Day 70: Beaver Creek State Park to Pittsburgh

Woke up in the morning three instead of two and no rainfly at all - no rainfall at all. I made myself coffee in my makeshift Maxwell can: grounds boiled straight in the pot. With leftover coconut milk and brown sugar, it was a pretty good brew for month-old beans. 

I packed up and headed out early. The Appalachians don't care at all for best laid plans. I started recording the grades of the big and little hills, mean slopes graded for Ford pickups: 9%, 12%, 11%. Maybe twenty minutes in, another two dogs broke the morning's humid calm, teeth bared in gleeful aggression. I am not a fighter. I ran. 

Eventually, the rollers led to one big downhill right into Fredericktown and a silver sedan pulls up right next to me and this older guy leans his head out the window and warns that the road after the bridge right in front leads straight to the heavens. I tried to slalom up but hitting that hill was like paddling a canoe through mud, like trying to mold play doh that sat out for too long. Make that two days now where I've had to walk my bike, grunting and sweating, triceps and calves strung out against the strain. By the time Rachel caught up (basically right away, walking is stable but slow like paint drying), I'd reached a breaking point. We'd climbed a thousand feet in five miles and had at least 2000 to go. We weren't going to make the camp we were supposed to teach at, thunderstorms were rolling in, and all I had left to eat was granola.

On the bright side, we reached Ohio. 

We decided to ride at least to Beaver, grab some food, and see if the Richard from the Materials Research Society (MRS), who had helped connect us with the camp, could give us a ride. The 15 miles there were tough but less demoralizing than the first five. We watched berets golf; they stopped midswing to figure out what (ie, us) was going by. We ended up at Cafe Kolache, where Rachel met Mark, a retired ballet dancer who's making a second career as a permanent cycle tourer (check out his blog here: lewisandclarkandmark.com).

I ran across the street to the bike shop to pick up some gu's and be advised on routes to Philly. When Rachel showed up, she figured out one of the mechanics was a good friend of a good friend in Penn's dental program. On this trip, the world has seemed very large, and very small. We bought the shop's growler, then Richard showed up, packed us up, and we headed to camp. We were expecting ~20 middle school-aged kids, but since it was pouring, the entire camp was packed into a single awning, the only dry spot on the grounds. So we presented to 200 4-14 year olds, fighting to be heard over the weather. Trying to keep that many cooped-up kids engaged, when they want to be running and chatting, made this afternoon our most difficult lesson. And in the middle of the lesson, a kid fell off the table he was sitting on and had to go to the hospital.

Charming the children at Winwood

After it was all over though, a couple of girls came up to us and asked all kinds of questions about 3D printing and solar power. And the the wheels started turning right there, and they were throwing out ideas for a solar-paneled, kinetic soccer ball, for other kinds of solar-powered transportation. 

(a real city!) 

Richard took us out to first dinner after we bundled back to MRS headquarters. We ate salads and fried things (balance is key in all things). Then he drove us to Pittsburgh - there wasn't any way we could've made it in daylight, with more and more Appalachians between us and our hosts for the night. 

For second dinner, we made custom pizza with Emilie and Daniel, Ellis' friends. Sun-dried tomato pesto with goat cheese and caramelized onions totally stole the show.

Plenty of wine, second helpings, and conversations later, we retired, Rachel to a bed, I to the hammock room, because the brilliant E+D have one dedicated as such in their classy, hip Pittsburgh home.

I stayed up late listening to the hum  of the city, the sirens, the banter, the clanging and whooshing and all the bits of collective living you forget when you're on the road and out of it this long. 

Day 69: On the run from dogs and mountains (Akron to Beaver Creek State Park)

The morning with Gary and Marilyn was peppered with friendly conversation, black coffeee, eggs and English muffins (toasters: just one of those things you don't realize you'll miss). We set off at 9:30 and almost immediately entered the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, tree trunks thin, lithe and healthy, every bit of dirt right up to the asphalt a bright, deep green. 

The tow path ran ten miles and dropped us straight into downtown Akron. Rachel had tried to remind me earlier, but I'd forgotten how proximal your mortality becomes riding through a city. Right there: with the semis banging to your left, the curb to your right, a four-inch pot hole straight in front. 

Picked up groceries and chocolate granola. Dinner: black beans, tofu, coconut milk, peanut butter, cayenne pepper.

We finally escaped the city/subsequent suburbs after fifteen some-odd miles, took lunch on the raised stone bed of a church sign. The stones were not cemented together. I fell off.

