Where's My Sandy Beach?

August 26, 2005

Washington, Pennsylvania to Morristown, Ohio

I spent part of last night trying to fix my bike. I satisfied myself that the problem was with my grit-impregnated rear brake, the same problem I had the last time I rode the GAP trail. I contacted the only bike shop in town and they agreed to try and fix it in the morning.

I have been hand-washing my clothes until now and the result was decidedly mixed. The clothing looked clean but smelled worse than a 14 year old's gym locker. So I did laundry to the great relief of humanity.

After a free breakfast that beat the Sept Onze, I lit out uphill back into Washington to visit Volpatti's Cyclery. I was warmly greeted by Nathan, a store employee with two feathers in his cap. He owns two recumbents and he is a very meticulous mechanic. He fixed my brakes, lubed most of the squeaks out of my drivetrain, and confirmed that my rear wheel was in good shape. He then proceeded to charge me an obscenely low amount for his good work. I paid him and gave him $10 extra for being so helpful. Most people have a hard time finding a good bike mechanic and I have found three already on this trip. Go figure.

The road west brought more tedious climbing and screaming downhills. I have never seen 30 and 40 mph so often on my odometer. Once past Claysville, Pennsylvania the worst of the climbing in Pennsylvania was over. At the state line I entered West Virginia for the third time on the trip. US 40 follows a creek downhill to the east end of Wheeling. I cruised along in my big ring at 17-23 mph, which is not bad for loaded touring.

I'll bet this was an adventure in moving.

US 40 in Wheeling has a huge hill. If you travel the parallel I-70, you use a tunnel, which doesn't seem quite fair, but as Scar tells Simba at the start of The Lion King, "Life's not fair, is it?"

Despite all odds, the biker without a clue bags another state line sign.

Here's another repeat of a photo from 2003. The S Bridge beer bottle sign is showing signs of neglect, probably because the S Bridge Cafe is closed.

The ride up the hill was a grind and not as bad as I recalled from 2003. The ride down was an 8% grade to a bumpy, hard right turn ending with a traffic light at a T intersection. Not much thrill in that descent.

I crossed over to Wheeling Island in the middle of th eOhio River, relegated to a sidewalk as high speed traffic zooms by on US 40 and I 70 which share the bridge. Wheeling Island is rather bleak. Mercifully it lasted only a few minutes. I crossed another bridge into Bridgeport OH, which gives Wheeling Island a run for its money. (There is no Welcome to Ohio sign here; maybe they don't want you to know.)

This is the largest version of the picture .

A Madonna of the Trail monument, one of several along the National Road.

This is the largest version of the picture

This church in Wheeling was so attractive I almost stopped being a heathen. Almost.

If you grow up with the name Pickett you inevitably get nicknamed Pick. So I had to stop at this place.

The next several miles were windy and narrow, but the trucks and SUVs thankfully added a third element of stress to the experience.

During my 2003 ride I thought the ride east from St. Clairsville was a truly scary, long downhill. The thought crossed my mind that I would hate to be going in the opposite direction. Now I know why. The climb to St. Clairsville isn't L'Alpe d'Huez, but then the latter doesn't have semis and screaming idiotic teenagers in Pontiacs.

I passed the EconoLodge were I stayed in 2003 and stopped at a gas station for a snack and advice about motels further west on US 40. The helpful clerk told me that there are places all the way to Morristown. So I kept riding, passing several very nice places until I reached the very last one. The Bates' Motel was more modern. I really didn't feel like backtracking two miles to a nicer establishment so I checked the shower for a dead blonde, and, seeing none, checked in with the creepy attendant. My room is filled with ratty looking plants and annoying bugs. There is no AC or fan so I expect to sleep about as well as I would in a rainy tent. Live and learn, my momma always said.

My mileage is short today because the next motels or camping places are more than 30 miles west, near Cambridge.

After I checked in, the clerk told me I'll need to backtrack a mile to continue west since US 40 and I 70 merge just ahead. Just shoot me.

The roads flatten out from here to Zanesville, so I should make some decent miles if the bike gods don't strike me down. With these quality accommodations, I am sure to get an early start.

Another observation on Pennsylvania. I have never seen so many smokers in my life. And people smoke everywhere. Once I crossed into West Virginia I entered the chewing tobacco center of the universe; the stores were filled with displays of cans of chaw.

Today's ride: 54 miles (87 km)
Total: 423 miles (681 km)

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