I was visiting my parents and hoping to get in a nice ride but the weather was anything but nice. So instead of starting in Somerset I set out from Berlin, instead.
Pa. Turnpike on Tunnel Road
It was 50 degrees (10 C) and raining. A good day to try out my new Pearl Izumi rain jacket. I crossed over the summit and was in a moderate rain. But worse than the rain was visibility was poor. I rode the brakes on the descent – a hill that I have hit 50 mph before. Today I kept it in the 30s.
I was hoping for a loop ride back up to US 30. As I went through New Baltimore and turned around I was surprised to see a cycling group on Rt. 31. The day before I had seen them and suggested the safest cycling roads in the area. My suggestion was met with an arrogant and condescending response from a staffer. Shesaid she had looked at Google maps and satellite images. Well, OK then.
Yet today they decided not to ride on the signed Pa. Bike Route S but on the truck-heavy Rte. 31. In the rain. That was the least safe option they could choose. It was one I would not, and did not ride.
I turned around and decided not to ride the loop but simply to go back the route I had come from. Rte 30 would be too long today in the rain. The shorest was route would be where the ycling group had gone but it was much too dangerous. I knew Pa. Bike Rte S was farther than staying on Rte 31 but thought it might be fun to see who would get to the top of the hill first. I did.
I reached the summit then headed back to Berlin. I knew with my upcoming trip to Portland this might be the last day on the bike for a while so it was good to get out – even on a day I got soaked.
I’ve done this ride before although never quite like this. It was “wheels down” at 6:30 a.m. on a cool morning with a cloud cover. I left Friedens and rode up Pa. Rte 281 to Stoystown and not a single car passed me. I stopped briefly to take a picture when I found one of the decorative 1930s gas pumps that celebrate the Old Lincoln Highway.
Old gas pump, Stoystown, Pa.
In Stoystown I got on Plank Road for what should have been an enjoyable descent down to and past the Quemahoning Reservoir. And then I remembered a couple of weeks earlier laughing at Frenchman Arnaud Demare stopping during the Tour de France and running into someone’s camper to use their bathroom. Karma would get her revenge today although there were no campers alongside these forested roads. The good thing is that no cars passed me on this stretch of road either. (**)it happens.
Quemahoning Reservoir
Riding my new Trek Domane, I was wondering if my average speed would be higher today than it was four years ago when I was chased by Rottweilers. But I rode at a relaxed pace, often stopping to take pictures. Or other things.
Arnaud Demare takes a comfort break during the Tour de France (2014) Source: BleacherReport.com
In Northern Cambria at Mile 55, I stopped at the home of Don & Nancy Lowmaster for a needed water break. The sun had come out, it was warming up, and I had depleted my water. Nancy refilled my bottles with ice and water.
Fox Pizza, Davidsville, Pa. – My “One Hour” Photo
Although another 20 miles remained to my destination of a reunion site, these were the hardest miles for me. While the climb out of Johnstown seems somewhat steep, the road is good and the grade is constant. Once on these back country roads the climbs become stepper, the surface a little rougher, but for me, the hardest part is the grades are not consistent. It is hard to find a pedaling rhythm.
Coney Island, Johnstown, Pa. Hot dogs aren’t just for lunch anymore.
On Arcadia Road, I remembered a loose dog last year, so I sped up and went into stealth mode. I thought I was by safely. Then to my right heel was a pit bull chasing. Oh boy. But I was already 200 yards past his house and I think he was more chase than catch. At least today he was.
East Conemaugh, Pa., looking towards Johnstown
Just before Smithport someone went by and called out “Hi Barry.” I have no idea who it was.
Gobblers Knob, Punxsutawney, Pa.
After the reunion, I decided to ride on to Gobbler’s Knob and into Punxsutawney. I had never been to Gobbler’s Knob. It was another 6-7 miles with much of it on those nasty little climbs that are steep with no consistency. It was August 2 – six months after or six months before Groundhog Day. Was I early or was I late? It didn’t matter. It was a sweet ride down to Punxsutawney to end the day.
I had my dad leave the reunion and drive my car to the County Market in Punxsutawney to pick me up.
Gobblers Knob, Punxsutawney, Pa.
A check of the data shows I was not faster than four years ago although it was my second fastest time – even while not feeling so hot.
It has been two years since I was able to ride to a family reunion. Yesterday’s forecast looked promising but just as soon as I left my parents’ place in Friedens, just north of Somerset, Pa., it started to rain.
What used to be a barn is now and auto sales lot in Davidsville
Riding with a broken collarbone I was a bit skittish as I rode. I was very afraid of having a spill on the road and landing on the collarbone. So I took it easy.
