My Dad - peaceonabike

MARKLETON, PENNSYLVANIA

After a lifetime of not riding with my dad, three years ago I was able to take him on the Great Allegheny Passage which runs through his backyard in Somerset County, Pa. We went again in 2013 but missed a ride last year (despite trying but my dad was too tired the day we were going to ride). This time, we got it right.

I told my sister, Betsy, that I would meet her and Dad at Markleton, Pa. on the Great Allegheny Passage. Betsy followed him to Fort Hill, where he left his Jeep, then the two of them drove and met me at Markleton. It was in the low 60s but absolutely beautiful.

I chose this route because of the newly opened Pinkerton tunnel. Also, my dad hadn’t been this far on the trail. I knew it trended downhill from Markleton to Fort Hill and packed a lot of scenery into its five miles.

With leaves mostly still on the trees in Northern Virginia, it was strange to be here where most leaves are on the ground. The trail was fully covered in places.

Cassleman River near Markleton — Casselman River near Markleton

Words cannot describe how pretty the trail is. We went a couple of miles then came to the Pinkerton Trestles. It was probably 10 years since I last rode through here which was always Trestle – Detour – Trestle. And that was a beautiful route.

Prior to the tunnel, the trail followed the railbed across the Pinkerton Low trestle. Rather than enter the tunnel, there was a one-mile detour out and around the tunnel which followed the natural flow of the Castleman River. But with the tunnel open it was now a straight shot from trestle to tunnel to trestle.

With the tunnel opened, it was even more beautiful. Although the trail trended downhill, it is mostly flat. One can’t coast but pedaling is a little easier in this direction. We were in a heavy forest and with leaves on the trail one could not see the surface of the trail.

And then – the trestle. We came to the Pinkerton trestle although we didn’t stop on it. We saw the tunnel and kept riding. It is not lighted, one would be helpful but is not necessary.

At the far end, we were on the Pinkerton High Trestle. We stopped and took pictures off of this one.

Reaching Fort Hill where his Jeep was parked, my dad asked, “Is this the end?” There was resignation in his voice but he wanted to keep riding. I was worried that if we rode four miles down to Harnedsville it would be too much for my 86 year-old father to ride another four miles back up to his car. I grabbed his keys and drove his Jeep down to Harnedsville. And so we rode.

Betsy and my dad rode ahead. Arriving at the trailhead with his Jeep, I rode back up to the trail to meet them and we then continued to the Harnedsville trailhead. At the end, we got a little concerned when he went into the middle of the road where the trail crosses. He stopped. This is a road normally lightly traveled, but now there was a car coming from each direction. Betsy yelled “Dad!” I got the attention of one car and motioned for him to slow or stop. All of a sudden it clicked and Dad said “OK!” And then he moved. Whew!

Although my Dad wanted to ride ahead and look at a church in Harnedsville, there was no way we were going to ride on the road with him. I loaded his bike in his Jeep and he drove home.

Betsy and I rode on down to Confluence. We looked for a place for a snack and found stairs leading from the trail with a bike trough to walk the bikes. The problem was the trough was on the side and not in the middle so the pedals hit the supports as I pushed the bike. Oh well.

We grabbed some cookies and a drink then rode back up to Markleton. What a gorgeous day on a bike.

Confluence overlooking the Youghigheny — Confluence overlooking the Youghiogheny

UPDATE: (SEPT. 14, 2016) – This post has been updated to “My Last Ride With Dad.” With each ride, we wondered if this was our last ride with him but this ride had more of a finality to it than the others. My dad seemed a little out of it standing in the road and I worried for his safety going home. He made it safely and then promptly sold the Jeep.

He never talked about it but looking back I sense he knew his mind was failing and that it was best to sell that beat-up Jeep he loved so much. We were just talking about another ride this spring when he fell in April. I wanted one more ride. I looked first at recumbent bikes. Handcycles. Tandems where I did the work. Ultimately, he would never ride again. And on this day we said our final goodbye to him we were thankful for the rides we shared with him. We were the lucky ones.

FROSTBURG, MARYLAND

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Artwork at the Eastern Continental Divide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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My Last Ride With Dad

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