Russ Eanes's Blog, page 3

Day 7: Reaching Mile 0, Harpers Ferry to Washington D.C. My Ride of Passage ends.

I reached my goal–Mile Zero of the C&O towpath yesterday. It was a fun, but tiring, final 61+ mile ride into the city.

[image error]The CSX tracks in Harpers Ferry.

I started the day on the heights in Harpers Ferry. I stayed at the Harpers Ferry Guest House, a place I can recommend, which is a half mile ride steeply uphill from the center of the old town. It was a difficult climb, since it was coming at the end of a hard’s day’s ride. The ride down the hill from my B&B was easy and there is a nice ramp to the footbridge that crosses over the river. The Towpath is across the river from Harpers Ferry

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I was very glad to see that the footbridge was open. It had been damaged and then closed earlier in the spring when a railcar derailed and came off the train track that runs alongside the footbridge. The nearest detour is the route 340 bridge, well over a half mile downriver and not a particularly bike-friendly thoroughfare.

[image error]Footbridge over the Potomac, from the C&O Towpath to Harpers Ferry, which is on the West Virginia side.



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It was quite a job, the day before, hauling my bike and bags up the winding staircase that leads to the top of the footbridge. Now I was going to have to haul it all back down. Just as I had gotten to the stairway, I met two women, Karen and Maria, coming the other way. They had biked from Shepherdstown that morning and wanted to look around Harpers Ferry. One of them noticed my Camino de Santiago cycling jersey and asked if I had walked or biked it.

I told her that I had walked the entire Camino, and that I had even written a book about it. We had a great five-minute conversation about hiking and biking, and then they kindly offered to carry my panniers down the stairway for me.I really appreciated the help! Similar to my experience walking the Camino de Santiago, there is a great community of people on this journey together and I have enjoyed getting to know many new friends.

The Potomac below Harpers Ferry, with the Shenandoah now joining it, becomes very wide and wild, with lots of rocks. This is a kayakers paradise.

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The cycling path, paved with crushed limestone, continued on for another 30 miles. It was a delight to ride and I picked up my pace. The old canal is ever-present, as are the locks and lock-keeper’s houses. Often the canal is overgrown with brush or fallen trees, but some stretches are still filled with water, often covered with algae or duckweed.

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At one point I came across a great blue heron blocking my way in the path. He stood still long enough for me to get a good photo of him, before he flew into the canal and landed on a log.

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About 25 miles into my ride I came to White’s Ferry, the only active ferry operating on this part of the Potomac. Leesburg is just a few miles on the other side of the Ferry, so it would be a good stopping point for through-riders. The Washington and Old Dominion rails-to-trails runs through Leesburg.

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I stopped for lunch at White’s Ferry. They have a good grill there and there are no more places to stop for food from here until Washington, so I loaded up with a huge submarine sandwich.

[image error]I met my riding friends Liz and Star, who were enjoying a cold drink. They had spent the previous night in an old lock keeper’s house, which can be rented from the Park Service.

I had misunderstood that the excellent paved limestone trail extended the rest of the way into D.C. It doesn’t. Around milepost 30, at Edwards Ferry, it abruptly stopped and I was back to riding on rough gravel, stone and mud. There had been severe rainstorms the night before in the metropolitan area and my progress was slowed considerably by mud and puddles.

[image error]There is often a drier spot to get around the puddles, but sometimes you just have to go through them.

Around milepost 15 I came to one of the most popular spots along the entire C&O Canal, Great Falls. This is where the river starts its drop off nearly 200 feet to sea level. Kayakers and tourists abound. There is an old tavern, canal boat and well-preserved lock. I’d been here before and was anxious to finish, so I didn’t stop for long.

[image error]The Great Falls of the Potomac

The trail through Great Falls became narrow at points, as the canal widened. The surface also became poorer and I found that the last 10-15 miles into the city were some of the poorest surfaces of the entire route, with lots of mud and rocks. After riding 50+ miles, and the associated fatigue, I was also feeling all those vibrations in my bones. At mile 10 I passed underneath I-495, the Washington Beltway, and the George Washington Freeway parallels the canal at this point. Even so, it did not feel like I was in the city, except that there were a lot more people on the trail.

[image error]Cattails in the Canal



[image error]A foot bridge under construction in Georgetown.

Within the last two miles, the Capital Crescent Trail parallels the C&O and since it is asphalt, I moved onto it for a mile until I came closer to the end. Moving back over to the Towpath, I discovered that it came to an abrupt end. My map didn’t indicate this, so I was confused. However, I knew that the river was to my left, and the canal to my right, so I meandered down to the point of land where I knew milepost 0 was supposed to be. There were not signs pointing me that way; I got on the Rock Creek trail, knowing that the canal began next to the mouth of Rock Creek. With some persistence and good luck, I managed to find the spot, behind the Thompson Boat house, a launching spot for rowers on the river. Again, no signs, but I had seen picture of the marker and after crossing a small footbridge, found it. I had arrived!

[image error]Milepost 0, with the Arlington Memorial Bridge in the background.

