"Some Beach"..........Delaware

A sharp rapping on the window awakened me from what felt like a drug induced slumber. More rapping, then

"Hey Lady, lady.....are you all right?"  came a disembodied voice.

Tugging my ever present blue ball cap back into place, I bolted upright in the drivers seat, and was greeted with a concerned face peering in at me.  Sheepishly, I rolled down the window.  Standing there was a buxom, red-faced woman, with four young children, who stared wide-eyed at me with undisguised interest.

"Yes," I replied, "Just catching forty winks.  Thanks for asking!"


"Well, ok, "  she returned, "You had me worried!  A woman shouldn't be out here all alone, sleeping in the car. Somethin' bad might happen!"

Thanking her and acknowledging her concern, she nodded at me gravely, gathered her offspring and continued on her way.

Yes, indeed, something bad could have happened, but fatigue had overwhelmed me, and I had to stop.  I had to stop to take a power nap, for as I drove from Cumberland, I could not fight the drooping eyes and nodding head that were stronger than my will to remain awake. Knowing that lack of food contributed to this state, I stopped for nourishment at Subway, but it hadn't helped. I needed to sleep. So sleep I did, in the parking lot of a Bob Evans restaurant--just a short, 20 minute power nap. But it was enough....enough to rejuvenate me and also raise the concern of an unknown stranger.

The pace and energy required for this trip has taken me by surprise.  Riding three or four hours in brutal heat and humidity, then packing the car, driving 200 to 400 miles, followed by unpacking, doing laundry, caring for my 'riding wounds' (a painful task), working on my bike, reviewing my route and preparing for the next day's ride was taking its toll.  I was tired and my body was letting me know it.  This was, yet again, another reminder for me to slow down....to shift my focus from my goals to enjoying the journey...and to take care of myself.

By early evening, I arrived at the home of my Warmshowers hosts, Ina and Ronnie, in Delaware.  With great warmth, Ina welcomed me, offering food, company and a big glass of ice water.  Sheepishly, I had to tell her I had already eaten when she offered me a locally renowned treat, a big Italian sub from their store, Yoder's Country Store.  A short while later, her husband, Ronnie came home and we settled comfortably in the living room to chat.  The evening turned to night as the three of us visited, sharing stories like long lost friends, finally retiring in the wee hours of the night......11 pm for this old timer.

The next morning, dressed and ready to ride, Ina and I picked up where we had stopped the night before. Eating the large and delicious breakfast Ina had prepared,  we engaged in lively conversation and exploration of their life and beliefs as Mennonites.  From this exchange, I learned much about their religion and was surprised to learn that the Amish are an off shoot of the Mennonites. To our mutual delight, we discovered we both hail from the same part of Ohio and knew many of the same places.

Appetite satiated, I soon left to ride, albeit much later than planned.  However, after yesterday's lesson, I savored the time spent in such pleasurable and interesting company rather than fretting about staying on a time schedule.

Turning left out of the driveway, I headed towards the Atlantic Ocean.  Except for the flatness and sandiness of the land, nothing indicated its close proximity.  Fueled with good food, I shot down the road, travelling at a 20 mph average, enjoying the sun on my face and the wind at my back.  I flew past some interesting yard art, then backtracked to take a closer look....life sized sculptures made entirely from horseshoes.

Ralph

The artist was puttering in his yard, weeding the flower beds.  Asking his permission to photograph his work, he bashfully agreed.  Shy he may have been, but he was soon talking openly in a soft voice, telling me about the sculptures and why he was tending to the flowers.  The flowers were his wife's passion; she had passed away during the winter.  He lovingly cared for them as she would have.  How he missed her, reminiscing about the time they had spent together creating their country paradise.  As the sun climbed higher into the sky, and temperatures rose, I listened with open heart as he poured his sadness and loneliness out to me, a passing stranger.  (Ina--if you read this, please go visit him).

Once on the road again, I thought of Ralph, hoping that time would heal his heart....recognizing what a gift he had been given to have found the love of his life, and what a gift she had received to have been so cherished.

With the sun straight up, a shadow passed over me. Above was a sea gull, flying in the same direction as I was riding.  Stepping from my contemplative state, I became aware of my surroundings.  The air had that unique tang found only near salt water and smelling sweet, like clams.  Farmland full of corn still claimed the left side of the road, but the right side was a swampy wonderland, filled with plethora of plants and wildlife. Turtles and snakes basked on stony protrusions, as herons and storks stabbed their long, sharp beaks into the water at some unseen prey.  Kingfishers darted out of the sky, bombarding the water in unsynchronized  hunting.  Black flies swarmed, flying in a cloud of chaos, interrupted only by the hunting acrobatics of a handful of swallows.  Cattails swayed, and large leafed water lilies floated tranquilly on the murky black surface, giving the frogs a gentle ride. In the far distance, I could see a huge nest in the top of a dead tree.  I would like to think it was that of a bald eagle, but given the number of heron and storks, it was most likely one of theirs.  The swamp, a wildlife nature preserve, extended for as far as I could see.  I wondered vaguely, how one side of the 'highway' could be the host for corn, while the other was this wild and wonderful world of marine life.  (Prime Hook National Wildlife Preserve)

