The Awkward Pose

Miles Today: 78

Miles to Date: 1,587

June 1, 2015 – Overcast and windy, 55 degrees

Days with 4,000 vertical feet of elevation rise are physically exhausting. Days with 400 feet of vertical elevation rise are just tedious. The trip from Elmore, OH to Dearborn, MI is so flat the only times I downshifted was to climb overpasses.

 The few creeks I crossed were full of muddy water from yesterday’s torrents

Some houses sat only inches above flooded yards.

I chuckled at Brewthrough, the most literal drive-through coffee and beer place I’ve ever seen.

Toledo was the saddest collection of aging industry and neighborhood neglect I’ve passed through to date.

Michigan didn’t offer a welcome sign, just long stretches of wide highway with marginal shoulder, thought I enjoyed the cool machine that turns old concrete into new aggregate and filters fine and course aggregate in one process.

I also had to stop to ponder this sign: would I really get my hair cut there?

Off my bike, of course, the people were terrific. The owner of Fino’s Resaturant on Monroe, MI insisted on buying my lunch. Virginia and Marietta, two elderly women having afternoon coffee at the McDonald’s in Lincoln Park were baffled by my journey. They went outside and studied my bicycle, incredulous that it would carry me so far.

I arrived in leafy Dearborn just after six. My friend Bob Basse was in front of his family home, with his brother Bill and their neighbor, Housalla ElMoussa. I wanted to visit Dearborn to explore the Muslim influx, which was everywhere evident on Middlepointe Street.

Bob took me out to Al Ameer, the best Middle Eastern food I’ve ever had. We ordered all sorts of dishes and brought enough leftovers home for a second meal tomorrow

Miles Today: 44

Miles to Date: 1,509

May 31, 2015 – Rain and wind, 50 degrees

After more than three weeks of ducking rain, my weather luck finally ran out. I slept for eleven hours in Cathy and Don Mayles’ quiet basement, and enjoyed a huge breakfast with them before heading out in a light mist about 11 a.m. Before I left they described that a friend whose son died young but donated his organs is tracking where people see this poster on trucks. If you find one, let me know and I’ll pass the news on to Cathy and Don.

The mist dissipated after I stopped by CVS for provisions, so I was hopeful for an easy ride. The stretch to Monroeville was uneventful. The rain picked up by the time I reached the decision point on the east side of town – side roads or U.S. 20. I decided to stick to the main road, which had a wide shoulder and little traffic. This proved a good decision to Bellevue, as the rain picked up and the wind started blowing hard from the northeast. I weighed all the good attributes of my ride – short distance, flat terrain, good pavement – against the rain and decided I was doing pretty well.

Beyond Bellevue I encountered some highway engineers idea of good design – a wide rumble strip down the shoulder that forced me to ride inside the white line. There was so little traffic on the four-lane road that most vehicles gave me a wide berth but a few came awfully close. Then the wind picked up hard and the rain came down harder. A few cross-gusts made my bike shiver, and for the first time on the trip I felt insecure. Once anxiety descends the chance for mishap grows, so I kept a steady focus and recalled my friend Dave Gibson’s wisdom, “You won’t always have fun, but you’ll always feel alive” I certainly felt alive, trying to keep my Surly stable against the thirty to forty mile an hour winds.

Fortunately, the next town, Clyde, had a McDonald’s where I could pull off the road for a few hours and watch the storm from indoors. When I entered the dining room, a group of bikers also seeking respite from the storm said, “Whoa, we thought we had it hard.” The rain slowed down eventually. I left after five and rode the last twenty miles to Elmore, all on one of Ohio’s great rail trails, in a list mist. The wind was still strong, but there were no other vehicles to avoid.

I arrived at my host’s home about 7:30 p.m. After a warm shower, Gordon served an incredible meal: appetizers and matzo soup, ham loaf with beets and salad, fresh pineapple and blueberries for dessert. We talked until ten and then I slept well under the big down comforter on his guest bed.

