahead and rode into town to eat at Mommer’s Diner.
It was in this diner that we met a couple of girls traveling through from Cumberland to D.C. We talked about conditions in both directions and they talked about how they loved Shepherdstown. Of course, we have spent many a day and dollar in Shepherdstown since Bethany goes to school there. One thing I remembered them talking about was the great bike shop. The one girl had problems with a rack and her duct tape was beginning to fail so they made the necessary stop in Shepherdstown for the repairs.
After dinner at Mommers, we headed back to our campsite to learn a most disturbing fact. The campground is nestled between the river and the canal — a beautiful location. The canal here is grown up with trees but it wasn’t always that way. While at Mommer’s we met an older couple. The man had worked for the U.S. Park Service and maintained the canal in this area. As a boy, I would guess in the 1940s, he said the canal here was watered and they would ice skate for miles on the canal in the winter. We also learned that the Park Service does plan to restore the Monocacy Aqueduct. But on the other side of the campground through those trees hides a railroad yard.
We had been thinking of staying at one of the many Hiker/Biker campsites along the towpath but the thought of hot showers was too much to ignore. We paid $9 for the campsite and took our showers, probably spending more than twice that money standing in the shower. Once we pitched the tent and tried to sleep the trains came alive. It seemed like it would last all night with cars being coupled and uncoupled. Then, of course, there’s always that pleasant sound of the air brakes being released.
The humidity of the day kept it from cooling off so it was still in the low 80s when we turned in for the night. No breeze, it was miserable.
Still, we had survived 70 miles the first day with no problems. The legs were in good shape and the butt didn’t hurt too bad either. It looked like it would be a good trip.