I had ridden 345+ miles to get to this point and was elated. I have to admit that it lacks the drama of the Point in Pittsburgh, but it didn’t matter to me then. I had dreamed for years of cycling this, and here I was!

Washington D.C. is not an easy city to drive in and this was a difficult place to meet someone, so I arranged for my wife to meet me at the Vienna Metro station. I biked about five minutes to the Foggy Bottom station, where I was able to enter with my bike. The trains were nearly empty and I had no problem walking mine on. In less than an hour I was in Vienna and happily met my wife.

[image error]On the Metro

An end to a long and wonderful journey! I had experienced wonderful weather, beautiful scenery, good companionship and lots of history. I plan on combining it all into a book, which I hope to publish next Spring.

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Day 6: Williamsport to Harpers Ferry—Take Me Home Country Roads… Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River

[image error]The mouth of the Shenandoah River as it enters the Potomac and Harpers Ferry

I’m getting near home and I can sense it. Today’s ride, 42 miles from Williamsport to Harpers Ferry, took me out the last of the Allegheny Mountain ridges (North Mountain) and into what is known as the Great Valley. South of the Potomac River, in Virginia, it’s called the Shenandoah Valley and it’s drained by the Shenandoah River. Harrisonburg, where I now call home, is about 90 miles south of here.

[image error]The canal in Towpath leaving out of Williamsport

My ride today started in the rain. Fortunately it was light and before long it let up completely. However, water + dirt =mud so there was a fair amount of it on the road today and I got well-coated in it. By late morning the sun came out, I me out, and so did the dirt. I brushed most of it off by the afternoon.

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In order for the old canal to have had enough water, several dams were built along the Potomac. As I was riding yesterday and today it often felt like I was going alongside a reservoir. Well, I was. Today’s dams created a pool of water 12 miles long, and this is known as Big Slackwater.

[image error]Damn #5

The left bank of the river is a sheet rock wall. There was no way they could cut a canal through this, so they used the big Slackwater to run the canal boats and cut a towpath into the rock about 8 feet wide.

[image error]Along the edge of the Big Slackwater

It was a very dramatic and even a slightly hair rising-ride. I took my time because on the left was a sheer rock wall and to the right was a drop into the water.

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Later, At one point I came to a fallen tree across the path. Somehow or other I managed to wedge my bike past it, but it was really difficult and I wondered about some of the riders coming along behind me. Two women that I had been riding near for the past several days, Liz and Star, would be coming to the same place soon. I noticed that there was a road parallel to the towpath, on the other side of the canal, and that it could be used as a detour. When they came near I waved them down and pointed out the detour, which they used. Later I met another rider coming from the other direction and gave him the same tip.

[image error]This fallen tree made the path nearly impassible.



[image error]Star and Liz, two deaf riders, who started in Cumberland and are making their way home to D.C.

Around noon I came to Shepherdstown West Virginia, and decided to go up and over the bridge into town for some coffee and a scone. This is my favorite kind of rest stop.

[image error]Potomac River below Shepherdstown.Potomac River below Shepherdstown.



[image error]The perfect bikers snack

After Shepherdstown, the path is paved with crushed lime stone. This was a dream. It’s so much smoother and there’s no mud! I am told they’re going to extend this 20 miles per year until they do the whole towpath. I’m really looking forward to that.

[image error]The new, improved surface around Shepherdstown.



[image error]Biker/pedestrian bridge over the Potomac at Harpers Ferry

By early afternoon I had reached Harpers ferry. This is a place I am very familiar with and is perhaps my favorite spot along the entire river. I have been coming here to hike for over 40 years. Over that period of time I have watched the town grow and develop into the national park that it now is. It’s quite a dramatic point, with a the Shanandoah emptying into the Potomac River, with high Bluffs on the north and south banks. Our favorite place to hike is one of those bluffs, called Maryland Heights and you get a fabulous view of town from up there.

[image error]Maryland Heights, just across the Potomac from Harpers Ferry.

It’s really a charming and historical town. It’s of course famously known as the place where John Brown tried to foment a slave uprising in 1859, the incident which most likely sparked the start of the Civil War. It is also the headquarters for the Appalachian Trail, which goes through town. If you are riding the C&O towpath, it’s worth a visit.

[image error]High Street in Harpers Ferry



[image error]Enjoying a brown ale with John Clark

In the evening I met up with John Clark, a new friend who has been riding the same sections of the towpath as I have. I have enjoyed getting to make several new friends on this trip.

Tomorrow I will ride the last 60 miles into Washington and complete my journey.

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Day 5: Little Orleans to Williamsport, Fueled by a legendary breakfast

I began what has been my second shortest ride so far (42 miles) with an enormous breakfast at the Town Hill B&B. Their breakfast is legendary, but even I was surprised by it. It was more like three meals in one. When they have a full Inn, they serve this buffet-style and Donna, one of the owners kept apologizing that there was no buffet. Somehow or other I managed to consume it all. And I told her repeatedly not to apologize!

