(Not) Camping, Still Riding, Day 1

February 7, 2023

Change of plans

FLEXIBILITY IS A VIRTUE on cycling tours, even when the planned "tour" consists of a collection of day ride loops from a fixed base location. This point, which I've long understood, becomes relevant again today when I go to book my campsite reservation.

The site is still available, as are all but two of the other sites in the campground. What is not available is the shower house: it's closed for the winter, as I learn when I reach the Terms and Conditions / Policies and Alerts page on the reservations website. Firewood sales are also ended for the season, and will not resume until the first weekend in March when the campground changes from winter to "regular" operating mode. Well, poot.

All is not lost, however. There's a Super 8 in town with an available room at an affordable rate. It's the work of five minutes to make a reservation, which I choose to extend by a day beyond what I had planned for camping so as to accommodate one more day of riding. If I'm going, why not go whole hog?

In some ways I'm relieved at the change because it greatly simplifies the aspects of the experience related to how I'll spend my time off the bike. There's no need to plan for and pack extra warm layers for outdoor life, or to worry about how I'll keep warm. I sleep better in beds than on the ground, too, so that's a plus. My plan all along has been to eat restaurant meals rather than doing camp cookery, so that doesn't change.

Before departing I unload my camping gear from my luggage and transfer the remainder from the giant duffel bag to an overnight suitcase. The last bits of gear and whatnot get tossed into my cycling tote bag and the car gets loaded up. Then it's off to the Great Beyond for some riding.

There's a moment of panic five miles up the freeway, induced because I cannot remember having actually put my helmet and cycling shoes in my kit bag. Stopping on the shoulder, far closer to the travel lane than I'm comfortable with despite being practically jammed against the Jersey wall, I make a quick check. Whew- shoes and helmet have come along for the ride after all so there's no need to turn back to fetch them.

The Ride Itself

Reaching Thurmont a bit before noon I head straight for the Community Park, which is an often-used location for ride starts. There's no value to heading for the motel yet: checkin time isn't until 3 and I'm in no particular hurry to do so.

Since I'm starting relatively late, I elect to follow a route that was published nearly 40 years ago (!! wow can that be right? I'll have to check the publication date of the book I got it from when I get home) by a couple who were past board members and officers of one of the DC area cycling clubs. This ride, about 30 miles long, is titled "Bridges to the Past" because it includes two covered bridges.

The first of the two is right at the edge of town, just a couple miles in from the starting point. Before I even reach it, though, I've already stopped to take a couple pictures. Both of my cameras are still packed in my overnight bag, which of course was left in the car back in the park. No matter, though: the phone camera works well enough and besides, I'm realizing that despite three mental "notes to self" the SD card reader adapter that gets photos from the cameras to anywhere I can retrieve them from either my phone or my tablet has stubbornly refused to pack itself and is still at home.

I want to include photos with this and the subsequent entries when I post each entry, so using the phone to take pictures will be the best way to get that to happen. If I'm editing from the phone I can access the files directly. If editing from my tablet I can pull them down from Google Photos, where they go automatically.

Anyhow, back to the ride. Several other CycleBlazers whose journal exploits I follow have staked out specific subject matter to include in their photos. For one it's windows, doors, and birds. Another has laid claim to cows. Someone else has dibs on sheep. Yet another has a thing for horses. With all those niches already occupied what's left for me? I hereby proclaim and declare that I will take particular heed of the humble country church.

What better way to begin my ongoing photoessay of rural churches than with a nice old stone structure? However, I'm unlikely to join the congregation: the UCC Church Finder website profile lists this: "Open & Affirming? N".

Amazingly, Apple's Church stands just off of Apple's Church Road, at the edge of town. In all the years I've ridden this area this is the first time I've noticed the church. It's a lovely old stone building, well-suited to the theme of "the past".

For Scott Anderson: Serenity nods to a noble predecessor.

A couple miles out of town sees me to the first of the two covered bridges I'll visit today. I recall a visit on another day many years ago: it was a hot, swelteringly humid August day and I got to this bridge near the end of the day's loop. Hot and tired, my tandem companion and I dismounted, made our way to the stream in the shadow of the bridge, and spent 15 or 20 minutes soaking our feet and cooling our heads and necks in the clear cool stream.

