Riding the Allegheny Passage and C&O Canal (Part 1 of 7)

If you’ve ever wondered how far that bike path goes, last year, Cincinnati Cyclists Marty Sanders and Aaron Kent (AK) set out to cover 700 miles of the Great Allegheny Passage and the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal by bike.  Over the past few years, Marty has become a veteran of these rails to trails trips while Aaron, even though a long time cyclist, was new to the idea of a week-long self-supported adventure.  The story is presented in seven parts.

By Marty Sanders

(Part 1 of Seven)

Gather around the fire my friends.  I’ll tell you the tale of 2 bicycles, 2 friends, 2 trails, and 700 miles of riding the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP) and the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal (C&O). 

Both the GAP and C&O figure prominently in American history. The GAP is the end result of four different railroad lines that previously connected Pittsburgh, PA to Cumberland, MD which now is one of the country’s finest rail-trails.  One hundred and fifty miles long, the trail crosses both the Mason-Dixon Line and the Eastern Continental Divide.  In addition to transporting people, I assume this route saw lots of steel moving back and forth in its day.  The C&O Canal trail follows the Potomac River into Washington, DC.  Stretching 185 miles, the canal was necessary due to the Potomac's turbulent waters and The Falls.  A towpath ran alongside for the mules to pull boats between locks. The C&O Canal Trail traces the towpath.

A few months ago, I rode a rail trail in West Virginia. It's weirdly wonderful being able to disconnect mentally from your everyday life.  The experience of the ride becomes your daily grind.  When I get back from trips like these, I want another, and another, and another. I'm hooked.

I've known about these trails since I was a kid, but it never really clicked in my head to ride one until a co-worker who has done a lot of touring mentioned it.  I went home that night and did a little research.  By the time I was done, I was determined to ride the GAP and the C&O.  A few days later, I mentioned my plan to my friend AK. He was interested, but there was a catch.  He needed a bike that could carry gear. So we stripped the parts from a bicycle I had and, after fabricating a rear rack mount so the bags wouldn’t hit his heels, AK was a proud owner of a new Surly Karate Monkey.  AK got himself a used set of panniers and a few camping items, and he was set to go.  We did a few rides of considerable distance in preparation.  With one last go-thought of our supplies and equipment the night before, it seemed like we had everything covered.

Day 1 Pittsburgh to Ohiopyle

I used the four and a half hour drive between Cincinnati and Pittsburgh to read over some literature that AK had printed out for our ride. Remarkably, we decided to stop at a McDonald’s, which I can proudly say is only the third time I'd stopped at one in two years.  All have been while en-route to rail trail adventures.  Every time the same thing, they screwed up my order.

We reached the outskirts of Pittsburgh in no time.  A few miles out from the tunnel, traffic was bumper-to-bumper. During the traffic jam we had the privilege of witnessing the Honda next to us learn a harsh lesson of tailgating.  Smash!  It drove up under a big silver pickup, luckily only a fender bender.  The truck didn’t have a scratch on it, but the Honda’s whole front end was crinkled up. AK and I both laughed a little at that one.

As we rolled out of the tunnel and into town, I reminisced on the last time I had been there. I was 13 years old on a Greyhound rolling into town at night. The river was lit up by the moonlight. This time though, it was 1 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon.  The sun was bright.  The breeze cool.  Perfect riding weather!

When we reached the parking lot, I noticed a ton of cyclists: touring bikes, hybrids, kids bikes with training wheeled, some with knobbies, others with slicks, some wore Lycra, others cotton and denim.  It was almost magical.  All these people from different places and backgrounds were brought together in one place.  The only thing missing was a giant plate of mashed potatoes shaped like Devils Mountain to complete the puzzle.  Ironically, we were parked under an old water tower that resembled Devils Mountain from the Close Encounters alien movie.

After checking over the bicycles again and again, we clipped in. It was a paved path out of town and we both settled in for the long haul. We didn’t really have any particular destination for the day.  We planned to ride till we got tired, then either get a room or camp.  Mile by mile, as we rode out of town across impressive steel bridges with ramps that allowed us to cross the ever present railroad tracks, the bike traffic thinned and AK and I picked up the pace.

Ten or so miles out, the pavement became finely crushed packed stone and we could hear screams. We whizzed past a fence that seemed to be the edge of an amusement park.  I could see two giant roller coasters from the trail.  One seemed not to be in use, but with the screams of the riders, the other was. 

