I’m still not quite sure whose idea it was. I might have suggested it in a moment of weakness. With our sons at summer camp for the week, my husband and I were embarking on our own adventure: a 185-mile bike ride from our home in Chevy Chase to the end of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal in Cumberland, Md.
This C&O towpath trip in June of 2008 was supposed to be the last in a series of rides for my husband, Dennis, during his six-week sabbatical from work. We planned to ride about 60 miles a day for three days. At an average of 10 mph, that equated to a mere six hours of biking per day. Three weeks earlier, Dennis had intended to bike the entire Katy Trail from one side of Missouri to the other, logging 120 miles on the first day before realizing that he had no place to eat or sleep. He ended up in the local VFW hall in Mokane, Mo. (population: 188), fed beer and eggs by some newfound buddies and given a place to sleep—an abandoned house without electricity, water or a bed. The next day he was thrown from his bike by some invisible force and injured his wrist (we later learned it was fractured in two places) before mounting back up after a 20-minute rest and continuing on his journey. Later that day, as the pain and swelling increased, he scrapped his plans and came home. The second trip he had planned, a ride through the mountains of North Carolina, never happened.
The towpath trip, however, was still on, despite doctor’s orders that Dennis do “nothing more active than drinking a cup of coffee.” Our hybrid bikes were a few years old, so they needed some minor refurbishing to be “trip ready.” The gear for our ride began arriving in boxes on a daily basis: extra tubes, new tires, a rear-bike bracket, handlebar extenders, gel-padded seats, gel-padded shorts. My husband had volunteered to carry my clothing and gear in saddlebags during the trip. “In those?” I asked, pointing to the saddlebags, each of which looked about the size of a small shoe box. “But what are you going to use?”
My husband employed old-fashioned maps and Web sites to plot our trip, including where we would eat and stay along the way, and how we would get back to Chevy Chase. We planned to bike from home and then pick up a rental car two-and-a-half days later in Cumberland for the return trip.
Day 1
Our training wasn’t very intense: We rode an hour to Alexandria, Va., for lunch one day. But we are both runners and in good shape, and Dennis had completed part of the Katy Trail ride. Surely, we are prepared.
Our lightweight cycling clothing is packed into those cute little saddlebags. We have every available option for food, water and accommodations outlined on our personal “cheat sheet.” I don’t want to end up in an abandoned house like my husband did, and we don’t plan to camp. I’m not exactly high maintenance, but I do require a hot shower and a cold beer at the end of the day.
We depart bright and early on a sunny, 70-degree Tuesday morning and reach the Capital Crescent Trail in minutes. We drop down to the C&O Canal towpath at the Arizona Street overpass about four miles from our house and move along quickly. Around Mile 13, we pass the part of the path near the Billy Goat Trail. We bike past canal lock after canal lock, each preceded by a brief and sharp uphill section. The towpath is located between the Potomac River and the canal, but for much of the way our view of the river is blocked by woods. As we bike along, we see turtles sunning themselves in rows on logs, egrets taking flight as we approach, cardinals, butterflies and more wildlife. We have lots of company in this area, but mostly runners and walkers; only the occasional biker. The hard-packed dirt and gravel path is well-maintained and virtually trash-free. We quickly feel immersed in nature, and as we ride, the subject of snakes comes up. Dennis is making some rattlesnake joke when I suddenly spot what appears to be a twig in my path. But it’s not a twig, and milliseconds later my front tire rolls over a snake. It was a little garter snake, not a rattlesnake, but it certainly rattled me. I spend much of the remainder of the trip scanning the path for other “twigs.”
Before long, we approach White’s Ferry At Mile 35, the last Potomac River ferry in operation. I’m feeling good—it’s not yet 11:30 and we’ve covered half of our miles for the day. We gulp Gatorade, split a brownie Clif Bar and watch as two riders approach from the other direction. The two guys do not fit the profile of serious D.C. cyclists. Each is heavily tattooed and sporting a 20-pound spare tire around his midsection. One guy, Tom, is particularly chatty. We learn that they started their trek near Pittsburgh, and are on Day 4. I’m impressed. Spare tires or not, they are making good time and logging some serious miles.
Tom says a bunch of cyclists had pulled off the path the day before around Mile 82. He thought they were taking a break, so he rode on, not realizing they had stopped because there was a brown bear in the middle of the path. At first, he thought the bear was a deer, but then it rose up on two legs. Now he was too close to safely stop or turn around so he began ringing his bell and screaming like a madman. He plowed past the bear, which thankfully took a few steps backward off the path, and then ambled into the woods. My fear of snakes was replaced by a fear of a much larger animal.
My contribution to our planning had focused on food, and we were scheduled for a late lunch in Brunswick, Md., (Mile 55) at a café I found on the Web—Beans in the Belfry. A few blocks off the trail, Brunswick is deserted by Bethesda standards. The restaurant is in a renovated church and is decorated with antiques. What a gem! We recline on old sofas with doilies on the arms and enjoy lattes, gourmet paninis and some killer desserts. Two hours slip by pleasantly before we’re back on our bikes.
We had two options for accommodations on the first night: a Comfort Inn in Harpers Ferry, W.Va., at Mile 60, or the Bavarian Inn in Shepherdstown, W.Va., at Mile 73. Dennis is pushing for the extra 13 miles because we can get an in-room Jacuzzi at the Bavarian Inn. The volume of bikers picks up near Harpers Ferry, and we see people in fat inner tubes floating on the river. Although the towpath remains relatively flat, there are large rocky ledges and steep hills on either side of the river. We cruise on by, confident that we’ll manage the extra miles. Of course, I’m a bit pooped by now, and the excitement of the day is waning, so the last five miles drag on.
When we finally see the Route 34 bridge over the Potomac, it is a sight for sore eyes—and bottoms. The Bavarian Inn, a sprawling hotel with German charm, is precisely what I need. Two cold draft beers by the pool, and I’m feeling refreshed. Although my leg muscles and bottom are tired, I’m excited to have made it this far. Did I mention the Jacuzzi? I might actually be able to make it to Day 2.
That night, we walk around Shepherdstown, enjoy an alfresco dinner and look for an ice cream parlor. We meet a woman tending her outrageously beautiful garden. She and her husband, a professor at Shepherd University, moved to Shepherdstown from D.C. a few years ago. They like the small-town atmosphere, the slower pace and the friendly people. She tells us that her husband holds the unofficial biking record for Cumberland to Georgetown along the towpath—14 hours straight. I calculate in my head that his pace must have been more than 13mph, or about a 4.5-minute mile. I am impressed and humbled. Our per-mile time ranges from four to seven minutes, and we take lots of breaks.
Before we depart, the woman mentions a detour around some construction on the towpath. “It will add some miles to your trip,” she says, “but if you ignore the signs, you’ll end up having to backtrack and go even farther.” With that, she points us toward ice cream and we say good night.