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After getting my gear together Dave, Donna’s husband,shuttled me back down to Little Orleans. Along the way he explained to me that they typically have 700 cyclists per year, but that this year business is off 80%. I was sobered to hear that. I was only one of two guests there last night. He is hopeful that things get better next year. He told me that tour groups comprise most of the cyclists and that there have been no tour groups this year. Many of the groups come from the West Coast.

[image error]Dave letting me off at the WMRT trailhead in Little Orleans

I started my ride today on the Western Maryland Rail Trail (WMRT) rather than the C&O Towpath. The WMRT parallels the towpath for 28 miles and is a paved asphalt surface. It actually is situated immediately above the canal, opposite the towpath. Of course it is much faster, more comfortable and easier to ride and I was set to make great time on it. Its current western terminus is Little Orleans. This is the same Western Maryland RR that the Great Allegheny Passage follows from Connellsville to Cumberland.

[image error]The paved WMRT

Since this was going to be a shorter day, I decided I wouldn’t hesitate to take some photos. One thing that I had been noticing along the way were the old Western Maryland RR telegraph poles, which I had first noticed way back near Ohiopyle. There were few still standing back there, but along this section there are hundreds. I thought they would be cool to photograph and so I stopped at several. Then, I noticed some had the original glass insulators on them. I got a photo of some with as many as 10; then I started looking for some of the insulators that might have fallen on the ground. The poles were leaning over the canal and would not be advisable to climb. I went slowly until I found one on a pole that had fallen over. A souvenir!

[image error]An old telegraph pole with insulators



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A little later I saw a familiar “swoop” of a bird just ahead of me on the trail and knew it was a hawk. I stopped for about ten minutes until I got the best shot of it that I could. It was picking bugs out if the rotting wood on one of the telegraph poles.

[image error]A small hawk or falcon

I stopped after Hancock for some coffee and a muffin and then in about 8 miles rejoined the towpath around Ft. Frederick State Park. After that I noticed boats docked on the other of the Potomac and realized that I was approaching Damn 5. The River is really more like a lake there.

[image error]The River, broad and flat, with docks on the West Virginia side



[image error]Damn 5 with a fisherman

I cycled on for another hour, and at this point the canal and towpath are quite close to the river the entire time. I finally came in to Williamsport my destiination for the day. It has a very large and well preserved aqueduct and a large port where canal boats used to tie up and even winter over.

[image error]Williamspor



[image error]Conococheague Aqueduct in Williamsport.

Tomorrow I head 40 miles to Harpers Ferry, perhaps the most famous place along the C&O, with a stop in “artsy” Shepherdstown.

Day 4 Cumberland to Little Orleans: My first miles on the C&O Towpath

I had a crisp and clear morning of riding today, leaving Cumberland for Little Orleans, a distance of 45 miles. As I began, I got my first sight of the north branch of the Potomac and the C&O Canal, and started riding the canal’s towpath east. This part of the trip is 185 miles and will take me four days.

[image error]In the foreground is a bit of the canal, with the Potomac River behind it. Above the bridge arches and the spires of Cumberland is the gap that I came through yesterday as I descended out of the Allegheny Mountains.

The towpath is very different from the Great Allegheny Passage, which is an old railroad bed and has been resurfaced with crushed limestone, an excellent surface for cycling. The C&O, in contrast, was made for mules to tow boats. Its surface is hard-packed dirt—mud in places—with some gravel, tree roots, hard rock and the occasional tree limb. I found it wasn’t too muddy today, but the constant jarring of the gravel and the bumps of the occasional unexpected tree root gets fatiguing, even with my bike’s fat (42mm) tires.

[image error]Double track alongside the canal.

As I go, I sense that I am riding alongside history. The canal was an efficient route of transportation back in the early 19th century, before the railroad era. It was built beside the Potomac River, which would supply it with a constant flow of water. Goods were loaded on canal boats and pulled along by mules. “Packet” boats carried passengers. They moved about 3 mph. They could travel around the clock, but most tied up at night, so the trip from Washington to Cumberland was typically about four days, about the time I’m going to be taking. Unfortunately for the canal, the railroad came into existence and overtook it by the time the canal was finished. In other words, it was obsolete by the time it was completed in 1858.

[image error]Canal boat

Even though the canal has been out of use for a long time, traces of the old locks (there were 74) and the lock keepers’ homes are still there, and some very well preserved.

[image error]Original lock and lock house near Cumberland

There are few if any places to stay along here, unless you are camping. There are primitive campsites about every 5 miles, which makes that a very good option. These are also nice places to stop and have your lunch or take a rest. And they have outhouses.

[image error]Lunch stop at one of the campsites



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Probably the most interesting feature of today’s ride was the the Paw Paw tunnel. It’s over 3,000 feet long and took 12 years to build, with immigrant labor, starting in 1835. The original idea was to save 5 miles of canal by creating the tunnel. But there was a great deal of labor unrest and cost overruns which made the whole thing questionable by the time it was finished. The tunnel itself is lined with over 6 million bricks. There are no lights inside and you need to walk your bike, with a headlight.

I had my picture taken by a couple of women who were riding behind me much of the day. They offered to take my picture, and at that point I realized that the two of them were deaf. I regretted that I don’t know how to say “thank you” in sign language.