I stopped once an hour to take on food. While it was a just a gel that I normally take while I’m riding, I didn’t want to ride with one hand on the bars and one hand on the gel. It also allowed me to stop and take a one-hour photo to document where I was.
On the climb coming out of Johnstown on Rte 271
I have ridden the route enough to know the turns and climbs and find it quite enjoyable. The climb out of Conemaugh/Johnstown was quite enjoyable. I found myself with a comfortable pace albeit in the rain.
Horse poop. Amish Country. Three Hour Photo on PA 271 near Duman Lake Park
When I reached Northern Cambria, I stopped at the home of my 4th cousins, Don and Nancy Lowmaster. I had never stopped here before but warned them that one day I may stop for water. This was the day. Unfortunately, I was pretty squishy. When I moved you could hear water squishing. Nancy was great about cleaning the one bottle and refilling it with ice and water.
West Branch Susquehanna River near Cherry Tree. The river is so small here one can literally throw a stone from bank to bank.
As I left the skies really opened up. I was in a real downpour for the next 10 minutes but then the faucet was turned off for the day. By the time I reached Cherry Tree the sun was out, and other than my wet clothes, you wouldn’t have known it had rained.
Normally no one has every heard of Gipsy. But four months ago in Homestead, Fla., Craig Babst was talking about Gipsy like it was his hometown.
This was my first long effort since breaking my collarbone and I felt good. I feel as though I am starting to regain my form.
I came to Pennsylvania on a scouting trip for some friends preparing a charity ride across the country. Google Maps show the most direct route from Bedford to Ligonier is through New Baltimore then up Imgrund Mountain Road. The problem was I wasn’t finding anyone who knew much about the road. (Or perhaps people knew and were unwilling to talk. Imgrund Mountain Road is believed by some to be the real crash site of Flight 93 and, as the lore goes, no outsiders are supposed to know since Flight 93 has put this area on the map.)
My dad drove the upper portion for me last week and told me it was “red dog” (look it up). But he never saw the nasty lower portion. I called the supervisor for the township and when I told him we were thinking about biking up it, he recommended against driving up it.
Non-cyclists view many hills, if not all hills, as something they wouldn’t ride on a bike. I knew that I could not rely on outside intel to make the determination if this was a safe route for my friends’ ride. I had to see it, and ride it, for myself.
Imgrund Mountain Road, the lower section
I went exploring and first started up Wambaugh Hollow Road, part of the Pennsylvania Bike S Route over the mountain. I remembered on Google Maps that near the top of the climb a road connected with Imgrund Mountain Road. Except that it didn’t.
I met a local and when I asked about the road that connected to Imgrund Mountain Road he told me there may have been an old hunting trail through there but assured me the only road over the mountain started back at the base off of New Baltimore Road. And then he looked at me in disbelief when I told him I was going to ride up it. Not to be outdone, then his “friendly” dog chased me, nipping at my heels.
Imgrund Mountain Road
I descended back to New Baltimore Road and found the entrance to Imgrund Mountain Road. I saw gravel. Dirt. Rocks. And a forest floor. My immediate thought was “no way.” I almost turned back knowing the answer.
Red dog road part of Imgrund Mountain Road
But my next thought was to see just how far I could go. So I started up the road. The first half-mile was rough. By rough I mean hard. The surface was mixed stones and dirt and even some water flowing down it creating gullies, so I couldn’t get any rhythm pedaling. I was trying to find a line that would do the least damage to my wheels.
I would not recommend a car travel up this road. Big enough for one car it has a very uneven surface and some rocks protruding from the surface. It is, however, perfect for a 4×4. And an adventurous spirit.
I kept climbing, at times getting out of the saddle but always finding the rear wheel would slip with each pedal stroke. After the first half-mile, the grade lessened some but still was considerable.
Power line. Google maps recommended this route instead of Imgrund Mountain Road.
The road threw everything it had at me for two and one-half miles. Just when it seemed I was at the top I saw a curve to the left and another climb. There was heavy gravel on the curve and my GPS showed a 22% grade.
I made it and the road leveled off. The surface got better – all packed dirt or gravel and flattened out and even trended down.
House powered by wind-power generator
But the other factor was the wind. Heavy winds were blowing and it was cold. Memorial Day weekend it was 45 degrees at the start, never getting higher than the low 50s.
Purple barn. Why Pennsylvania, why?
I wanted to ride 10 miles over to Friedens and surprise my parents but felt uncomfortable controlling the bike in the winds. Instead, I headed to US 30 and rode back to New Baltimore.