Bridge to the Past, version 1: The Roddy Road bridge, which spans Roddy Creek.

Today, though, there's no need for such actions. Not only has my ride just barely begun, the day is overcast, the temperature is only about 45 degrees, and there's a breeze stirring. At the moment it's a tailwind but that'll change in due course, as I progress around the loop.

It's very quiet, though. There's almost no traffic and even less activity in the surrounding farms and fields. I see a smallish raptor of some sort perched on the utility wires but am unprepared to capture a photo since I have only my phone. It's just as well: I can't get within 50 feet before the bird flies off for a more private afternoon.

The air is momentarily tinged with the smell of cow manure, of which there is assuredly plenty to be had. There aren't vast herds of milk or beef cattle around here, but most farms seem to have five to ten head in residence. For a moment, the bovine smell (not overly strong, so not unpleasant) is replaced by a hint of wood smoke. Someone nearby must be heating their house with a wood-burning stove or fireplace. The delicate aroma is gone as quickly as it came, though, and once again I'm left with myself, my thoughts, and the empty road.

Later, my reverie is interrupted as a bluebird flits across the road in front of me, perches for a fraction of a second on a low-hanging branch, then vanishes into the brush. Bluebirds are such pretty birds, I wish I saw them more often.

Turning south I find myself now pedaling nearly straight into the wind. It's no real problem, just a rude change from having it at my back as I did starting out. Another small raptor amuses me for a moment by flying crosswind, then turning sharply over an open patch and flying just hard enough into the wind to remain fixed in place for several seconds over some spot on the ground. There's no swoop to a capture, though, so either the bird failed to detect any prey or it was practicing, or maybe it was just having a moment's fun.

I'm noticing as I ride that signs of the past are all around me. This gives me heart, because I was dismayed on my drive up by how much farther out the sprawl around Frederick, 15 miles to the south, has reached since I last traveled this way.

In my surroundings here there are numerous houses that clearly date back at least 100 years and I suspect some are closer to 150 years old. Here and there old, disused farm equipment has become yard adornments. An occasional vintage vehicle sometimes serves that same purpose.

As necessary as they may be, I find this tableau infinitely preferable to strip malls, suburban houses, office parks, and light industry.

I'm guessing this pump once stood in someone's kitchen, or maybe just outside.

I'm sure there was once a pressing need for this hefty drill.

An immobile sign in someone's front yard.

As the afternoon passes pleasantly I stop for a moment at a landmark I've known of for a few years but never visited. The "Big Slide" is the feature attraction in a local park owned by an area church. At midday on a gray, breezy February school day it's no surprise that the park is empty, or that the gate is closed and locked. There's a sign, though, that gives visitors permission to park outside and walk in in such circumstances. I choose to bend the rule slightly, bringing Serenity with me rather than leaving it outside.

The Big Slide. I was tempted to give it a try but in the end elected not to. I guess my childhood truly is also a thing of the past.

I'm poaching someone else's territory a bit here but so be it: just down the road from the slide I spied a pony? or is it a pygmy horse? grazing in a pasture. It gave me a single disinterested glance when I stopped, then went back to grazing. I've been put in my place.

Another few miles along I reach the next landmark in my memory: a small spring just off the intersection of the road I'm on and the one I'm about to turn onto. It's good to see the spring still trickling. We've not had a remarkably wet winter, and the autumn was dry as well, so I had concerns lest it had dried up.

This small spring has been flowing for many years. On hot summer days it's a great way to cool off, and to replenish water supplies if they're running low.

The Catoctins define the western horizon. I'm just as glad to have chosen the gently rolling land to their east as the location of my warm-up ride.

Turning onto the "home stretch" after a score of miles of lovely coutry roads have passed beneath Serenity's wheels, I make my way to the second and, for today at least, last covered bridge for which the loop is named.

Bridge to the Past, version 2: Utica Bridge.

A well-fed barn cat keeps watch as I ride past. It's no more interested in me than was the pony, and equally blase about being the subject of a photo.

Not far past the bridge I spot a brightly-decorated van, along with a couple other vehicles that are clearly also related to the business in question. Curious, I stop to look in on the situation.