Once Pittsburgh was behind us, little towns dotted our route along the trail.  As we got closer, bicycle traffic would increase.  Most of these towns cater to the cyclists, offering services virtually trail side.  We rolled on.  We kept a good average of about 15mph. It doesn’t seem fast, but when your bicycle weighs 75lbs it changes things.  You've got to stay on top of the nutrition/hydration and listen to your body. We stopped about every 15 miles to stretch and take in food. This seemed to work great for us.

We stopped briefly along the way at little huts designed for camping.  Each offered a nice view and serenity.  These areas also had pumps for treated water.  Although it was supposedly safe to drink, I stuck with filtered tap water along the way.  AK, however, was content drinking the brown stuff.  We rolled for hours, passing noteable sights along the way.  A lot of people were out checking out the natural water-formed anomalies that the waterfalls caused.  Really cool stuff!  As I rode I tried to remember the ones I wanted to stop at on our return.

Later in the day, we passed into a small town where people were tubing down the river and it reminded me of the time I floated down the Gauley River in a life preserver.  This same town had art everywhere.  As an artist and professional printer himself, I’m sure AK questioned my use of the word “art,” but I enjoyed this town.

Eventually we arrived at a Ohiopyle. It was about 7:30-8 p.m. and we were hungry. The town had a nice restaurant on the path.  I also spied a small motel and camping sign. We had covered about 70 miles on our first day.  Dusk was melting into dark.  We pulled the plug.

We sat down for a dinner of “Nasty Burgers,” drank a few glasses of water and each ingested an emergency vitamin pack.  The burgers were big and had fried green tomatoes and horsey sauce on them.  Yes please!  I enjoyed a few Bell’s Oberon beers at dinner and AK loaded up on coffee.

Dark came quickly and the restaurant was closing soon.  We said our goodbyes and headed back to see if the bed and breakfast had any rooms.  We had no luck there, so we rolled down to that motel and AK went in.  I watched through the glass.   AK's expression changed and he began to run his fingers through his hair like he was deep in thought.  The place wanted $200 a room!  As Aaron walked out, they offered a 10% discount.  Even though it was getting colder and darker, we declined and turned to the campground.. 

The sign read, “Campground ½ mile.”  It turned out to be a very steep hike-a-bike that was in fact a ½ mile to the top. We set up in the dark with me in my hammock and AK using a small tent. I put on my jacket and passed out quickly. I slept solid for about 3-4 hours before I woke to a chill.  I zipped up a little tighter and managed the rest of the night. 

(to be continued)

#WWtBD: What Would the Beard Do?

I am convinced there is magic in the beard.

Some of you may have picked up that every year traveling to Cyclocross Nationals gets a little more complex. We keep adding pieces, parts, equipment, and people to the mix. This year, thanks to the generosity of a friend and the cycling community, we are taking it yet another notch higher - a 24 foot RV with a trailer waggling along behind.

While we were driving to Denver from Cincinnati I was amazed at the response to the RV. There were thumbs ups and acknowledgements from fellow RV drivers as we drove along, similar to what you will see when two motorcyclists see each other driving opposite ways on the road.

What amazed me was the number of acknowledgements that were from men with beards. Not all of them, I honestly can't remember how many, had beards, but a good percentage certainly were wearing a beard. One in particular was boisterous, waving, thumbs up, and almost more excited than I was about the RV as he passed. He was driving a mini-van and wearing a red sweater and had a long white...beard.  Wait a second.  We were particularly close to Santa Claus, IN when he waved at us.

The past couple days I have been pondering the power of the beard. Everyone has seen the Bike Knowledge to Beard Ratio, of which Cincinnati local Tom Swallow ranks highly, but I am now convinced this applies to RV travel as well. Whether the beard is a result of RV living or personal choice, there seems to be a certain wizardry that travels with the beard.

I am now in full awe of pro cyclocross racer Robert Marion.

Travel to Denver in an RV has made me realize Robert has reached wizard status on two separate, yet important, aspects of CX racing. Some may remember Robert from his attendance at Cincy3 and Derby City, or from the tour of his land yacht and accompanying fully stocked trailer that was featured on Behind The Barriers this past fall. No matter how you remember him, this RV driver is starting to channel his inner Robert Marion.

Planning an RV trip is harder than I expected. There are way more things to think about that I was expecting.

Where do they sell bulk propane? You can't exchange a cylinder out of an RV...What Would the Beard Do?

Where will we park over night if we need some sleep? I have a house with me, I don't need a hotel...What Would the Beard Do?

Diesel fuel only...got it...where is the best place to buy it? What Would the Beard Do?