[image error]The downstream entrance to the Paw Paw Tunnel. The two women who took my picture are on the left.



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The entire C&O canal is a national park. Much of the section that I rode today feels very remote and since we are cutting through the eastern edge of the Allegheny Mountains there very few towns anywhere along the way. About halfway through today’s ride was Oldtown, where the old school has been converted into a kitchen/ rest stop for cyclists. Rita, the person who runs the place says she is the “head cook, chief bottle washer and CEO.” She happily filled my water bottles and washed them off for me.

I finished my day in the town of Little Orleans. It’s basically just a store, and that store was closed today. But just before I got there I passed over an aqueduct at Fifteenmile creek. This is another one of the very unusual phenomena along the canal. They are actually built above the larger waterways, kind of like a bridge of water over water. Some of them have been abandoned and a path goes through the aqueduct now, but several are still in existence though they don’t have any water in them. They’re quite a sight to see.

[image error]Fifteenmile Aqueduct

I chose to spend the night at a B&B about 7 miles off the canal. They tell me that they have about 700 cyclists in a typical year, though this is not a typical year. Since it’s up on top of a ridge, about 1600 feet above sea level, I elected to get a shuttle ride up there.

[image error]Town Hill B&B, the last of the old hotels and inns along the first National Road, Route 40.

Tomorrow I continue my journey to the town of Williamsport, about 40 miles away.

[image error]Path cutting through an abandoned aqueduct

Day 3–Meyersdale to Cumberland: The Glorious Descent (Monday)

Today was my easiest day so far. I left Meyersdale a bit late because I knew I only had to ride 32 miles to Cumberland. The first 8 or 9 miles is an almost imperceptible climb, but then the trail crosses the Eastern Continental Divide and makes a wonderful descent over 23 miles, through three tunnels, to Cumberland on the Potomac River. There the Great Allegheny Passage ends and the C&O towpath starts. I left Pennsylvania and entered Maryland.

[image error]900 ft Keystone Viaduct, shortly after Meyersdale

I especially love the last section before the Divide. The Allegheny highlands in Pennsylvania broaden out and the valleys in between are mostly farmland. The ravines and steep river valleys are long past. Its beauty is in spite of the fact that it was strip-mined at one point, and there is still evidence of that, though a lot of the damage has been slowly reclaimed.

[image error]Getting near the Divide

The large waterways have also disappeared. No more raging rivers, with their white water and rocky bottoms. Instead of the Monongahela or Youghiogheny or Casselman, there is just a small mountain creek, Flaugherty Run, which originates somewhere up on the gentle slopes of Meadow Mountain. It turns south and disappears just before the Divide.

[image error]Flaugherty Creek

Once I was over the Divide, I started making faster time on the bike. I had stopped to take a lot of photos during the previous hour, so I hadn’t gone very far or very fast . But at this point the trail starts its descent into Cumberland, a 2% grade, and the cycling is about as easy as it can get.

[image error]It’s all downhill from here

In addition, you go through three tunnels on the way down. The first one, Big Savage Mountain tunnel, is nearly 3,300 feet long. It has lights inside but I always take off my sunglasses before I enter. Two more tunnels follow before you get to Cumberland.

[image error]Big Savage Tunnel

After leaving the Big Savage Mountain Tunnel, there is a fabulous overlook down the valley toward Cumberland, and it’s worth stopping and taking in the view. You also cross the Mason Dixon line, the traditional dividing line between the North and the South of the United States.

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If you feel up to it, you can stop in Frostburg for some refreshments, but I wanted to keep going today. This section of the trail is very busy and I even passed some Amish families out for a ride down the mountain.

[image error]Mile 0

By early afternoon I had reached Canal Place, the junction of the two routes. Tomorrow I head out on the C&O towpath and a new adventure for me. I haven’t ridden this part before, and I’ve heard it is very challenging with lots of mud.

Day 2: Connellsville to Meyersdale—Slowing Down for a Gorge-ous ride (Sunday)

I woke up this morning after a good nights sleep, but for some reason I wasn’t feeling settled. I went downstairs in the Comfort Inn and got myself a cup of coffee and went and sat out on the back patio looking over the river while I drank it. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot, but I wasn’t feeling that way inside, and I didn’t know why.

[image error]The view of the river from the Comfort Inn

I thought about today’s ride, about 60 miles, and it seemed quite doable. I was going to be riding through one of my favorite spots on the whole trail, the Youghiogheny Gorge and I should have been looking forward to it.

[image error]A small waterfall in Ohiopyle

But then I started thinking about the next days’ ride which is quite a bit farther, 75 miles, and then it hit me: I was moving too fast. I was trying to get in too many miles in too short of a time and it was no longer going to be any fun. I’ve been there before.

When I walked the Camino De Santiago one of the primary things I wanted to learn was how to slow down. I even wrote a chapter in my book about it. And here I was again back at my old habit: rushing, trying to get too far in too little time.

Right then I decided I was going to take an extra two days. I checked my lodging options, changed some reservations and within an hour I had extended the trip from five days to seven days. I instantly felt better inwardly.