Bald Knob Summit – U.S. 30
I could not recommend this ride for anyone on a road bike. Yet a huge sense of accomplishment swelled over me. I even thought of recommending the route to my friends just so I could chide them knowing I did it and some of them couldn’t. But that would be foolish. Real foolish. I’ll find them another way over the mountain.
___ EPILOGUE (April 13, 2014) – I contacted Google and they have since corrected the hunting trail and the power line which showed as connecting to Imgrund Mountain Road. I still wouldn’t recommend it on a bike
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, FrederickLaumeister, 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.
Speedsters speed along the track
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.
Crossing
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.
New Freedom, Pa.
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.
Mason Dixon line
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.
Mason Dixon Line
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.
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.
Big Savage Tunnel
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.
My dad pulling off the trail
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.
Inside the Borden Tunnel
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.
My Dad’s Beater Bike
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.
Dad enjoyng the view
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.
Entering the Big Savage Tunnel
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.
Borden Tunnel description
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.
Exiting the Big Savage Tunnel
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 riding beside 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.
Trailbulders plaque in Deal, Pa.
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.
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.
A barn
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.
Longswamp B&B
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.
Amish School
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.
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!!
Trexlertown, Pa.
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.
Angry flags whipping in the cold air
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.
This has become one of my favorite rides. After almost a week of being off the bike due to all the rain from Tropical Storm Lee, it was a gorgeous day for a Century Ride (100 miles).
Right from the start the road turns up with a seven-mile climb through Catoctin Mountain Park. Even riding at a comfortable pace I passed three riders in short order. Then a woman wearing a jersey from the Baltimore Bicycling Club just blew by me. Funny how these things work. Even if I thought about “grabbing her wheel” (following her) my body couldn’t respond. Anyhow, I was here to ride comfortably. (Plus it may would have been a bit creepy.)
Near the top, my friend Mariette Vanderzon and her fiancee, Rick, came flying by me but I was soon able to latch onto their wheels. And in short order, we soon caught and passed BBC girl and never saw her again the rest of the day. Funny how these things work out.
I was riding with Rick and Mariette, and the hill where I could hit 50 mph snuck up on me. Being in a group, and not recognizing where I was, I simply got in a tuck and didn’t pedal. Although I hit 47 mph I was majorly disappointed that I didn’t hit 50. I even thought about turning around and trying the hill again.
We were riding along at a comfortable pace when two guys passed us. Oh boy. I saw Mariette go and catch their wheels and then Rick followed. I couldn’t. But I could watch this play out 100-200 meters ahead of me. There were the three or four of them. Then another rise in the hill and there was Mariette off by herself. Most surprising to me was on the climb to the rest stop at South Mountain I caught and passed both of those guys. I wanted to say to them “you shouldn’t have pissed her off.”
I was refueling at the rest stop at South Mountain when Mariette and Rick left. I never saw them the rest of the day.
It was a strange day. Except for the brief interlude when I rode with Mariette and Rick, I never connected with anyone. Just a solo ride. I didn’t even find a pace line to jump into except for one brief one going into Gettysburg.
The route was from Thurmont to South Mountain to Antietam National Park. Then it followed South Mountain to Blue Ridge Summit, Pa., and then to Gettysburg National Park. Once through the park, it was 20 miles back to Thurmont. It was a peaceful ride from South Mountain to Antietam and from Antietam to the rest stop at Mt. Aetna.
After the Mt. Atena rest stop, I pushed off on my own, again, looking forward to or dreading the climb over the mountain near Fort Ritchie. Not sure if this is still South Mountain or not. I was entrenched at my own pace and wasn’t about to join any group. Unless I had good reason.
Mt. Aetna Rest Stop. Three of the Four on-course rest stops for the century ride were at firehouses.
One group passed me but as the road turned up, I passed them, not to see them again. Except for the day that I abandoned my climb to the Col du Galibier, I don’t usually make wise decisions when I’m on my bike. Today would be another unwise one. I was cramping. Big time. Sometimes as the pedals moved there would be a sharp pain in the hamstring. Or quadriceps. Or calf. Yet I had lower gears to use and I wasn’t using them.
Last year when I rode here I wasn’t conscious of it at the time but realized at some point on the ride I never used my small front ring. So a goal for today was not to use the small front ring. Stupid.
I turned onto the climb on Ritchie Road and started passing riders. The easy ones were the ones walking their bikes but I passed a number that was still pedaling.
It should be noted these climbs are not the length of the Tourmalet (12 miles) or the steepness of Mt Washington (12%). I can do this. Even while cramping.
I descended to Fort Ricthie and rode ahead to Blue Ridge Summit, Pa. There I stopped for a picture of my bike in front of the Mason-Dixie marker.