I detoured for a quick gatorade, and then Google freaked out and took me on this wiggly route through the middle of Ohioan farmland, all short, steep hills, absent the Midwest flat. And then, just passed this big historic barn, the first two: a deep throaty bark and then I'm being chased by two dogs up an absurd grade. This is followed five more times by five more sets or single dogs, barkin' and growlin' me off public roads.

By the time I arrived at the base of the hill that would take me up to the campground, my adrenaline glands were drained of every bit of flight (turns out I'm not a fighter). And that hill, I don't know what it was except for straight up and for the first time on the whole trip, I had to dismount and walk my bike up. That was rough -- even after 2800 miles, I didn't have enough built, enough left, to pedal up to the top. 

When I arrived at the campground though, there were two bikes at the picnic table where Rachel was setting up camp. Two bikes! Sandra had arrived just before her. She's traveling solo from Chicago to New York, but the kicker's that she's going via DC. We'll be on the same route for a while. A third!

Day 68: Lights, camera, Alva! (Crystal Rock Campground to Akron)

Despite the storm, the tent was actually dry in the morning, and a clear blue Ohio day lay itself out before us, ready for some heavy pedaling.

The night before, a camper van had pulled in, one of those rentals covered in pixelated murals. Turns out, it was a dad taking his three young kids on a road trip, and the youngest, a four-year-old with a thin elfin-like face and the saddest blue eyes you've ever seen, was homesick for mom. 

There's nothing like science to cheer you up right? I grabbed our box of science and she helped put together Sunny, a purple sol cycle we've had since the beginning of the trip. She giggled as it zoomed through the oatmeal and tin cans and coffee and raced to catch it on the other side. We left Sunny with her and took off toward Akron.

We wanted to make it to Pittsburgh in three days, so we decided to head for a Warm Showers 80 miles away, since the weather was good (ie no lightning). We took a pretty zig-zagging route from the bay to Hwy 303. None of the roads had much of a shoulder to speak of, but they had plenty of traffic and repair reroutes.

About 20 miles in, up a hill on a highway with the only shoulder we'll see all day, I spotted little grey sign that reads "Thomas Edison's Birthplace -->". 

What!

A blown-out picture of the birthplace of TE, what a guy. 

Out of all the routes and all the tiny towns, we found Milan, Ohio, birthplace of the father of modern light, sound and cinema. (Also, research labs and modern utilities). 

I made myself a PB and honey sandwich in front of his little brick childhood home, gape in adoration and try to absorb some neural plasticity, or whatever it was that enabled his 1,093 patents.

Gary and Marilyn, avid cyclists themselves 

We rolled into Gary and Marilyn's right around 8, a gorgeous home tucked away at the end of a cul de sac on the edge of the Cayahoga Valley National Park, the evening cool for once, light. Marilyn wasn't home yet but Gary fed us homemade pesto and linguini, deviled eggs, fresh cherries and limeade. A literature professor, we peppered him with questions about what to read for the rest of our trip. He suggested Gibson - if you haven't, go pick up a copy of Neuromancer now, it'll roil your world- and Pym, by Matt Johnson, about a guy who decides Edgar Allen Poe's only novel is actually a true account, and sets out to retrace its surreal adventure. 

Then Marilyn showed up with thick slices of chocolate cake and we were done for.   

Rachel and I got our own rooms for the night, space being one of those simple but tremendous luxuries you can't find on a trip like this.

And when I went to turn off the lights, I looked up - and the whole ceiling was covered in a universe of tasteful of glow-in-the-dark stars: finally, the night sky we've been missing these last few months. 

Day 66: Dairy or not, here we come (Cottonwood to Napoleon)

We woke up on a water bed. Not in water but there was like inch of water between the tarp and the bottom of the tent. It was good on the back, but less so on the psyche: wet tents are icky. 

We've brushed our teeth in the creepy bathrooms, stomped through some mud, tried to hang the tent to dry and then it started sprinkling so we just toweled it off and packed it in. I took off toward Ligonier for some gas station coffee. I recommend the dark roast. With three of those fake milk caramel-macchiato-flavored packs. 

After an hour at the gas station - the longest I've ever spent at a gas station - on the hot pavement making uncomfortable but cheery eye contact with the seven families that pulled up in minivans or pickups,

I decided I should probably start actually bicycling. 

I made it like 16 miles before I found a Walmart and wandered inside. Ostensibly I was there to by a slightly more fashionable pair of sunglasses, an eye mask to block out the lightning-to-come but then I spent another hour trying to find dinner, namely baked beans, which were in the frozen meat section. Please explain. 