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I got my things together and then headed out on the trail, a little later than I might have wanted, but much more at peace about the upcoming journey.

[image error]Just before Bruner Run, the takeout place for whitewater rafters, about five mikes downriver from Ohiopyle

The first 25 miles that I rode today was through the gorge, probably the most beautiful place on the GAP. Having decided that I didn’t have to be in any hurry, I took time to soak things in as I rode. The section is beautiful for many reasons. It cuts through the Allegheny Mountains, first Chestnut Ridge, then Laurel Ridge. In between the two ridges is the Ohiopyle Falls, probably the single most dramatic site on the trail, and also a premier white water rafting spot of the east eastern US.

I took my time as I rode the first 15 miles, stopping to take pictures, stopping to dictate notes to myself (frequently) and thoroughly enjoying myself. This section of the trail is so green and very heavily shaded. One hears only the sound of rushing water, the occasional train, whitewater rafters, and the grinding of my tires over the limestone-paved trail. It was just what my spirit needed.

[image error]Kayaks just below the Ohiopyle Falls

I have been to Ohiopyle many, many times, and since it was mobbed with tourists, decided not to tary too long. I took a picture of the high trestle from below, which required descending a trail down to the rivers’ edge, but it was worth getting the shot. In town I got a cappuccino in a café, ate a few sandwiches, and was on my way.

[image error]Confluence, where the Casselman River joins the Youghiogheny

I moved at a pretty slow pace before Ohio Pyle, but maybe with all the caffeine and food in me I suddenly sped up and got to Confluence in record time. This is where the trail breaks off from the Youghiogheny River and instead follows the Castleman River.

[image error]The Pinkerton Tunnel

Knowing that Confluence might be pretty crowded and because I wanted to keep going, I rode more quickly for the next 2 1/2 hours, until I got to my destination, Meyersdale. I went through the Pinkerton Tunnel, which was refurbished in recent years and cuts about a mile off of the journey.

[image error]The Salisbury Viaduct

The first part of that section outside of Confluence feels very much like the Youghiogheny gorge, with high rock walls, rhododendron and hemlock, but toward the end it suddenly widens out and you find yourself up in a very high farmland plateau. You also cross over a 2000 foot viaduct as you traverse the Casselman river. I saw fields of corn for time since I left Pittsburgh. Industry and coal mining were pretty far behind.

Tomorrow I have my shortest ride yet, about 32 miles, to Cumberland where I’m going take a rest day and get some new equipment. Besides being the shortest ride, it’s also pretty easy ride. Within the first hour I will cross the Eastern Continental divide and then it’s a 2% downgrade all the way to Cumberland. I’ll go through three tunnels before I end up in the city I’m looking forward to it.

[image error]The high trestle at Ohiopyle. An old railroad bridge that is now dedicated to cyclists.

Day 1: Pittsburgh to Connellsville, with a little help from my friends (and family)

“It’s a great Day to be alive.” These were the words that came to me 2 1/2 years ago when I begin my 500 mile journey on the Camino De Santiago in Spain. They came to me again today as I began my journey in Pittsburgh, at the Point. Back then it was a cool, wet March morning but this morning could not be more different.

[image error]My sendoff team

I began at The Point, formerly called the Forks of the Ohio, the place where the Allegheny and the Monongahela Rivers converge to create the Ohio River. The day has been warm—but not hot—sunny, and the city looked brilliant.

I was fortunate to have some family in town over the weekend. My son and two of the grandsons and my daughter and her husband, all who had driven up from Harrisonburg with me, came to give me a fantastic sendoff. To top it off, a friend of my daughter’s, who lives in town, wanted to ride with me for the first 15 miles, out to McKeesport.

It really is a dramatic spot to begin this journey. Even when I was a child, this place— I recall it being referred to as the Golden Triangle—Has always been very special to me. Probably one of the most sensational city entrances you can make in North America is to drive through the Fort Pitt Tunnel and suddenly emerge onto the Fort Pitt bridge, crossing the Monongahela River to the Point. How fitting that this journey started at this very spot.

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I have been at this spot before, but always has an ending point to this journey. This will be the fifth time that I have ridden between Pittsburgh and Cumberland, but the first time that I started this journey from Pittsburgh.

[image error]My 13-year-old grandson says that he wants to do this journey with me sometime soon. I told him that by all means, I’d love to do it with him.

After my farewell we rode through the city along the rivers, following the course of the Monongahela as it twist and turns south, east and then south again finally to the point where the Youghiogheny River (prounced “yock-a-gainy” or also just called the “Yough”) joins it In McKeesport.

[image error]I’ll look back at the river and the Bridges of Pittsburgh



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At that point my friend Taylor headed back into the city and I bade him for farewell and headed out solo for the rest of the day. I bet several groups of riders going in the same direction as me and we sort of hopscotched each other all day.

This is an especially fine part of the ride, and the crushed lime stone path has got to be the most wonderful thing to ride on, even better than asphalt in my opinion. Since the path is almost completely flat and it’s an old abandoned railroad bed, the surface is very smooth and hard. I took it easy most of the day, stopping to take a few pictures here and there. With all my stops I average about 12 miles an hour.

