August 29, 2003
I Can't Believe I Rode the Whole Thing
Saint Clairsville, Ohio to Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania
I awoke at 6:30, after 9 hours of sleep. That is a lot for me. The complimentary breakfast was pretty meager, but I ate a bagel and 2 donuts with orange juice and coffee, all the while enjoying the other guests' cigarette smoke. This also helped my cold, which is worse than yesterday.
The road is likely to pass through some interesting towns. US 40 in eastern Ohio is named the Phil Niekro Highway after the Hall of Fame knuckleball pitcher. Phil and his brother Joe (also a big league pitching star) apparently grew up in Lansing OH, my first town of the day. The hill leaving Lansing was unreal. Down into the Ohio River valley I sped through Wolfhurst and Bridgeport until I came to the Ohio River. I walked and rode my bike on the sidewalk over the river to Wheeling Island.
There were no signs saying "Come Back to Ohio", but I did come across "Welcome to West Virginia" sign. Although it appears I blew the photo opportunity with my pathetic photographic skill.
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Traffic had become pretty heavy and aggressive. This was a working class town on a work day at rush hour. (Welcome back to reality.) Being a former Boston cabbie, I took it in stride and responded by being assertive on the bike. It works much better than cowering along the curb.
Wheeling lived up to its reputation. The bridge from the island to the town on the east bank was shared by US 40 and I-70 so I had to go on the sidewalk again. Once over the bridge, I-70 goes straight through a tunnel. I followed US 40 north up over a huge, steep hill, then came back south down the other side. I could not fully enjoy the downhill ride since I was in a city with cross traffic and the road itself was somewhat rough.
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The road to Pennsylvania is lined with the occasional nice old home. In Tridelphia WV, I stopped at an "S" bridge. "S" bridges are a common feature on the National Road. They are as the term suggests shaped like a letter "S". You reach the other side about 30 yards to the left of where you started. On the far side of the bridge I stopped to get a photo of a sign. It was an ad for a tavern, a huge beer bottle in a bed of ice cubes.
An "S" bridge on the National Road.
West Virginia seemed to go on forever. It looks like a little narrow stretch in this panhandle but the road meanders rather than going straight across. It was only 10 or 15 miles but it felt like 30. Panhandle or not, this was the West Virginia I know so well. People speak in a distinctive Appalachian accent and the working man drives in a big, beat-up pick up truck. The road was no delight, bearing the signs of so much truck traffic and harsh winters.
I reached the Pennsylvania border and the "S" Bicycle Route signs appeared. (No photo op at the border here either.) The "S" signs mark a southern crossing of the state that I will follow for the next 150 miles or so. Also, in Pennsylvania the big hills have begun in earnest. I'd climb one big hill over a ridge in my granny and then shift immediately up to my fastest gear for the descent down the other side. These descents were so fast that I had to feather my brakes to control my speed. Thank god nobody pulled out in front of me. Even with the descents, I could tell I was gaining elevation as I headed east.
I bypassed West Alexander near the state line and finally stopped just before Claysville PA, at a gas station. I was very tired. I took a snack and restroom break and for the first time saw postcards for sale. I bought ten.
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On the way up a hill into Claysville, I was passed by two cyclists on racing bikes. They were the first adults on bikes I had seen since my trip began.
After Claysville, I was chased by a dog, a fierce and fast brown beast that nearly got me. Stupidly, that morning I had switched my Halt from my right hand side to my left, after noticing a sore developing on my left hip from the little fanny pack I was wearing to carry my wallet and camera. Just when I need to use the Halt I couldn't get to it. So I spun my pedals as fast as I could and got out of the dog's territory unscathed. Once safely clear of danger, I stopped and switched the Halt back to my right hand side. Later in the day, I passed a German Shepherd which seemed content to give me one rather pathetic "woof" and stay put. About 30 seconds later I heard the strangest sound which turned out to be his footfalls (pawfalls?) as he made chase right down the middle of the highway. The damn dog was galloping, as if he were auditioning for Rin Tin Tin. Although he ran well beyond his territory, he wasn't all that fast and never closed on me.
In Washington PA, I stopped at a McDonald's for lunch. I really needed a break and the air conditioning felt great. I had taken the entire morning to ride just 35 miles. I found it hard to eat but I forced a salad and a large drink down. I also wrote my postcards. After the break, I felt revived. For some reason I expected Washington to be a quaint little town. From what I experienced on the "S" route it was just another busy town with trucks and other aggressive drivers.
The "S" route had left US 40 just before Washington, as it followed rolling local roads to Houston PA. In Houston the "S" route merges with the north south "A" route on SR 519. This led to a few moments of confusion as there are more "A" signs than "S" signs. I'd make a turn and see an "A" sign but no "S" sign, then stop to check my map and continue on. The grinding hills kept coming and I kept spinning over them.