(courtesy of delawaretoday.com)

(courtesy of coastalnewstoday.com)

(courtesy of Wikipedia.com)

Approaching a T in the road, I was presented with a long row of houses, travelling down the far side of the intersecting street; there seemed to be no end to them.  I also heard the unmistakable sound of waves as they came into contact with land.  I had reached the ocean! Now...how do I get there?  It appeared that all the beach access points were on private property.  In fact, I couldn't even see the ocean, though I knew it lay directly behind those homes!  Not to be deterred, I pedaled up and down the road until I found a public access....but, my oh my, what a name: Slaughter Beach!

Prickly pear cactus.

Walking awkwardly on the heels of my bike shoes to avoid getting sand into the clips, my legs began to sting as sweat trickled into the slashes made by the razor sharp grass that stood between me and the beach. As I balanced precariously over large colonies of prickly pear cactus, (cactus on the beach???  Who would have guessed!), I swatted away vicious and voraciously hungry black flies that thought I was a walking smorgasbord. Beginning to sport large welts and cuts on all exposed areas, I decided I had seen enough of the beach.  Time to leave.

This morning, Ina had suggested that I ride a different route than the one I had planned; the roads on which I had chosen to ride were very busy.  She offered some suggestions, then gave me a county map.  Today, I was flying by the seat of my pants.  Since I always get lost anyway, this method might actually be easier and more worryfree!

Leaving Slaughter Beach, I headed north, following the coastline.  It was a pretty and uneventful ride.  Entering Milford, I discovered a lovely old seaside town, complete with old architecture and aged cemeteries. As I explored it, I failed to pay attention to the road surface, and ran straight through a pile of broken glass.  Upon examination of my tires, which were unscathed, I noticed that something didn't look right with my rear wheel.  Not sure if it was supposed to be like this, I returned to a bike shop I had passed earlier. Lucky for me, the owner called himself "The Tire Doctor'.  He looked at it and gave me the thumbs up....all was well.  As we chatted,  he told me he was in Houston last year for the Senior Olympics; he had placed 11th for his age group in cycling!  He was in his 70's; I would have guessed early to mid-sixties had he asked. To me, that is just more proof that cycling, or any exercise, is the key to the fountain of youth!

Jack Sheaffer, 11th place, Sr Olympics 2011

Does anyone know what kind of architecture this is?  There were many buildings constructed this way.

Finally leaving the shop, it was past noon. I needed to be getting back; I had at least 25 miles of riding to do so.  The wind had picked up considerably, and the lovely tailwind from this morning was now a headwind.  With the temperatures hovering around 98 and the humidity high enough to create condensation on the shop windows, I knew I was in for a challenge.  After half an hour of hard riding, I was surrounded by fields of corn being irrigated.  Large sprays of water overshot the corn and landed on the road....  Overheated and dripping with sweat; I decided to take advantage of this watering maladjustment and cool myself.  AAAAHHHH....did that drenching ever feel good!

Wait for it....wait for it....aaahhhhhhh

Two hours later, I was lost and still riding.  It's obvious I would never be mistaken for Sacagawea; Lewis and Clark would still be out there if I were.  

Out of water, I stopped at someone's home to ask if I could get water from their hose.  No one was home; I went around to their backyard to fill my bottles anyway and discovered a beautiful coy pond full of fish!  What a tranquil spot!

Can fish be spoiled?  As soon as I walked to the edge of the pond, they began begging.

Bottles filled and refreshed after drinking some of the cold hose water, I was ready to finish this ride.  Tired and hot, I forsook the scenic route, riding instead the most direct one--straight down the shoulder of the highway.  It was loud: it was busy:it was less than optimal, but it got me back more quickly than the zigging-zagging country lanes.

Back at last, I took a quick shower, stripped the bed, putting the dirty linens in the laundry room, gave Ina a big hug and thank you, then hit the road for New Jersey. But, first, on the way out of town, I stopped at Yoder's Country Store to say good-by to Ronnie and get a big cup of latte.  MMMM-mmmmm.  No falling asleep on the road today!

Yoder's Country Store

Delaware has it all....crops, beaches, swamps and woodlands

I passed this guy with extreme caution!

Griffith's Chapel, 1850

Yummy!  I want to go!

Salt encrusted bike shorts, at testament to the heat and my level of exertion.