[image error]A woman stopped to ask me just after passing through McKeesport if there were any more hills. I laughed and told her that there wasn’t a single hill between here and the end of the trail.

Once we have joined the Youghiogheny, we follow it for nearly another 70 miles.

[image error]Whitest, a typical “coal patch” or town. You can tell the cool towns, because the houses are all in a line and they’re all identical. And some of the older town some of the houses are missing but if you look closely you can see that it was a coal town.



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I met a trail volunteer at the visitor center in the town of Boston. I thanked him for his work (he was picking up trash) and he reminded me of the fact that most of the sections of the trail from Pittsburgh to Cumberland are maintained by local groups. It just shows how important the trail is to the local community and the local economy. This is a region of the country which has lost a great deal of jobs as the coal and steel industry has died

[image error]Some of the old mines on other sites are now off-limits.

Along the way I continued to look for new landmarks and historical markers and old ones as well. I had taken quite a few pictures of local landmarks over the years and one thing that amaze me was how things are getting greatly overgrown. Some of the old mines which once dominated the landscape have now completely vanished. I have often said that this is a region of the country which has tremendous natural beauty, but which is also experienced an equally tremendous degradation from industry.

[image error]An old gob pile as they call it around here. It’s the tailings from the coal mine. Almost all of it is shale that was picked out. you can’t tell from the photo but a group of locals was running four-wheelers around the top of this pile.



[image error]A memorial for the Darr mine disaster. In 1907, it was the largest mine disaster in the country with over 237 people dying. I can’t even find the mouth of the mine anymore.



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[image error]In Sutersville, where I stopped for lunch.

One of the biggest surprises for me was that I couldn’t find the old Coke ovens near Adelaide. Perhaps I missed something but I have a hunch that they have just removed the markers because they don’t want people trying to trap around the woods looking for them. I understand that it is now private property and off-limits like other places are off-limits. When I lead tours along this route a decade or so ago, the old ovens were pretty easy to find, if you know what you were looking for.

My last surprise was to run into a family of friends that I had known 20 years ago when I lived in this area. Totally by chance they were out on the trail this afternoon and recognize me as I passed by. A great way to end my day.

Tomorrow I leave Connellsville and head through the Youghiogheny gorge, probably the most spectacular sight on this ride.

Day 0: Pittsburgh

I took an extra day here in Pittsburgh, before I ride to Washington, because I wanted to visit my childhood home, in the South Hills of Pittsburgh. I lived until I was ten in Bethel Park.

[image error]Pittsburgh from atop Mt Washington.

I took the Incline down to Station Square, from Mt Washington, where I am staying. There is an unparalleled view of the city from atop Mt Washington.

At Station Square I picked up the light rail, called the T. Bikes are allowed.

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After about 25 minutes I arrived in Bethel Park and disembarked about a mile from where I lived. I have visited this neighborhood about every ten years since we left there. Everything seems smaller: the hills, the distances and the houses…

My parents built this house in 1962. We lived there until I was 10, in 1967.

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It was on this street that I learned to ride a bike. I was a late bloomer, age eight. A neighbor boy, a year younger, taught me. After that my parents got me a bike—used—but I thought it was the greatest.

I had fun riding the neighborhood on a bike for the first time in 53 years.

I had always wanted to ride the Montour Trail, which circumnavigates Pittsburgh from the Ohio River in the west, to the Monogahela in the south. A spur runs up into Bethel Park. I rode it down to McKeesport, about 25 miles, then picked up the Great Allegheny Passage, 15 miles back to Pittsburgh, making it a 45-mile day altogether.

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I took some extra time getting good pictures of the bridges.

[image error]An old railroad bridge across the Monogahela is now a dedicated bike bridge.

I completed my loop back at Station Square where I enjoyed a beer and Pasta, fuel for tomorrow’s 60-mile ride.

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Tomorrow I head back down bright and early to the city, where I begin my ride to D.C.

[image error]The Point, where the Great Allegheny Passage begins, 335 miles to D.C.

A Year of Changing Plans

Like everyone else, this year has turned out quite differently than I had been planned.

In early March I was on a small book tour of “outfitter” shops and was enjoying interacting with readers and sharing about the Camino de Santiago and the five-hundred mile journey that I took there in 2018, which I wrote about in my book, The Walk of a Lifetime.

I was starting on book #2, which was going to be about a walk in Italy. Last year my wife and I did part of that walk–the Via di Francesco–which goes 350 miles or so between Florence and Rome, through the Umbrian Mountains. I was making plans to return to Italy this summer to complete the walk and then complete the book.

All that changed in late March.

Italy, of course, became the world’s “hot spot” for the current pandemic and travel there looked unlikely, at first, then impossible, later on. While I still plan to return there, I am not planning it for at least another year.

This has meant that my travel/adventure itch was getting hard to scratch. But I had another book idea on the back burner, and that has been moved front and center.

[image error]My Specialized Sequoia, all loaded with about 30 pounds of gear. A perfect trail/light touring bicycle.

