August 30, 2003
A Flat Ride
Belle Vernon to Rockwood
Last night I slept in fits and starts as I worried about the forecast for rain, and the wet downhill to the YRT. I awoke and did the usual preparation for the day, raiding a rather sparse complimentary breakfast in the hotel lobby. I hit the road at 7:45 in a light sprinkle, and headed for the YRT. I feathered my brakes all the way and walked the final ramp from the highway down to the trailhead. The ride was not as treacherous as I had worried about last night, but I just didn't want to take any chances with a wipeout at the start of the day.
My stomach was already doing cartwheels and it wasn't from the terrain. I was pretty sick; my illness seemed to be moving from my chest and throat into my stomach.
From Smithton, I took the YRT south. Almost immediately I saw a rather large wild turkey on the trail ahead. After a short while, it began to rain. I put on my vest and kept riding. The trail was flat but I could only manage 9 - 10 mph in these conditions.
I stopped for a snack at a trailside campground. The owner runs a bike rental place. He offered to fill my tires with his pump which appear to run off a generator. I declined, thinking the last thing I needed was to have my rear tire explode on me.
I rode on in a steady rain to Connellsville. Here the trail went through a town park where people were setting up for a lumberjack competition. The trail winds through town and past a trailside bike shop. I stopped and used an air hose to top off my back tire, using a gauge to make sure I didn't over do it. The shop owner was very cordial and helpful. The service area was in a garage in the back of the shop and it was occupied by four smiling wet bike tourists taking shelter from the storm.
Jim and Marilyn Zimmerman accompanied by two women friends (one was named Joy, I forgot the other's name), told me all about their adventure. They were from South Dakota and had flown or taken a train to DC. They were on their way to Pittsburgh, essentially taking my route in reverse. They warned me that the C&O canal towpath was a quagmire from all the recent rain, but that they had fun slogging it out anyway. They and their fender-less, non-bent bikes had to be hosed down a few days earlier as they were covered from top to bottom in mud. We talked for a good half hour. They told me about some great folks in Ohiopyle (up the YRT a ways) who ran a general store, the Fall's Market, with rooms to let above. They took an off day and the store owner drove them to Fallingwater, the famous Frank Lloyd Wright house, and a winery were they bought some wine that was now filling their panniers. They had planned each day of their ride including lodging arrangements, rest days and such. And they were clearly having a great time. They told me that the YRT south of Connellsville through Ohiopyle State Park is gorgeous and that the rain would not be much of a problem because the trees form a canopy over the trail. After thanking them for the information, I rode on after the rain had abated. I was feeling nauseous and decided to play the rest of the day by ear. The rain and the scenery were distracting me from my eating and drinking routine, and I attributed my nausea to lack of food and drink. I ate my New Eagle sandwich and drank half a bottle of water as I rode south of Connellsville.
In Ohiopyle, I stopped for coffee and a brownie. What an interesting town. The railroad comes through here. There are several kayaking and tubing places, and business seemed to be doing quite well. I stopped at the Fall's Market and talked to the owner. She offered me a room but I decided to make a reservation for a room in Meyersdale, at the southern end of the trail, 42 miles away. It was 1 p.m. and I figured I could easily do 42 miles in about 5 hours with plenty of time for breaks.
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Off I went again, riding the YRT south through the park. The scenery and the trestles were just fantastic all the way through the park. By far the nicest stretch of rail trail I have ever been on. In Confluence, I stopped at an overlook and read an historic placard describing how George Washington attacked the French near here kicking off the French and Indian Wars. I was fascinated by the French and Indian Wars in junior high school, but I can't remember a thing about them today. For that matter, I probably knew who Galen Cisco was when I was 12. It is incredible how much really important and useful information your brain pushes aside as you age.
About a half an hour later, I heard the dreaded 'pisssshh' from my rear wheel, my first flat after over 550 miles. I was due. Luckily it wasn't raining or buggy so I stopped and changed the tube without discomfort. When I filled up the tube, I found a bulge in the tire. I inspected the bulge and found that the sidewall of my brand new rear tire was developing a slit just above the bead. I used a dollar bill as a boot, reinstalled the tire, crossed my fingers and started to ride again.
Within a few miles, the rear tire was flat again. I patched both the tube and the slit in the sidewall with tube patches, and rode on. I stopped on a high trestle over the Castleman River (which joins a creek at Confluence to create the Yough). I felt the tire and it was sound, so I rode on. By the time I reached the far side of the bridge it was flat again. A couple I talked to on the bridge told me to stop at the post office in Markleton, the next town up the trail, and ask the postmaster for help. I thanked them for the tip and turned to the tire.
I studied the tire and found that a second slit had opened a couple of inches along the bead from the first. I used electrical tape to tape both the inside and outside of the sidewall. I also discovered that my second spare tube had a hole in it. I had no choice but to use up my second to last tire patch. My margin of error was no down to almost nothing. To make matters still worse, I noticed that my rear brake was no longer working. I had apparently snapped a small red plastic part (called a noodle) that pulls one of the brake arms. And to top it all off, the rear brake cable seemed to me hopelessly frozen.
I rode on to Markleton without incident, arriving around 5:30 p.m. There I found that the post office had been closed since 11 a.m., and there was no phone or other services in sight. (I was later told that cell phones do not work along the trail yet.) So I had no choice but to ride on to Rockwood, which was listed as having a bike shop and B&Bs. I headed out at 5:45
It was about 6 miles to Rockwood and I had about an hour and a half of daylight left. I figured I could walk it if I had to or just give up for the night and set up my tent along the trail. My back tire was holding up but I didn't know how much time I had left. On I rode, inching my butt forward on the seat to take weight off the back wheel. I must have looked ridiculous, but I'd rather look bad than walk six miles. Mile after mile crept by as I rolled along at 7 -8 mph, trying to ride as straight as possible.
I made it to Rockwood with a soft rear tire, the tread was now almost gone. I was whipped. I was sick and tired, literally. The bike shop and the B&B above it were closed. Meyersdale was now out of the question. So I put some more air in my rear tire and rolled downhill into town. I found a café and asked a police officer inside where I could find lodging. He directed me to a place up the street. After a half mile walk, I came upon the In Town Inn. I knocked on the door and was greeted by Jean Hendershot, her husband Paul, and their small black dog Ebby. Luckily, they had a vacancy. If my unannounced arrival was an imposition, they never showed it.
My bike and I were covered in a limestone slurry from the wet day on the trail. Paul helped me put my bike in their garage. We decided that it would be best if I dealt with cleaning it in the morning. After that I'd call the bike place at the trailhead to see if I could get a tire, and some tubes and repair the brake.
After I showered, Jean surprised me with dinner. (I found out later it was leftovers, but it tasted like a five star meal.) We talked for a couple of hours. It is obvious that they enjoy running their B&B and look forward to the day, in the near future, when the tunnel connecting Meyersdale to Cumberland Maryland is finished. I have no doubt that Rockwood and all these other little towns will greatly benefit from the increase in tourism.
I spent the rest of the evening calling my wife's voice mail and my father-in-law and sending my wife an e-mail on Paul's computer. I explained that I may not be able to continue tomorrow. Since she and the kids were driving home tomorrow, they could swing by and pick me up without too much trouble since Rockwood is only about 10 miles from I-70.
Tomorrow is another day.
Roadkill: Me and my bike. Views from the YRT: Too many to count. B&B: Wonderful
Today's ride: 72 miles (116 km)
Total: 584 miles (940 km)
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