Miles Today: 62

Miles to Date: 1,465

May 30, 2015 – Sun and storms and 75 degrees

The bank time and temperature sign registered 75 degrees before 7:00 a.m. It was going to be hot one. I had a straight shot of over 60 miles on Ohio Route 18. The first ten were the usual litany of parking lots and stores, all empty on an early Saturday morning. Then the road became a nice four-laner with a wide shoulder. I worried about the lack of local color on a busy road, but it found me anyway. I stopped to chat with a guitar-carrying hitchhiker from New York and a jolly Kiwanis member picking up litter on his stretch of adopted highway. The road turned local through Medina, the birthplace of raising bees, where I came into a throng of half marathoners at the town square finish line. Medina is a vintage Mid-west town with brick storefronts facing a landscaped square of tall trees and center gazebo. The wholesome, healthy runners reinforced that image.

Beyond Medina the road became country, passing beautiful fields and dramatic cloud formations. They kept the temperature from climbing, but looked ominous enough to keep me pedaling to beat the storms. Forty miles in, on the outskirts of Wellington, I had my first flat of the trip. I limped my bicycle two blocks to a Subway, filled my belly before I tackled the repair, and spent a few hours waiting out a series of thunderstorms. How fortunate to have the flat and bad weather correspond with a welcome rest stop. When the sun shined steady again, I kept on toward Norwalk.

I detoured to see the Lincoln Funeral train car, on display courtesy of the Lake Shore railway Association. I’m pretty sure the two local train geeks would have talked to me past dark, but I extracted myself to cycle the twenty remaining miles to Norwalk. I got town just before another big thunderstorm and spent the night with Cathy and Don Mayles, my housemate’s sister-in-law’s cousins. That may not sound like a close connection, but they treated me like family, fed me well, kept a beer in my hand, and gave me a comfortable place to sleep for the night.

Miles Today: 60

Miles to Date: 1,403

May 29, 2015 – Sun, 85 degrees

Cyclists love Ohio and Ohioans love cyclists. The state has the most extensive system of rail-to-bike trails in the country, and people view us as welcome tourists rather than nuisances. Although my route today didn’t include any bike trails, people gave me wide berth, trucks slowed if necessary, and nobody honked, except for a few oncoming toots by people who wanted to wave rather than rant.

My warmshowers host Bill sent my on my way by 7:00 a.m. with a toasted egg sandwich and banana in my belly and an heirloom apple for the road. He was apologetic that the first eight miles of my ride was through a big box strip, but I accept them as an unfortunate but integral part of the United States. Our country has twice the amount of retail square feet per person than any other nation in the world – all of those aisles of stuff have to go somewhere.

Despite my good breakfast I felt peckish, so stopped at a market for a donut and stocked up on power bars. By the time I reached Canfield the road became tranquil, and when I tuned off on Route 45 the ride turned pastoral. I ate the most delicious apple I’ve ever tasted and began thirty pleasant miles along Route 18, parallel to I-76.

A sign for Kiko Auction caught my eye, so I detoured to witness the scene. Pick-up trucks lined both sides of the residential street. Colleen ran a food concession with cold pop and hot sausages. Michelle, who must be very short, staffed the registration booth from the back of a van. She explained that today’s auction was tools and basement items. Future auctions would liquidate the household items and finally, they’d sell this retiree’s house. It was a solid house in a good neighborhood, definitely not a distress sale. I asked why someone would auction their stuff rather than sell it though ads. “We’ve been in this business for seventy years, my grandfather found it. People find is easier to go to auction. We have a lot of success stories, especially among retirees.” The auction start time was almost two hours away, but Michelle had a steady stream of guys – all guys – registering to bid. She knew most of them by name, and Colleen ran a tab for a good number of them as well: traders looking for a deal.

  Sometimes I feel this trip is as much about ‘stuff’ as it is about people. We have so much, and so much of our energy is invested in making, moving, buying, using, trading, selling, and throwing it all away.