I have had the idea for many years of riding from Pittsburgh to Wash. D.C. along the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP) and the C&O towpath. It’s 335 miles and is completely off-road, following a rails-to-trails (Pgh to Cumberland) and the old C&O canal towpath from Cumberland to Washington. I have ridden four times from Cumberland to Pittsburgh (three times leading tour groups) but never from Pittsburgh all the way to Cumberland and then on to D.C. The time has come, and I begin tomorrow. I will take one day riding around in Pittsburgh and then another 5 days riding to D.C., averaging 65-70 miles per day. The route is nearly flat, with the only major grade (2%) before Cumberland and I’ll be riding down when I get to that.

I grew up in Pittsburgh for the first 10 years of my life and had lived somewhere in the vicinity of western PA for another 20 years. I watched the GAP develop from its first 10-mile stretch in Ohiopyle to its current length, 150 miles in total. I have ridden sections of it numerous times, alongside the four times I have cycled its length.

On Friday I’ll be spending the day in my old Pittsburgh neighborhood and riding the city, doing some photography and research. Saturday I’ll start bright and early from The Point, the place in the center of the city where the Allegheny and Monogahela Rivers meet to form the Ohio River.

Besides the joy of riding, I’ll be gathering material for my next book, tentatively titled A Ride of Passage which I hope to publish next Spring.

Keep an eye here on my blog as I progress!

Learning to follow the signs on the Camino

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My first day on the Camino Frances started with breakfast at the Albergue Beilari, in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. The lights had come on early and by 6:30 my fellow pilgrims were seated at the long tables in the dining room, ready to eat and start the day. I sleepily got myself up and dressed, headed downstairs to join them, filling up with a breakfast of muesli, whole-wheat bread, coffee, juice and lots of fruit. Our hosts packed some of us lunches and I took mine back upstairs to put in my pack. I searched my room for any stray belongings, carefully stowing everything away, then returned downstairs and sat down to write postcards and have a second cup of coffee. Most pilgrims were heading out the door already, strapping on their packs and adjusting their poles for the day’s walk, heading towards Roncesvalles, 25 kilometers away, over the top of the Pyrenees, the first stop in Spain.

I lingered, not sure what to do. The day was March 29. It was foggy outside and light rain was predicted for part of the morning. I had read contradictory opinions about how far to go the first day, some saying that given the jet lag, a pilgrim should stay an extra day in town to recover. Others said that perhaps a short day was in order; the village of Valcarlos was halfway to Roncesvalles and some of my companions told me that was their plan as they headed out the door. I was “practicing” not being in a hurry, but I also just didn’t know what to do and envied the certainty that most of them had as they departed. I pulled out my guidebook and looked once again at the first day’s climb over the Pyrenees.

A few minutes later Joseph, the man who ran the albergue, gave me the just the thing I needed. Standing in the kitchen, pouring me a third cup of coffee, he asked me how far I was going that day. I told him that I wasn’t sure, perhaps halfway to Valcarlos, perhaps to Roncesvalles, but I felt conflicted by all the advice. With a calm certainty, he looked me squarely in the eye and said simply, “You can do it,” meaning I could make it to Roncesvalles. I became aware instantly that this was one of the signs—a nudge from God—that I was wanting to be attentive to as I walked the Camino. So, it was decided quite simply: I was heading over the mountains. 

I wandered around town for another hour, taking pictures, nosing into shops, buying a pocket knife. Wrapping on my raincoat, I went back to the Beilari and picked up my things, then headed down the narrow street towards the gate leading out of town. I paused to take a selfie and record a brief video as I crossed the swollen River Nive. Looking down I recorded my foot by a scallop shell embedded into the sidewalk. My pilgrimage was beginning. It was 9:30 and I was a full two hours behind most of the other pilgrims.

* * *

Setting out by myself along the road that first morning, sky grey, a cool, light rain falling, my mood darkened slightly. Rather than feeling hopeful and remembering the first sign I had been given, I rather began to wonder what on earth I was doing here, not knowing anyone— a husband, father of six children, grandfather of two, with another one on the way—setting out to walk an 800-kilometer pilgrimage across northern Spain at age 61. A seasoned and frequently solitary traveler, I felt unexpectedly lonely. My wife Jane was eventually going to join me, but that was still over four weeks away. I knew only a bit of French, and not much Spanish. I had dreamed of this moment for two decades, but now that I was here I was having unanticipated doubts. It was Maundy Thursday, Holy Week. I was even missing celebrating Easter with the family at home. Was I doing the right thing? 

The wet weather and my indecision about how far I could go that day had given me the late start. The Camino guide books and documentaries frequently depicted happy people walking with companions past ripening vineyards and rich fields of wheat, or through shady-green forests, chatting and laughing in an easy stride on dirt paths, as they take in the gorgeous scenery. Instead of being green, the trees were bare and there was snow in the mountains and for the first few kilometers I was walking alone on asphalt, in the rain. I saw only one other pilgrim in front or behind me and then just barely. Four weeks until I would see my wife. 