Suddenly I have the urge to grow my beard - if I can't immediately have knowledge, maybe I can grow it? #WWtBD

Headed West #cxnats2014

Great mooglie booglies another year has passed. Sitting at my computer two days before Christmas madly packing an RV and a trailer for CX Nats 2014 in Boulder, CO and wondering how we got to this point. This will be our fifth straight trip to USA Cycling's cyclocross nationals and our fifth straight year providing stories, pics, and other CX goodness from the event for The Best Bike Blog Ever.

When we look back at 2009 in Bend, OR I remember very little, literally. But, what I do remember is a rag tag group of a few kids from Lionhearts heading out to Bend. We bummed space on the Red Zone trailer for our bikes, we flew out and stayed in a Best Western. None of them had B bikes, tubular wheels, appropriate clothing for the cold, or really any idea what they were about to witness. I also know that I for one had no idea how much that trip would change me personally.

Even an RV has to stop at Chipotle

As we saddle up for a trip to Boulder we are laser focused on gear - B bikes, extra sets of tubular wheels, summer, winter, spring and fall riding gear, rain suits, winter suits, wet suits, snow boots, rain boots, tents, sides, heaters, battery operated-triggered air pumps, trailers for bikes, tow vehicles, RVs, travel companions, time for altitude adjustment, hotel rooms with kitchens paid for by Marriott points, coaches, extra mechanics, tool bags, pit bags, and I could keep going, but I am out of breath.

What hasn't changed is the passion for the sport - the passion for cycling. The four Lionhearts that will be making their fifth straight start at CX Nats love this sport. They dream about it at night. They ride 6 out of every 7 days. They read magazines and books about cycling. They talk with other kids their age that also ride all across the country. They text about their bike rides, how hard they were, and how they have to do a four hour trainer ride the next day (no, I didn't make that up).

Snug in their bed

Most importantly is the fact that no one makes them do it. Everything you see, hear, or read about them doing is voluntary. Sure there are days where they drag themselves out of bed early to get those openers in before traveling or before school, but they do it all on their own.

Whenever I feel at odds with what I am doing or feel like everything we embark to do is some crazy hair brained idea I take a look at M1 in the picture at the top racing at Bend in 2009 in sub-freezing temps in a freshly fallen snow. A smile comes to my face while a tear hits the corner of my eye. It isn't about me any more, she has made it her own.

These are the best days of our lives.

Meanwhile, look for me on a curb near you. Someone's got to keep the RV rolling while the kids get their sleep and keep their legs in compression tights in a vertical position.

Stale Fish: The Masters Wreck at Derby City

Artwork Courtesy of James Billiter

I covered my eyes.  I’m certain that’s where the realization set in that my friend and teammate may be paralyzed.  I paced.  I rested my head in my arms along the course fencing of the start/finish straight.  Little clips trickled into my ears.   “I’m a doctor.”  “He’s complaining he can’t feel…”  I didn’t catch the rest.  Emotion overcame me.  I spotted teammate Gerri on the other side of the course.  We had a good weepy hug as the EMT’s carefully went to work. 

Nate was stale fish on the ground.  They already had a collar around his neck.  I looked back, with his arms at his side, his legs shook.  Shock I presumed.  Fuck man, just fuck.  I wasn’t angry.  I feared the worst.  I didn’t want to make that phone call.  Someone handed me his glasses.  I snagged his Garmin off his bike and tucked both in my jersey pocket.  Gerri helped getting a plan together.  I hopped on my bike with inoperable brakes and coasted back to the start to collect my grid bag and thoughts.

As of this Monday morning, Nate spent the night at U of L Hospital.  An MRI showed a fractured vertebra in his upper spine.  Thankfully, he can move all his parts.  He was alert, coherent and concerned about his bike.  Despite complaining of intense shoulder pain, the news sounded somewhat positive.  Granted the possibility of surgery and rehab still looms, at the moment it appears our buddy Nate escaped the most serious of injuries.  Looking at his bike and helmet, it looks as if he sprinted into a wall at 30mph.  When I put the bike on my roof rack, the drivetrain was in the 53x17 gear. 

Derby City Cup Masters Wreck 1 by Kent Baumgardt

I saw the wreck unfold firsthand.  Despite the ruckus over the large mixed fields at the MudFund Derby City Cup, I don’t think those things had anything to do with it.  It was the simplest thing really.  A rider hooked a wheel at the front which cascaded into a chain reaction full-gas pile up. 

