August 19, 2023
The final day
Wrapping up my mini-tour
DAWN COMES right about 6:00 this time of year, at this latitude. I'm awake already, though I've slept better each night than the night before. Reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of my quilt, I find ways to busy myself and be productive while simultaneously preparing for my eventual emergence from the tent and departure from camp. Small items are broken down and packed; the general clutter is rounded up, corralled, and contained. These simple activities help warm me to the point where I can comfortably leave the tent and get breakfast going.
Now, my long-established routine asserts itself: light the stove, start the water heating for oatmeal (I'll dispense with coffee, having concluded that the remains of last summer's jar of Folgers Instant are simply undrinkable) and mushroom risotto (I carried an extra dinner; why not fortify myself on this final morning rather than lug it back home?). Even with the extra meal I'm packed and ready to roll right at my target "schedule" of 8:00. Perfect.
It's a cool morning and clear once again. Although the overnight low was under 60, it didn't reach the dew point of 51 so all of my gear is nice and dry and not saturated with morning moisture. I'm glad of both facts, for today's route is going to test me: the elevation profile looks like a crude sawblade, with numerous sharp rises and drops and very little flat terrain.
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I'm riding once more in bucolic rural Pennsylvania and Maryland countryside. Much of my route is shaded again today, a blessing because it'll get a bit warmer today than it was yesterday, and there's all that climbing to be done. Oh, and yesterday's tailwind is now a light headwind; not bad, and definitely a cooling asset, but a headwind is a headwind is a headwind.
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Although pleasant enough, the route offers little to attract and hold my attention. Instead, I find myself focusing on the "instrument panel", ticking off the miles remaining before I reach my destination for the day and the end of the tour. I can feel myself gradually switching mentally from "smell the roses" mode to "get there and be done".
As each hill rises before me I set the GPS to elevation profile view, giving me a gauge of the length and steepness of what's to come. The three previous days of riding have taken their toll; there's little reserve left in my legs and I haven't the force of will to try powering up long inclines unless they're very gentle gradients.
Although there's nothing on the docket that approaches the steepness of the first or second days, the continuous succession of decidedly lumpy terrain features has me off and pushing at several points, or pausing for thirty seconds before soldiering on.
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Arriving at the approximate halfway point in Westminster MD near 11:00, it's time for a refresher. Searching Google Maps for a coffee shop, I'm directed to the Rare Opportunity Bakehouse, a mile or so off my route plan. I'm pleased to trundle through old Westminster, which is a nice contrast to the modern sprawl that surrounds it in all directions.
After a relaxing half hour's break featuring a very tasty turkey and bacon sandwich on toasted whole wheat bread, it's back on the road for the final 20-odd mile push to the finish of my little odyssey. Although it's a relatively short distance I harbor no illusions of an early afternoon finish, since the terrain profile still shows the longest steepest climbs are ahead of me. Instead, I target a mid-afternoon arrival as more realistic, and that's fine with me.
The miles gradually pass, and I'm pleased to find that I've somehow managed to switch from morning shade to afternoon shade for much of what's left before me. Although there are some stretches of open road with sunshine bordering on hot (but not brutal: it's still only in the low to mid 80s and not terribly humid) for the most part I'm comfortably in the shade.
With just a few miles left to go, it's also clear that I'll probably run out of drinking material before I reach the end of the ride. There are numerous opportunities to remedy that without deviating at all from my course but I pass them up, reasoning that there's no cause to take on extra weight this close to the end. What's the point, after all, of arriving at the end of a ride with several pounds of unconsumed liquid, especially when I can get all I like when I get to the bike shop from which I started, four days ago?
Sure enough, about two or three miles from the end my Camelbak runs dry and refuses to disgorge any further droplets. I've long since consolidated the contents of my water bottles into the backpack unit, so I'm now definitely and officially Running On Empty. No matter: I can cover the remaining distance easily, especially since there's a lovely 3/4 mile downhill run to the shop.
Once at the shop, I spend a pleasant hour or so lounging around, chatting with the owner, the mechanic, another employee I met last year, a volunteer, and some of the customers. The shop's a fascinating place, utterly unique in my experience. Larry, the owner, is in constant motion, circulating between customers, his computer, and the parking lot where much of the inventory spends its time during opening hours. He somehow manages to attract numerous volunteers, onto whose shoulders he pushes many of the simpler, more mundane tasks associated with a bicycle shop.
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The shop is part business, part museum, part private collection (though of course everything is for sale, should one take an interest), and filled with rare, hard-to-find, and one-of-a-kind items. Looking for a 1980s-vintage high-end steel racing frame that's never been built up and ridden? Take your pick: there are a couple dozen hanging in the rafters. Want a tandem? There are a couple dozen, maybe more, to choose from. Looking for a recumbent, or a recumbent trike? No problem they're here in plenty. Need some obscure part for a long-out-of-production collectible? He's probably got one tucked away in a drawer somewhere.
After an hour or so, it's time to pack up and head home. I bid farewell to my friends at the shop and head out, grateful to be in the car but eminently pleased with my adventure. Along the route home, I pass a local landmark: Jimmy Cone in Damascus, MD. I'm pleased to pull in and order the "biggest, baddest chocolate malt" they can produce, and gradually enjoy it as I cover the final highway miles to home.
Now I'm home, showered and changed, and relaxing in the pleasant memory of a very enjoyable few days on the road. Mission Accomplished: I've had a great few days, done 150-odd training miles, and bonded even more solidly with Serenity. What could be better?
(*: for those wondering about the asterisk from Wednesday's entry, the long-awaited review of Cambodian Rock Band, the play I attended Tuesday evening. It was an interesting and well-told story, set in the Cambodia of the time of the Khmer Rouge and also of 2008. Based on the main storyline, I wonder whether it's autobiographical or at the very least heavily based on actual historic events. I'm not sorry to have seen it.)
43 miles.
Total for the mini tour: 154 miles.
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1 year ago
The thumbnail photo of Serenity (appears on the Journals page) was taken last fall on the two-day mini-mini-mini break-in tour, and is the only close-up shot so far. I think I also posted it in the short journal I produced, about that time.
[checks that journal]
Yep, third photo down on this page:
https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/maidenvoyage/outbound/
No camping gear aboard on that occasion, though. I note also that it's a pre-fenders shot, and that I didn't have the handlebar bag mounted.
It's also taken before I swapped the stock saddle for the new-to-me leather Brooks Professional, which I mounted earlier this year after spending the winter breaking it in an hour at a time on my spin bike. I can tell already that I'm going to really *really* like that saddle.
1 year ago
https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/ridesmarter/
I see that it's been five years since that trip! Where does time go?
1 year ago
1 year ago