As I meandered the hilly, quiet lanes, the rain slowed to a drizzle. My pace picked up, my feet and legs felt lively despite jet lag from the day before and the walking poles clicked in rhythm with my steps. I walked like this for an hour and began to turn my mind outward, taking in the scenery around me. While the leaves were not yet out on the trees, the pastures going up into the misty mountains above were a deep green and I noticed beds of begonias and other flowers, newly bloomed. Surrounding me were earthy scents of the damp world awakening after a long winter. I listened to the gushing streams, swollen with the melting snow, song birds and bleating newborn lambs. In spite of the dreary weather and my loneliness, I gradually felt an inner peace and decided that self-pity was not supposed to be part of this adventure. I was where I had wanted to be for so long, and I had all the time in the world. With that, a surprising phrase came to me— “It’s a great day to be alive!” I didn’t know where it came from, but that would stay with me over the next five weeks, even in the coldest, wettest weather or the longest, dullest stretches of road, especially when I was alone. Monotony, cold, heat, boredom, loneliness—they were all occasional parts of the journey; I was on my long-awaited pilgrimage, and they were to be appreciated. That surprising phrase was yet another inner sign to me.

Soon, small patches of blue sky broke open, the sun came out and with it the doubts and the loneliness evaporated like the mists on the mountains. The cool, air now felt crisp and refreshing. I peeled off my raincoat, finding a place against a fence post where I could set down my walking poles and backpack while I stuffed the clothing in. All this walking was generating heat. Maybe this is going to turn out alright after all, I thought to myself. I finally spied pilgrims on the road ahead of me and eventually overtook a few more, saying Buen Camino, the customary pilgrim greeting, as I passed. The road gently climbed as I traced the French and Spanish border through small villages and shopping plazas, their signs greeting me in Spanish, French and Basque. I bought fruit in a supermarket and after completing my first ten kilometers around noon, stopped at a bench to enjoy my sack lunch at an overlook in Valcarlos. There was one more brief rain shower before I left town, so I ducked into a small warm café for a café con leche (two shots of espresso and hot milk) and a pastry while I waited it out. I set my poles against the wall, unshouldered my pack and introduced myself to another man entering, a German pilgrim named Ziggy. We sat and chatted about the walk so far that day; I was glad to be indoors and dry. The caffeine boosted both my energy and spirit. 

When the rain passed, I bade Ziggy farewell and commenced my trek along the narrow and climbing highway, squeezing tightly up against the guardrail as tour buses swished past. I was unnerved by the traffic and wondered how soon I could get off the main road. 

The French woman in the Pilgrims’ office had warned me quite emphatically to stick to the blacktop roads, the dirt roads being possibly too muddy or snowy, but the close brushes with the tour buses were too much for me. I came to a dirt turnoff leading into the tiny hamlet of Gañecoleta and hesitated, wondering if I should chance it. My map clearly showed that an alternative route went down there, but she had a big “x” over it. Moments after I decided against it, a woman in a small SUV came up the dirt road. Rolling down her window, she pointed back down the road and told me in Spanish that the dirt road was okay—I should take it. I was about to learn my second important lesson of the day about following the signs.

The road led downward into a narrow, rocky ravine and soon I passed the handful of houses that made up Gañecoleta. Dramatic rock outcrops rose a few hundred feet on the left-hand side of the road; a stream was below, on the right. I knew the route would eventually have to go up again and within a few minutes I hit a steep concrete road that I supposed would take me eight kilometers atop the pass over the mountains. I felt surprisingly strong, striding confidently, my hiking poles clicking in rhythm with my steps, as I chugged upward. I was glad for the traction the solid road gave me. 

I had gone about 50 meters when I heard a loud whistle behind and below me. I kept going. I heard it again, then twice more, before I turned and looked back and down. Was that whistle for me? Below, next to the last farmhouse, a man was waving his arms and beckoning me back down the hill. “What the…?” I whispered to myself.

I walked all the way back down the concrete road to the bottom of the hill, where I met the whistling farmer. He began to admonish me sharply in Spanish and while I couldn’t get much of what he was saying, what little I couldunderstand—along with his gestures—was clear. I had missed the path. He pointed to a wooden sign post and the yellow arrow pointing to the right, to a narrow path alongside the stream. He then grasped his own head with both hands and pulled it upward—I needed to keep my head up! Yes! I had been walking with my head down, deep in thought, lost in my own interior world, when I had cruised right past the signpost. I understood enough of his message now: on the Camino, you need to keep your head up. Don’t look down, or you’ll miss your way. Pay attention. Just to be sure, he gestured again, tugging his head upward two more times. When he was finished, I nodded in embarrassment and said, “Gracias!” Humiliated, I headed along in the direction of the arrows. 

Now I knew there were two kinds of signs to follow on the Camino—the inward signs that we detect in our spirit, and the outward signs painted on posts, bollards, sidewalks, walls, rocks and even on guardrails. Both guide our way, both are easy to miss and both require our attention. I did my best to focus my attention on both from that point onward.

This story is adapted from Russ Eanes’ book The Walk of a Lifetime: 500 Miles on the Camino de Santiago.

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