On my bike, my cravings run to food rather than possessions, and today I could not get enough. I stopped under a nice tree to devour an energy bar, and was still hungry when I came upon a young man stabbing the ‘Open’ banner in the ground in front of Angelo’s Pizza in Rootstown. It was just 11, but I stopped to enjoy a chicken parmesan sub, cole slaw, and Jojo’s, which are steak fries on steroids. Brian explained that the fryer was still warming up, so I talked to his father Woodie while I waited for really fresh, crisp fried goodness. “Where’s Angelo?” Woodie laughed. “There is no Angelo. We bought the place with that name and just kept it.” I stayed an hour while Brian set up the kitchen, Woodie’s wife ran deliveries and Woodie asked me about my trip. The food was amazing. When I went to pay, Brian nodded toward his dad, “He said no charge.”

I rode the last twenty miles to Akron, finally satiated and grateful for the random acts of kindness that I find all about me.

I arrived at Mr. Bob’s House, the National Historic Landmark home of Dr. Robert Smith, one of the founders of AA, before two and got a personal tour from an inspiring volunteer guide. Then I met my Haiti friend Kim Conrad at a coffee shop, where I hung around for a few hours after she left soaking in the Akron vibe before heading to my motel for the night.

Miles Today: 62

Miles to Date: 1,343

May 28, 2015 – Sun, 75 degrees

My warmshowers host, Simon, got up early, made thick oatmeal with nuts, yogurt and honey, and rode with me down the hilly streets of Pittsburgh to the Hot Metal Bridge, now a bike path across the Monongahela River. I proceeded along the Southside bicycle path with sweeping views of the early morning city to beyond the where the Allegheny and Monongahela merge to create the Ohio River. I passed back across the West Side Bridge, rode through the Manchester neighborhood, crossed back on the McKees Rock Bridge and took 51 North. Pittsburgh is all about bridges.

I diverted onto Neville Island, a long strip in the middle of the Ohio River that includes miles of active industry, from a cracking plant to manufacturing concerns that have flipped over to recycling enterprises. The north part of the island includes a town where residents have tight to the Ohio River.

The Ohio River actually runs north for about 25 miles out of Pittsburgh. 51 North follows the west bank; with the narrow shoulders and brusque drivers I have learned to endure in Pennsylvania. Its not that they dislike me so much as they wish this small, slow, yellow thing on the road would simply disappear. I navigate even more bridges around Monaca, Rochester and Bridgewater, and then begin the steady climb out of the valley onto high ground.

After forty miles, I pulled into a McDonalds in Chippewa for a Diet Coke and Wi-Fi break, where I met the loquacious Ed Morton and his quiet wife Crystal. Ed, a 40 year stock clerk for US Air, wanted to know all about the trip, invited me to sit with them and offered to buy me lunch, which I declined. When they finished their meal, I stood to shake Ed’s hand. He grabbed my shoulder for, dropped his hand into mine, reached for his wife, and led the three of us in a prayer circle in the McDonald’s dining room. After his “Amen”, he handed me a pamphlet, The Seven Words of the Cross. I am on the road to meet whoever crosses my path, and I am grateful for their goodwill, however expressed.

Beyond Chippewa the land started to flatten out and I knew Ohio was not far away. My directions required a turnoff just before the state line. Turns after landmarks are so much easier. I knew I missed it when I came upon Welcome to Ohio. Cyclists don’t like to turn around; guys really don’t like to turn around. Just beyond the sign was a narrow road with a sign State Line Road. I recalled my high school history of the Western Reserve and its careful survey. I decided the road probably ran north along the state line and decided to test history. The road was rocky, but never went to fully dirt. After four miles, with a quick jog at the end; I connected to the country road I had missed, which allowed me to pass another Welcome to Ohio.

The rest of the afternoon was a breeze. I enjoyed a large dipped cone at Dairy Queen and arrived in Poland, a bucolic town, before time. I spent an hour in their gorgeous library and chatted to locals about tomorrow. Missy and Bill, my warmshowers hosts, prepared a tasty picnic and I played tag with their son Ash in the backyard.

Miles Today: 72

Miles to Date: 1,281

May 27, 2015 – Rainy then sunny, 75 degrees

I woke in The Flood City to learn about extensive flooding in Texas and Oklahoma. I called my brother in OKC to make sure everyone was okay and then tucked into my favorite budget motel breakfast: flip waffles! Actually, I had two. Since I was facing 72 miles plus 4,500 feet of vertical rise plus a forecast of rain, I also downed a few other carb intensive treats. I rolled out of Johnstown by 6:30 a.m., which meant pedaling up, up, and up; five miles of steady rise. The higher I went, the nicer the towns. Westmont PA has an interesting mix of contemporary and traditional houses, and incredible trees lining the main road.