I personally knew 90% of the riders in the first four rows, and at least two more rows behind me.  Look at the call up list for Wave 6.  Granted not everyone on the list started, but all of those guys at the front, masters and juniors, are good riders.  Most of them I’d equate with sticklers for etiquette.  They know to hold a line and not to make unpredictable moves.  With the callups based on points, at least the first 8 rows were sorted by speed.  Additionally, throughout the last two weekends with Cincy3, every junior I raced with passed cleanly.  Between a bunch of USGP’s and Worlds, most of these guys have done this same long paved Louisville start at least 10 times.

Derby City Cup Masters Wreck 2 by Kent Baumgardt

Based on Saturday’s start, the first few hundred meters of the course were key for position in the race.  Everybody on that start grid knew we had a long paved start, a soft curve onto a long downhill straightaway.  From there, the course made a huge soft left hand U-turn before getting into the first pinch point on the course.  We all knew the position you held going into the first chicane was more or less within a few riders you’d have up the steps, through the first sand and over the flyover before you’d have another big chance to make passes.  Still I don’t think the speed at the start or the jostling for position in the first few hundred meters of the course was unusual or overly aggressive.  Yesterday, the wreck happened not much more than 120 meters or so from the grid, 3 or 4 shifts, and a mere 10-15 seconds into the race.      

Derby City Cup Masters Wreck 3 by Kent Baumgardt

I cannot say it was a bonehead move.  Someone hooked a wheel.  Only the rider who hooked the wheel in front of him knows the circumstances.  Maybe the rider in front hit a crack in the pavement or a rock.  Maybe that rider came out of a pedal or his hand slipped off his bars.  From what I remember seeing, the hook was subtle.  It was not a big sweeping move from right to left, more a matter of inches.  The wreck happened before the announcer’s trailer, way before the bend to the left and onto the grass.  I don’t know if the rider in front slowed, moved right or if there was something unseen that happened miliseconds before it caught my eye.  Regardless, two riders made contact.  The rider in back went down.  I don’t recall seeing the front rider go down. 

Front end of Nate's bike caved in

I started on the middle of the 4^th row.  My BioWheels teammate Mike was 3^rd row and to my left.  My teammate Steven was a row behind and to my left.  Nate, registering late, had a 92^nd call up.  With some no shows, I’m unsure of where he lined up on the grid.  In front of us was a who’s-who of the region’s top masters and a handful of seasoned juniors. 

At the whistle, a rider in front of me was a little slower off the grid, nothing unusual.  That held me up for a fraction of a second.  I got around on the right.  Clicking through gears, I remember seeing the two sides of the front open up.  The middle held more traffic.  Feeling the flow of the race drift to the left, I was now out of the saddle sprinting maybe just left of center. 

I saw the hook slightly ahead of me and just to my left.  A rider in front moved slight right to left and snagged the wheel in front of him.  I honestly can’t recall even a jersey color and would rather not speculate.  As he fell to the left, he went into someone else coming up from behind.  Those two went down and collected a 3^rd rider.  Three riders and bikes slid across the pavement in front of me.

Chris King Headset Cracked

You make split second decisions.  I was sort of boxed and heading straight for them.  At this speed, likely close to 28mph, there was no way I could change my line fast enough to avoid them and not take out guys on either side.  I threw my weight back, braked and aimed for the least obstructed part of the pile, the rear end of a bike in my path.  I didn’t make it.  I fell down on the other riders with my left side.  My bike rolled up and over.  I tried to curl up in a ball and cover my face.  The rider next to me did the same, hidden under a cage of frames.

Then the impacts came, seemingly endless, one by one.  Oof.  Ugh.  I caught a glimpse of Nate’s kit on my right.  Mmmph.  Ugh.  The weight of people on top of me compounded.  I heard a young man scream out.  Frames dug into my hip and body.  They just kept coming, hitting, landing, rolling over.  I worried about being crushed.  Boom.  Bam.  I could hear the crowd gasp.  My teammates Steven and Mike, starting more to the left, avoided the serious wreck, but got caught up in the course fencing.  Both got free and continued racing.

Crack halfway through downtube at BB

Then the bodies stopped falling on me.  With the clop of bike shoes on pavement, riders scrambled to pull tangled bikes off the top.  I shouted at someone, “Hey!  Hey!  Be careful.”  A call went out for medical.  I could see my shifter stuck in someone’s wheel.  As far as we knew, the race was still on.  From the ground, I helped to untie the bikes.  The weight was still heavy.  I just wanted to get out from under as quick as possible.  It was freaking me out.