Inside the shop (barn) I found the proprietors- brothers, evidently (but they wouldn't tell me which one was Orville and which was Wilbur)- working on fabricating shelves and storage to turn the van into a mobile workshop. The mother shop, located elsewhere, has been open for about 15 years, they said, but the mobile van and satellite shop are brand new. They're evidently trying to adapt to the changes in the bicycle industry; I wish them every success.

The van and the other vehicles in the driveway go with this very tidy, spacious, nicely-equipped shop. Two brothers own and operate it; they're gearing up to turn the van into a mobile service vehicle.

Less than a mile farther along finds me compelled to stop yet again, for another photo. The subject this time is a strikingly attractive farm, complete with an old house and (I think) somewhat newer barn. It's clearly a prosperous establishment, standing in marked contrast to several others that have deteriorated into little more than trash heaps and automotive graveyards.

I'm not sure how old the barn is but it and the house stand on one of the tidiest farms I've ever seen.

Aware that I was less than ten miles from the finish, I begin to shift my focus from ambling along to "git 'er done" mode. Still, when I chance on good photo opportunities I am prepared to stop and take full advantage.

Just a couple miles outside of Thurmont stands the "Catoctin Furnace", a Colonial-era iron smelter. I've stopped there before, but never paid attention to the collection of equally old dwellings that flank it. It was interesting to compare this assemblage to one in Pennsylvania that I visited several years ago. That one was larger and operated longer, but they had many aspects in common.

A bit of history about it. I guess the iron for Revolutionary War cannonballs had to come from *somewhere*, yes?

There's not much left of the Iron Master's (superintendent) house now but the placard described it as large and imposing.

The Forgeman's House looks snug and inviting. You can actually book a stay in it now, apparently, according to the sign out front. Intriguing...

The Collier's Log House makes quite a contrast with the accommodations in Pennsylvania. Colliers there were semi-nomadic, tending to numerous individual charcoal-making sites at once. Their "huts" consisted of tree trunks laid in a loosely conical shape, over a shallow earthen dugout.

I think the local Epsicopal parish is slightly less old than the other buildings in the area, but it's far from "new".

My last photo stops of the day are for another pair of country churches. The first, a vaguely ungainly and decidedly uninspired bit of architecture (in my opinion) will pass quickly from my memory. The second, a Methodist establishment, is distinguished by the marquee, which advertises "Help Wanted: Pastor, and Organist. ASAP". I guess times are hard everywhere, aren't they?

I was glad to revisit this old favorite ride.

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Ride finished (and none too soon: I am beginning to feel quad cramps coming on, most likely because I haven't been as careful to take in water as I need to be) it's on to the hotel. Standing in the stream of hot water spraying from the shower in my room, I am again glad to have reconsidered the whole camping thing and to have chosen to benefit from modern conveniences.

Dinner is a delicious pair of chimichangas served piping hot at a locally-owned joint just across the highway from the hotel. I'm now comfortably full, enjoying the warmth of the room's heater, and quite relaxed thanks to the delightful ride, tasty dinner (not to mention the margarita I had with it), and a post-dinner beer. I screw up when choosing the beer, though: despite the fact that my bike has a built-in bottle opener for just such occasions I didn't use it. My beer has twist-off caps.

Today's ride: 30 miles (48 km)
Total: 124 miles (200 km)

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Kelly IniguezDo any of those old houses have out houses? For many years my favorite thing to photograph was out houses. My daughter said people would think I had a physical problem. She even gave me an out house calendar one year! Now that I think about it - I haven't seen/photographed an out house in a very long time. I will have to find something else to focus on. In the west, I like windmills. The kind that draw water for the stock tank.

Not only would it be cold camping, dark comes early, and the nights are very long. You made a good choice!
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1 year ago

Keith AdamsTo Kelly IniguezI've not noticed any outhouses but it would not surprise me to learn that some did, back in the day.

"Not only would it be cold camping, dark comes early, and the nights are very long."

Yep that was another thing I was mildly concerned about. I have no trouble going to bed early and sleeping, but I'm generally an early riser so I'd have trouble in the mornings.
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1 year ago