While I was stopped, four riders flew by – two couples, and then I saw MY JERSEY! My Alpe d’Huez jersey of which I am so proud. Of which there isn’t another one in the U.S. (or so I thought).
When I bought my jersey on Alpe d’Huez, the Australian shop owner assured me that I would be the only rider in the U.S. to have one of these. This is so embarrassing.
So good looking we posed twice for photos
I immediately caught up to them and heard someone ask me if I rode Alpe d’Huez. Of course, I rode it. I never got a name but the one couple had just been on Trek Travel’s Classic Climbs of the Alps and of course, rode up the famous climb We rode together for the next seven miles to the rest stop at Fairfield. Then we mugged for the camera never to be seen again.
Note to the yellow jackets at Fairfield: Seen you two years in a row now. Please don’t come back.
From Fairfield, I was off again, alone, when I had to stop at a stop sign. That allowed a small group of three to catch me. I gave them the clear sign so they didn’t stop. At first, I was going to let them ride ahead but then decided to catch a ride. I linked up and sat in. There was a huge guy pulling and two smaller guys following. I assumed they had been working together but it became apparent that the two guys were simply wheel suckers. I sort of felt dirty being one myself although I’m not sure what work I could have contributed since I was cramping. I sat in for two and a half miles until reaching the battlefield in Gettysburg.
I stopped, took a few pictures, then rode off again. I was hurting and may have been tempted to jump in a SAG vehicle had they offered one so close to the end. I didn’t.
Riding through the Battlefield at Gettysburg is a surreal experience. I felt transported back to the Civil War. One could feel them singing the Cramptown Races. Doo-dah.
Lone rider through GNP
I arrived back at the start/finish and saw the line for Antietam Dairy ice cream to be too long. That was the best part of the ride. Got to my van. Stopped. Started to lift my leg over the cross tube and then let out a yell. Damn cramps.
Last year I biked from Somerset to Punxsutawney on consecutive weekends for family reunions. The lowlight was being attacked by Rottweilers and it has always made for some scary riding since. And the truth is, I have avoided that section of road ever since.
Today was a near-perfect day. Rain at the very start (I didn’t say it was a perfect day), cool enough to be comfortable although the sun eventually came out around Johnstown.
Coming out of Davidsville on Pa. Rte 403 there is a wonderful three-mile descent. The grade averages 6-7% and one can simply coast. In preparation for Mount Washington, I had removed the big ring off my bike so there was no pushing the speed to extreme heights. Traffic was light and respectful until some jerk came up behind me and laid on the horn. After he passed we approached a light and he stopped. He was very angry. He reached over to wind down his window (loser) and started screaming. “GET OFF THE F___ING ROAD!” I smiled and asked him why he was so angry. Just another day in the paradise of riding.
Arriving Johnstown I was passed by a large truck, slightly smaller than a dump truck. Just after passing me, it rounded a curve and a large piece of rebar came flying off the truck, crashing to the sidewalk and smashing into a telephone pole. A few seconds earlier that would have been me. Ouch.
In Johnstown, I passed Coney Island Hot Dogs. It was 8:30 a.m. I looked in the window and thought maybe they’d be serving breakfast but I saw a worker serving hot dogs. Who eats hot dogs at 8:30 a.m.? People in Johnstown, that’s who.
Conemaugh River Valley outside of Johnstown
The climb out of Johnstown on Pa. Rte 271 was nice. I could hear trains creeping in the valley. The cool air still enjoyable.
Twin Rocks
I followed 271 through Mundys Corners, Nanty-Glo, Twin Rocks, and Belsano Shortly after Belsano, I tried a new route – Snake Road. I thought at first it was named for serpents it soon became apparent that it was named for the way it snakes through the forest.
I came back to 271 and at Nicktown, followed it to Northern Cambria. I wasn’t going to take the shorter route through Marstellar and risk seeing those dogs again.
After Northern Cambria, I stayed on Rte 219 despite the warnings a bridge was out three miles ahead at Emeigh. It was. I simply took my bike and walked over it.
Bridge out on 291
After Cherry Tree, I used the Garmin for the first time to direct me. Each time I ride through here I seem to take different roads and I found some today. Once I got to Smithport, I knew exactly where I was going but there was one problem. Fresh oil/tar on the road. The last four miles had the tar and chip surface. Gravel is not a friend of road bikes and neither is tar. I arrived but the bike wasn’t in such good shape.
The worse sign a cyclist can see
Outside of the messy tar, it was a very enjoyable day on the bike. And no dogs.
Reunion Photo – Kay Walborn (far left), next to Barry Sherry