Fortunately for me, today was one of those rare tailwind days and for the first time since leaving the great, empty states of the west, I stuck to highway 6 the whole way. We ended up going 90 miles to Napoleon, a town that's small but not thatttt small, just like its namesake. 

Ice cream + sunsets yum yum  

I met Rachel at Frosty Boy's, where she'd already chatted up the owners and was chowin' down on some dairy because she is a good American. I can't eat dairy and always kind of feel like I can't contribute to the economic recovery. Lucky for our nation, they had Dole, a dairy-free orange creamsicle inside a swirly machine, so I stood behind a bunch of dads and then delighted in the glory of its cold, granular imitation. They're getting there with these ice cream facsimiles. 

Speaking of dad's, shoutout to ours! Thanks for kicking my toches in the 25-mile rides and also the one 60 mile ride we took before this trip. Without you, I would not be here in Napoleon, celebrating French history on American soil. 

The owners of the Frosty Boy let us camp on their property, right behind the store, right next to the graveyard. We invited some ghosts to star gaze and they boohed and ahhed. (jajajaja)

There were actually stars, and for the very first time on this entire trip, we didn't have to use the rain fly. Momentous. The fireworks should've been set off early to celebrate such a rare confluence of luck and weather. It was warm and a little breezy and smelled like fresh cut grass and pavement and that was enough for me to slip off to sleep. 

Day 65: East Coast

Two or three topped-off cups of coffee peeled open my eyelids enough for me to actually see while riding my bicycle in the exotic sunshine. We set out from Faith and Kevin's east out some country roads and onto Hwy 6. The routes out here lining the cornfields are ideal: slightly rolling, green pouring out ether side, stands of trees every two hundred feet, wide lanes, no cars. 

Not 15 miles in, we crossed into the eastern time zone! We're officially on the east coast, less than a thousand miles from New York.

Give me such shows -- give me the streets of Manhattan! 

- a quote by Walt Whitman I looked up online by searching "quotes about New York City" because I'm not really that well read

We've reached an area of the country with deep history, classic downtowns, old stately houses, their Queen Anne and Prairie architecture beautifully kept up over the years. Towns here are like the towns in my head, although the downtowns are doing about as well as they were back in Wyoming and South Dakota, that is, not so well. A lot of shuttered businesses among the saloons and grocery and hardware stores. 

Buggies and bikes unite for wide shoulder rights  

We passed through our first bit of Amish country. I was on the phone with Rachel and rode past a lady in a tight blue bonnet wielding a weed whacker, and a 10-year-old boy with a golden bowl cut and brown coveralls mowing beside his family's orchards. One or two black buggies, with their big wheels and bright orange cation signs tacked to the back, were parked at every farmhouse (which are all painted white, instead of the traditional red, anyone know why?). Shortly down the road, I passed  through Amish Acres, in Neppanee, but didn't have time to stop. Anyone know any more history about the area?

One neat plus: shoulders wide enough for a horse and buggy are wide enough for a bicycle. Superb riding for.. three miles or something.

Out of town, after buying threes banana for 50 cents, I talked to a lady in a bonnet on a bicycle outside the Rite Choice, Carol Helmuth, about our trip. "Wow you really have come a ways!" she said, accent emphasizing and rounding the w's. I wish I could have asked her more, but I am shy and kind of awkward and also I was really hungry.

Post-nap, mid-dinner chompin

I made it to the Cottonwood campground by 6:30, pretty long after Rachel. She was napping in the tent. No hammockable trees sadly, but it was so pleasant to arrive before dark, to have a few hours to tootle around and write and eat and clean before the sun set. Earlier that week, I had ordered a new sleeping pad to be delivered to La Porte. Unfortunately, it arrived late - five hours after we left the farmhouse. Kevin drove it over even though it was already 8 pm and we were an hour a way. So write him thank you's, shower him with flowers, mail him bottles of artisan balsamic vinegar!

I did not take a shower because I do not like reenacting the Saw series

Like every night we camp, the weather report predicted thunderstorms. And it stormed and stormed, starting around midnight, big, blinding flashes of lightning and uncooperative cramps in my right calf keeping me awake. But it's neat to be outside and still dry in weather like that, like you're there in a dream and it's only half real. Eventually I ate a banana, plugged in some ear plugs, threw my pants over my face as a sleep mask, and drifted off.