Ronnie and Ina

A kiss good-bye.  Thank you for your excellent hospitality.

"If You Miss the Train I'm On...." Maryland

After spending a leisurely rest day in West Virginia, tromping around the haunts of my ancestors, I moseyed on over to Maryland. As I transversed from one state to the next, I pondered why one state might carry a reputation for being 'backwoods', while the neighboring one does not. Without a big metal 'Welcome' sign on the road, I would not know when I had left one state and entered the next. There is no big yellow line marking the state boundaries as one sees on a map. That being the case, from where do these conceptions arise, and on what are they based?

Travelling through the various states, each geographical area seems to have it's underdog; that state where the sophistication and intelligence of its residents are a target of ridicule. The Northeast picks on Maine: the Mid-Atlantic coastal states snigger at New Jersey; of course, West Virginia is always the butt of the Cletus jokes, as is Kentucky. Arkansas and Oklahoma seem to gather the attention for the breadbasket states, and we won't even mention Louisiana. It rather reminds me of the high school cafeteria, where the cool kids are at one table, and the hierarchy descends from there. I suspect that, like much in life, worth is erroneously based on wealth.

Anyway........

Travelling into western Maryland afforded me beautiful views of the Appalachian mountains. On this very hot and humid day, I was headed to Cumberland, where homes and business were still without electricity due to Friday's Derecho storm. Not having a Warmshowers host here, I was staying in a hotel; I had faith that I would find one with its electricity intact.

Downtown Cumberland on this Sunday evening was dead. Many of the businesses had signs in their windows, informing customers they would be closed until power was restored. Like a tornado, the outage seemed to skip some business, while hitting others. After the hotel experience in West Virginia and the absolute emptiness of the streets, I began to wonder if a hotel, one in which I would be safe, was available. Pulling into a deserted street, which felt like the set of the Twilight Zone, I pulled out my phone, tapping the Hotel.com app. As the results materialized on the screen,  I let the electronic voice guide me to that night's refuge.

Standing tall and modern among the old buildings in historical Cumberland, the green Holiday Inn sign beckoned me, like a lighthouse in a storm.

Uh-oh......the parking lot was full. Not a good sign for me, but at least there must be electricity AND air conditioning if so many people are there! 

Wiping the red Crystal Light mustache from my lip and entering the reception area, I was greeted with a roomful of sweaty, muddy men in bicycle gear--by the looks of them, grooming my mustache was totally unnecessary! This was a motley, yet happy, crew; they had just come off the C & O Canal Towpath Trail, which runs from Cumberland to Washington DC.  They were obviously ecstatic to be in a hotel and not camped on the wet ground.

Double uh-oh...full parking lot, and now all these guys.... hope that I would get a room was dimming.

Taking my place in the long check-in que, , I chatted with the guy in front of me, a loud Alpha male, about the path and their ride. Telling him I intended to ride that trail in the morning and was on a carbon road bike, he looked at me as if I had just fallen off the turnip truck. He informed me, in very simple but explicit language, that the Towpath had taken a pretty bad beating from the storm, suggesting that I take the Great Allegheny Passage, (also known as the GAP), instead.

The C & O goes south to Washington DC, and the GAP runs north to Pittsburg; they join in Cumberland, creating 300 miles of biking trails!  Biking heaven....but that would be a trip for another day.

He also gave me a lot of useful information, such as:

• take a light--there are long tunnels
• wear mosquito repellent
• the GAP follows the train track, so I could race the train to the top
• the first 25 miles are uphill

Next in line, I was able to check in, eager for the morning's ride, until I turned and saw all those muddy men looking at me, obviously discussing the folly of riding a carbon road bike on the trail.  Oh well...they just don't know that I believe '100% is possible 100% of the time'. It might not be easy; it might not be fun, but 'can't' just isn't part of my vocabulary.  As a friend of mine likes to say "Maybe you can't because you won't."

The weather for the following morning was forecasted to be another high 90's day, with possibility of reaching 100, and accompanying high humidity. Ugh. With weather like that, I knew I had to be up and riding before 7 and I was. Good thing, too--it took a full 30 min to find the trailhead. Ah......isn't it great to be so directionally challenged!

The Ride

Folks--each ride just gets better and better. I thought I had seen unbelievable beauty on previous rides, but the trip on the GAP was breathtaking in the early morning light. The trail, again, was wonderful hard packed earth with that kitty litter fine gravel, running next to the railroad. As the morning light gently filtered through the trees, casting a magical hue,  the only sounds I heard were the crunching of my tires and the birds calling to each other.  All around me, the underbrush rustled with small creatures scurrying to hide as I made my way up the mountain. Rolling through their territory, Eastern towhees called out

"Drink you tea, drink your tea"

Unbeknownst to them, I had already had my skinny hazelnut latte at Starbucks. No tea was necessary to power my legs; if the coffee wasn't enough, the majesty of my surroundings was.  The towhees' beautiful song was a wonderful accompaniment to the locust singing in the canopy. Rounding a corner, I startled a doe and her two young fawns as they grazed on the succulent grass growing along the side of the trail. They sauntered away, as if they hadn't a care in the world.  I knew how they felt.