The first twenty miles of my ride were long climbs and dives through deep forests. Rain was sporadic, then steady when I went through the attractive town of Ligonier. The rain slowed down as I merged with U.S. 30, which proved a poor road for cycling. The combination of narrow, sometimes grooved, shoulders, inpatient drivers, road construction and Pennsylvanians’ love for Dodge Ram pick-ups made the stretch to Greensburg nerve wracking. I stopped at the Americans for Prosperity Foundation to ask my question, but no one was in their office. Out making money, I guess.

I made a wrong turn in Greensburg and wound up back on 30, when I wanted to be on 130. I wound up in maze of big box stores before navigating to 130 West; a better road, though drivers were no happier to share this road with me than the others. Nearer to Pittsburgh, the number of declining hillside towns and immense industrial shells is amazing. A gigantic former factory at Turtle Creek advertised an interesting concept: indoor storage for RV’s, boats and other big things.

My starchy breakfast gave me the stamina to persevere, but I craved something fresh and crunchy. I discovered a vintage green grocer, bought a banana, apple, and bag of grapes; and sat on a crate enjoying my juicy lunch and trying to engage the clerk about tomorrow.

I had one other direction snafu closer to Pittsburgh and wound up scaling more hills than I cared, yet still arrived at Rivers of Steel Heritage Site in Homestead just after two. Corinne Bechtel, Director of Tourism, gave me an overview of their mission: to preserve a few remaining steel related structures and celebrate the variety of Pittsburgh attributes that resulted from the steel industry; immigration, architecture, food, and culture. After our interview and reviewing exhibits at the Bost Building, Corinne toured me through the Homestead Steel Works Pump House and Carrie Furnaces. The scale of the enterprise was mammoth, the remnants incredible, and Corinne’s tour a delight.

It was after five by the time I climbed up, up, up yet again to get to my warmshowers host’s home for the evening, a bit frazzled and tired, but satisfied. Simon and Melanie fed me delicious Mexican food while their 4-year old son Elliot induced me to log roll down their lawn before he went to the bed and the adults discussed tomorrow.

Miles Today: 46

Miles to Date: 1,209

May 26, 2015 – Overcast, 65 degrees

I rose early to tackle the Allegheny Ridge, the steep incline that differentiates the Allegheny Mountains to the east and the Allegheny Plateau to the west. My warmshowers host, Deb, was already up with the morning edition of the Altoona Mirror, which included the article about my cross-country trip!

Feeling famous, I rolled out of town, past Reighard’s, America’s oldest gas station, in operation since 1909. I began to climb and passed several reservoirs. Altoona has a huge water supply system, the legacy of being a locomotive manufacturing center and the primary place where steam engines were ‘refueled’. If they can find a way to send their excess water to California, it might help both regions.

I started the long ascent up to Horseshoe Curve, where the railroad tracks form a tight ‘U’ against the mountain. Unlike most cities, Altoona is not built along a river. It was founded as a staging point to build the railroad across the Alleghany Ridge, and the most impressive achievement is Horseshoe Curve, which opened in 1854. I got there shortly after seven and was able to watch a long train navigate the graceful arc. Then I pedaled the much steeper road to the top of the ridge, an arduous combination of New England incline and Pennsylvania length.

Once I reached the ridge, I had twenty easy miles, though I was never far from a train. The roads followed the crenulated terrain, while the sinuous lines of steel ran mostly out of sight. Whistles and brakes screeched out of the woods as frequent as birdsong. Every few miles the blacktop weaved under the tracks through a narrow tunnel.

The day was grey with occasional sprinkles, which made hillsides towns like Gallitzin and South Fork look as dreary as The Deer Hunter, which was set in this part of Pennsylvania. I had another long climb approaching Johnstown, and then the steepest descent of my trip yet – white knuckle braking on a 14% grade right into downtown. I landed in town just after 11 a.m., which was good because the sprinkles turned into a steady rain. Fortunately, my most challenging riding of the day was behind me.