It seemed like minutes passed, but I’m sure it was only seconds.  I was able to wriggle out from underneath.  Nate still lay on his back, I think propped half on top of a bike.  I found my bike along the fence.  The rear wheel had come out of the drops.  I fixed that, but couldn’t reattach the brake cables.  My front brake pads were stuck under the lip of the rim.  I was done.  That’s when I turned to see Nate.  The sight made me sick with worry.  I couldn’t leave him. 

While Nate does have insurance, copays and deductibles for a serious visit to the ER probably wasn’t in the fall budget.  Not to mention, his custom Indy Fab Planet X is ruined.  A fund has been set up to help him out.  I’m sure he’d appreciate your generosity.  Click here for more information.

Joe Bellante

Update as of 3pm 11/11 from Anna: "Final X-rays came back and no serious damage to any of the discs. A lot of ligament damage so he will be in a neck brace for awhile until that heals. Won't be going home yet today but hoping tomorrow. No surgery!!!!! Very happy. We want to thank all of you soooo much for all you are doing. We got the best friends in the world and so proud to be part of the amazing cycling community."

Going to Uranus? Hire a Coach

I'm Drunk and I'm Skinny!

He knows bourbon.  Like the Southern Comfort on a canoe trip in my youth where I never actually paddled the boat, I will never drink it again.  While Southern Comfort made me spend a beautiful blue sky Wisconsin summer day lying in a gravel parking lot along the Crystal River, Bourbon made me shout at Sven Nys, “I’m drunk and I’m skinny!”  Then it made me spend the night laying on the bathroom tile after the Cyclocross World Championships in Louisville.  Bourbon is out of my league.  I don’t get it.

While he’s a virtual genius at select Kentucky beverages and can make anyone faster on a bike, he is not a Marvel super hero.  The guy I’m talking about is a lot like you or me, a person who is passionately involved in the things he loves, maybe a chromosome or two from being a full on savant.  While I’m into writing and music, can expound on the beauty of a worn sunburst Strat and tell you exactly why the new Fitz and the Tantrum’s song “Out of My League” sounds like the Cure’s “A Forest” from 1980, he is one of a handful of people that doesn’t get an itchy heat rash and headache trying to decipher a pro’s power meter graph posted on Velonews.  He knows bourbon and bike racing.  He’s my coach. 

Do I need a coach?  Yes.  Yes I do.  Take these awesome blue suede pointy shoes I got from Banana Republic.  You want to touch them don’t you?  Don’t get your oily fingers on them.  Just know they feel like the silky top of a cat’s head.  Purrr.  For you, maybe they’re not your bag, hipster dufus material.  They’ll likely be at the outlet store in November.  I need them.  For me, working in an industry like pop radio, where the feeling of youth and cool is part of the product, these shoes help me, a middle aged creative, stay in touch with fashion and trends, the same qualities that our listeners hold dear.  Your frugal cycling side may see an unwarranted expense.  I admit.  I do feel a bit out of my skin as I wrestle them on with a shoe horn in the morning, but I see it sort of as an investment.  The second I lose sight of or fail to be directly involved in what our listeners hold dear, like (egads!) an appreciation for Miley Cyrus, I may be looking for a job at the oldies station.

It makes me want to get a fake ID to actually lower my age, but I’ve been racing and ridiculously involved in cycling for longer than most juniors have been alive.  For God’s sake, there’s a 1991 Breezer Thunder in our bike stable, and that’s not even the vintage one in my book.  Every one of those juniors should know who Joe Breeze is.  I own a truing stand.  In my junior aged days, I circumnavigated Waukesha County on a bike with down-tube shifters and a boombox strapped to my front rack blaring “The Who.”  I’ve come back from ACL reconstruction surgery where my wife had to help me as I grunted attempting a single leg lift.  You’d think I’d know it all by now: training, mechanics, skills, speed, and history.  Yet, I have a coach. 

I look at having a coach like a trip to Uranus.  You might troll the boneyard next to the airport for parts, camp out in the science section of the library and actually build a rockin’ 1978 VW shaped spaceship, but you’re not going to feel the soft pale Uranus dirt between your toes without a little input from say perhaps…an actual rocket scientist.  The main reason I have a coach is so someone, a certified cycling dork, is vested as a shareholder in team Joe.  It’s no different than having a personal mentor or work consultant.  I could go pretty far on my own, perhaps land that VW mothership in a swimming pool the next county over and be on TMZ.  But, like those swanky blue shoes, my coach will take me where I’ve never been before...to Uranus.  

His name is Chris Mayhew.  Learn more about him at the JBV Coaching Website.