Up and up I went, unaware that I was actually climbing. At times, I felt I was actually descending, but a look at my bike computer confirmed that I was still climbing. This sometimes happens in mountainous areas and is called a false grade.  It is the illusion of going downhill, when the road is actually going up.  It can be frustrating at times, as one wonders why pedaling is so laborious on a descent; I always think it is me, that I am out of shape.  It is a comfort to be able to look at the computer and realize that Mother Nature is playing tricks.

Onward I went, stopping only to take in the magnificence of the views in the high vistas. Looking out over the panoramic scene of the Appalachian mountains, I watched as the day awakened, mist hanging in the valleys like a comforter gently placed on a sleeping child.  If one did not believe in God, this would surely be convincing evidence.  And all around me,  I was bathed in the 'silence' of the woods and the songs of the towhee. The tranquility, the solitude and my sense of serenity was so great, that the old folk song, 500 Miles, sprang into my mind, escaping from my lips;  I sang it as I climbed, savoring my surroundings, with the birds providing harmony.

Tranquil farms nestled in the valleys

The sun is slowly rising

America, the beautiful

Up...up...up... past the Mason-Dixon line, which divided the Northern states from the Confederacy,...past the Eastern Continental Divide.  Still I climbed, through tunnels and passing others now joining me on the trail.

The Eastern Continental Divide

Ah....the tunnels.  From out of the sunlight, I entered my first tunnel, taking off my sunglasses and flipping on my light.  I was as blind as a new born kitten.  It was DARK!  Three of the four tunnels were unlit, so I proceeded with caution...lights on, as well as my red rear flashing light.  Signs warned of not entering the tunnel if a train was present; I cannot imagine the sound and vibration that must be occur if one were to be in the tunnel with a train!!  The fourth tunnel was daunting; it was long....very long.  Long enough that dim lights were hung from the ceiling and the end looked like a pin prick in a piece of black paper.  I pedaled very slowly, waiting for my eyes to adjust.  I pedaled for what seemed an eternity, but the end never seemed to get closer.  Was I on a treadmill?   Finally, I felt myself being drawn to the light; I imagined that this must be similar to a near death experience. At last, I arrived at the terminus; emerging into the brightness of day.  I now know what a mole must feel like coming out of its hole.

A short, picturesque tunnel

Light at the end of the tunnel.

Summiting the mountain, my mileage read 25 miles. Though I wanted to ride on, I knew I needed to check out of the hotel, then drive over 250 miles to the east side of Delaware. It was time to return.  Riding more of the GAP would have to wait for another trip (anyone want to go?), so with remorse, I turned and started back.  The good news?  It was all downhill!!!

Down I flew, glad that I had taken time to enjoy and savor the serene beauty on the way up.  The ride was exhilarating, and stopping was not on my agenda.

"Wheeeeeeee",  I shouted gleefully, sounding like the Geico pig.

Riders sweating their way up, looked at me with envy.... 

"Wheeeeeee".  

Hopefully my obvious exhilaration encouraged them, or at least made them laugh.  It took my a third of the time to descend as it did going up.  All too soon I was at the bottom, with time to spare.

I took advantage of this extra time to explore the C & O Towpath trail.  I wanted to see just how rough it was.

I am not sure what the men I met yesterday encountered, but the trail I rode on was more than doable.  It was a flat, easy ride, with some potholes, mud puddles and roots, but easily navigable.  Stopping at a bike shop where the trails converge, the owner told me I could have ridden it on my road bike without difficulty--that the challenge was more mental than physical.

Regardless, today's ride was one which reminds me of how blessed I am on many, many different levels.

Early morning light filters through the trees.

Sharing the bridge.

"If you miss the train I'm on......"

Small town access to the trail

A farm nestled in the valley

The climb; not as daunting as it would appear.

My ride up; no grades were over 3%, but that is 3% for 25 miles

The canal, the trail, the train......

Extremely well marked trails

I may have exceeded the speed limit.....

Plaque giving the history of the canals and G Washington's involvement.

Early morning berry pickers.  I thought they were feeding the wild turkeys I had just flushed off the trail.

The canal on the C & O portion of the trail.  Swim, anyone?

Old mill

My purchase for the day.

Which way do I go?

The C & O portion.  This is the Potomac River.

Take a ride with me.

Oh....by the way....I didn't get to race the train.  It didn't start running until noon, long after I had completed my ride.  Oh, well.