At one point the "S"' route took a sharp turn onto a side road and down a steep little hill. All I could think of was this means I'm going to have to climb back up to SR 519 in a mile or so. I was surprised to find that the turn led me to Mingo Creek Road, a pleasant flat to gently downhill road following a creek (apparently named Mingo) for miles and miles. The creek and road ran down the middle of an almost completely deserted park.
The skies began to threaten as thunderheads started to form. I began to assess potential shelter spots. The park had several shelters for covered picnics so I was in good shape. With no storm worries I could enjoy Mingo Creek Road which was really a delightful ride. Near the eastern end of the park, I came upon two covered bridges so I stopped for a break. I had a nice following breeze all day but it must have been getting muggy as I was getting pretty worn out. I had been sweating hard all day and I was careful to keep drinking whatever I could get my hands on as I rode.
After the break, I continued along the "S" route out of the park and underneath SR 88. This underpass was phenomenal. The road seemed to be hundreds of feet above me, crossing a ravine on enormous concrete stilts. Without cross braces, it seemed as if it couldn't possibly be structurally sound. It also made me realize that I was way down on the bottom and the only way to go was up.
On I rode, following Route "S" east over couple of really big hills, eventually going downhill into the town of New Eagle on the Monongahela River. Near the crest of one of the two climbs, I passed an auto repair shop with two mechanics sitting out front on a break. One of them said, "Nice job. The next one is higher." I responded, "No way."
Way.
In New Eagle, I stopped at a convenience store to assess my lodging possibilities and get still more food and drink. As I walked in the door, an air conditioning vent hit me with a strong frigid blast from the ceiling. Just what I needed. I bought some Gatorade and a turkey sandwich (just in case I couldn't find any food later), used the restroom, and stood and chatted to the clerks for a few minutes. They probably thought I was overly friendly but the entire time I was talking I was standing under the A/C vent. Then it was out the door to head for West Newton on the Youghiogheny (Yock-a-haney, abbreviated Yough, hereafter) River.
From New Eagle the "S" route travels on SR 837 along the Monongahela River. In the town of Monongahela, a young woman rolled down her passenger side window and yelled "Get your f--ing bicycle on the sidewalk where it belongs." She was obviously really stressed out. It must be hard living in the big city like Monongahela, driving a beat up wreck, and smoking 'boros at $3 a pack. Despite being really hot and tired, I passed up the opportunity to stop and educate her about intolerance, the medical implications of consuming tar and nicotine, and vehicular preventive maintenance. Her loss. The "S" route and I crossed the 'Mon' River on SR 136. The map showed that from the east bank of the Mon, the "S" route headed directly east toward the Yough River. I guessed this was going to be hilly. Unfortunately, I guessed right. But first I had to contend with heavy truck traffic for a few miles along the eastern side of the Mon.
Just before West Newton I hit the longest, steepest climb so far. What a bear! I almost didn't make it to the top and when I did I had to stop to recover from the effort. The other side was a screaming downhill into town.
I stopped at a café and asked about lodging in West Newton. The proprietor gave me directions to two B&Bs in West Newton, one along the Yough River Trail (YRT), a mile south of town. So I headed for the trail.
Just before the trailhead I came upon a bike shop. One of the employees was explaining how to ride an EZ Sport recumbent to a customer. The employee told me (as he lit up a smoke) that he sold out of his stock of recumbents the previous week, and couldn't stock recumbents fast enough. He asked me about my Tour Easy and said he needed to look into stocking them as well.
I headed for the trail and it looked like Shangri-La after all the hills. I rode right past the B&B and stopped a few miles further at Cedar Creek Park and its trailside shop. There I bought a booklet about services along the trail system in Pennsylvania and Maryland. It indicated which towns had bike shops, camping, food, toilets and hotels.
I checked the book and found that there was a Holiday Inn in Smithton, the next town south along the trail. In Smithton I rode up a steep ramp to a highway. The driver of a car entering the ramp told me to take a left and ride down the hill and across the river, then take another left to the hotels. I did as he said and came to realize as soon as I entered town that there was no there there. I checked the booklet and it said that from the ramp I should have taken a right, up the hill to the hotels about 1.5 to 2 miles west. So I had to re-cross the river, climb to the ramp, then continue up yet another long steep hill until I came to the Holiday Inn in the crossroads town of Belle Vernon.
I was trashed. That last hill was a killer. It had been a long, hard day of riding. The rain, except for a few sprinkles in Monongahela, held off. I checked in (the receptionist treated me like her long lost son), ate dinner (good food), and conversed with an itinerant, cigarette-smoking businessman who rode motocross motorcycles. I went to bed at 9. It was the toughest day of riding I had done in years.
Road Kill: 1 skunk, 1 raccoon, 1 black snake, 1 woodchuck, 1 beaver
Today's ride: 84 miles (135 km)
Total: 512 miles (824 km)
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