About four years ago, my wife took the kids somewhere for five days. I decided to ride from my house to York, PA and back. Why? Because there was a new bike trail from Cockeysville MD, just north of Baltimore, to York and I wanted to ride it. So, I reasoned, why not ride to the start and crash for the night, do the trail the next day, then ride home. I had an honest to God touring bike - a Specialized Sequoia. Prior to the ride, a doctor at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston had created a controversy by making the claim that bicycling could lead to impotence. Manufacturers of bike saddles seized on this as a marketing opportunity and began selling saddles with with a hole cut out in the middle to guard against numbness. I put one on my Sequoia. I had done a DC to Baltimore ride earlier in the year and decided that I would follow that route north. Then I would return a bit further to the west using the East Coast route mapped out by the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA). All I had to do was to fill in the gap between downtown Baltimore and the start of the bike trail in Cockeysville.

So I took off. The weather was great. I rode my normal commuting route right past the office. It was liberating. I meandered through the streets of DC (which was admittedly a bit of a hassle). My route split the gap between the Baltimore Washington Parkway and I-95. It appears that the state of Maryland is hell bent on turning this thin ribbon of land into one of the most unpleasant tracts in the state. It has prisons and run down race tracks and ugly highways that gash the landscape. Admittedly some of the ride is nice but somehow 25 miles of intermittent blight sticks in my mind.

By the time I arrived inside the Baltimore Beltway, three things became apparent. First, it was incredibly hot and humid out. Second, there were no trees in southern Baltimore making the heat even more of a problem. Third, my whiz bang saddle had substituted a very sore perineum for penile numbness. The saddle had stitches around its otherwise anatomically beneficial hole. These stitches cut into my sensitive areas like nobody's business.

After stopping for a late lunch at a sub shop that will never make Zagat's top ten list, I forged onward into Baltimore. By the time I headed up Charles Street out of downtown, evening rush hour was starting. Baltimore is called Charm City but I doubt a single bicyclist was consulted when they chose the nickname. Charles Street was hell on earth all the way up town. No shoulder. Surly rush hour drivers. Not my idea of a fun ride, I'm afraid.

Somehow I managed to wend my way to Cockeysville, though I doubt I could ever replicate the route I took. After searching for a while near the start of the trail I found an Econo Lodge that seemed suitable for habitation. Unfortunately, this was a motel in the Roger Miller tradition. No pool and a dripping air conditioner that left the room smelling of mildew. After checking in I left for a nearby pizza place for dinner. Then the power went out. The gods were certainly testing me since the power was only out on my side of the street, the side with the motel and the pizza place. After a half hour wait in the air conditioned 7/11 across the street, the power finally came back on and I took possession of my pizza. I went back to the Mildew Acres and wolfed that baby down while watching baseball on TV.

The next day I checked out with a mold induced headache and headed for the trailhead. I stopped at a café and bought some breakfast: coffee, OJ and a bagel. With a second bagel packed for the trail, I took off. The North Central Rail Trail is wonderful. I had it all to myself with the exception of some early morning runners (Don't these people have jobs? Maybe they're in retail or just independently wealthy. Who knows? ) and the occasional retiree strolling along.

I made it into PA and to the quaint town of Hanover Junction about 10 miles shy of York. Here the trail was blocked by an imposing barrier. Although I made sure to check the trail's website before I left home, a tunnel north of Hanover Junction that was reputed to be completed was not. And so I could either take my chances on the roads of rural PA or turn back. Not having a road map or a cell phone (this was the dark ages, after all) , I decided to head back.

I checked my handy dandy ACA map and found that overnight accommodations could be found in Reisterstown MD. So I followed the East Coast bike maps up hill and down to R'town where I learned not a single motel existed. A 7/11 clerk said I could ride into Pikesville on busy Reisterstown Pike at rush hour and get a hotel. Not bloody likely. I had had my fill of Baltimore's urban chaos the day before. I asked around and learned of a motel about 3 miles north of town. So off I rode. The motel was a classic 1950s stopover. And it was closed for renovation. Fortunately there was a cinderblock roadhouse next door.

Roadhouse is too kind. We're talking a 'shot and a beer' bar for working men with major dental issues. Lucky for me I spotted a patron of this fine establishment about to walk in and I approached him for directional assistance. At 50 feet he appeared to be already inebriated but as I grew closer it was apparent that he was sober but very eager to rectify the situation. He told me to ride 2 miles further north and then go west 5 miles to the only other motel around. By this time I had ridden over 80 miles and my perineum was starting to feel like a skin graft gone bad. (Thankfully, my johnson was not the least bit numb.) Having no alternatives, I followed Mr. Roadhouse's directions and lo and behold came upon the Valley View Motel, run by a pleasant, live-in Indian couple who could have passed for Hobbits. It was a fine and humble establishment, although my room, which adjoined the owners', did smell a bit of Indian food. Not seeing anyone who resembled Norman Bates I checked in, happy to have a 90 mile day behind me.

The VVM was a curious place. It actually did have a rather nice view of a valley with rolling hills and farms and such, but the only window in my room that actually faced the view was the little bathroom window with translucent glass. Still it was nice to know that a view and a valley actually existed nearby.

After showering and drinking as many cans of soda as I could in a five minute period, I walked across the highway to the restaurant conveniently located across the street. I had a nice sit down meal of roast beef and mashed potatoes that left me feeling queasy. Then it was back the VVM for R and R.

I left at the crack of dawn eager to get home to soak my tender parts and get out of the blast furnace heat I was sure to endure for the third day in a row. The ride really wasn't too bad except for the fact that after about 70 miles my tenderloin was ready for the grill. I persevered and limped home where the AC is abundant, the beer is cold and the bath tub all mine.