The sky cleared and I had an afternoon meeting with Bob Layo, Executive Director of the Johnstown Chamber of Commerce, to talk about tomorrow in a town of declining population and opportunity. Afterwards I enjoyed a late lunch at the 24-hour luncheonette, Coney Island: a hot dog, slathered in mustard, chili and sauerkraut; a sundowner, hamburger with chili, cheese and a fried egg; and a signature cookie stuffed with raisins. Total bill: $6.10. Then I rode around downtown and stopped by George’s Song Shop, the oldest record store in America (1932) to ask George about tomorrow.

A Johnstown joke: What has six arms, six legs, and six teeth?

Answer: The graveyard shift at the Coney Island.

Miles Today: 42

Miles to Date: 1,163

May 25, 2015 – Sunny, 80 degrees

I got on the road before eight for a sweet ride to Altoona. Even on short days, clocking miles in the morning is always best. For the first ten miles I had plenty of company; there were more cyclists and runners in health-conscious State College than vehicles on this postcard perfect holiday morning. The next ten miles took me through beautiful rolling countryside and into the village of Spruce Creek, where I enjoyed a breakfast break along a shady spot on the road overlooking the Juanita River while fly fishermen in waders stood silently flipping their lines into the stream.

Kettle Road is a slow, steady climb past limestone caves and stately stone farms. The road gains in grade until it opens up to reveal the City of Altoona, and then it dives into town.

I spent some time at the original Sheetz, a PA convenience store chain that started in Altoona and is universally described s ‘very good gas station food’. After a bit of blog time, I arrived at my warmshowers hosts’ home.

The best way to describe Deb Greene is simply to say the world would be a better place if there were more like her. When I knocked on the door of her typical Altoona row house she exclaimed, “My cyclist is here!” She directed me to the shower, and when I returned downstairs, clean, introduced me to the family members assembled for a Memorial Day picnic: mother, daughter, granddaughter, sister, boyfriend, boyfriend’s son, daughter and husband, nieces, nephew. Pretty much every kind of relation within modern families gathered around the deck eating, drinking and talking. They all welcomed me, asked about my adventure and reveled me with tales of Altoona.

I asked Deb where she liked to cycle. “Oh, I don’t cycle. I ski and kayak. I just signed up to host on warmshowers because I like people.”

About two hours in, on my second dessert, Kelly Chernetich, reporter for the Altoona Mirror showed up. Deb had called the paper, told them they should interview us, and Kelly came right over. After the media left, I switched to Yuengling and we kept talking until the sun set.

Places like Altoona, declining rust belt cities with houses so close you can touch your neighbors, are easy to dismiss as economic has-beens, populated by people who stay put to maintain family ties rather than chase economic brass rings. In my travels, I’ve spoken with many people who seek a stronger sense of community in their tomorrow. But at Deb Greene’s in Altoona, community thrives and passing cyclists are invited to join in.

Miles Today: 68

Miles to Date: 1,121

May 24, 2015 – Sunny, 70 degrees

Today was a perfect cycling day over three rigorous, densely forested mountains, separated by broad, fertile valleys. Flags flew everywhere. Rhododendrons were in full bloom. Moss thrived in the watery cracks of the limestone crevices. Cows and horses watched me pass. Mammoth stone barns stood sentry along the side of the road. The valley roads were long, straight, and hot. The farm spreads, most with German names on the mailboxes and many with Mennonite carriages, were immense. But when I climbed up the mountainsides, the trees shaded me and cool breezes wafted off the brooks. I learned that when the road rose above the creek, there was usually another mile or so of hard vertical rise before the descent.

I stopped at the charming general store in Rebersburg, where everyone was friendly, and then pedaled the final twenty miles to Boalsburg, home to the Pennsylvania Military Museum and birthplace of Memorial Day, where a big fair was going on.

It was only a few more miles to State College, where I had a delicious dinner, outside with candlelight, with my warmshowers hosts and some of their friends. We got so involved discussing how will we live tomorrow; we didn’t turn in until after midnight.