Day 44 – Breathing and drops of sweat.
Today was such a fun day, and the first day in what seems like a while that it didn’t rain. We had two choices this morning: (1) ride 30 more miles on the flat bike path, or (2) ride 26 miles on a road that went straight up and down the whole way. Honestly, my bike hated me enough as it was from the path yesterday, and I hated the grit in all of my clothes from the bike path yesterday, that it wasn’t a hard decision for me to make in favor of the road. Climbing didn’t scare me—we’d had enough easy days that I figured I could use the challenge before the end of the trip. There were only six of us who chose the road, and I climbed with Sean and Kari the whole way. I guess I didn’t know before what a long and steep climb really meant, or felt like, but I learned today. We had a few healthy climbs where we got down into our granny gears, and then we hit THE climb. All of the sudden I realized that I was in my lowest gear, my legs were barely moving the pedals, my breathing had increased exponentially, and my speedometer read about 3.5 mph. And it kept going and going. This was what a long and steep climb meant I discovered. Strangely enough, I loved it. It burned, it hurt, I was tired, and it just kept going, but I loved it. It was the most satisfying thing in the world to see that top, to feel the release of resistance in the pedals, and to turn around and look at what we had just done, what I had just done. The best part was when we turned around and saw the sign for the gradient going down the hill we just climbed up: 14% for ½ mile. Pretty freaking sweet.
Our climbing wasn’t done yet, but eventually we hit the summit, which was the highest point in Pennsylvania: Mt. Davis. This was at mile marker 16.9, and Pollie and Mark met us there for a waterstop. They told us that they hadn’t expected us so soon, and it was incredible that when Steve was the first to arrive, what they heard before they actually saw him was the sound of his breathing and the sweat dropping down on the pavement. I was so sweaty from the climb and the humidity that literally it looked like I had just crawled out of the pool. After a photoshoot, a waterbottle refill, and some gnat swatting, we embarked on the descent. It was such a beautiful morning, and with breathtaking scenery. It reminded me a lot of Wisconsin as we rolled through farmlands, some Amish lands, rolling hills spotted with trees, and fog that made the distant hills look like layers of paper cut-outs. I am infinitely thankful that we chose the road today; it was hard and satisfying and beautiful. You can’t see much on the bike path, and it turned out to be somewhat boring drudgery for them to get through the unpaved path.
Around mile 26 we hooked onto the rest of the group on the cue sheet. We were riding along with Kari coming into town and it’s a good thing that there wasn’t any oncoming traffic because when Sean and I saw the sign for coffee we practically screeched into a sharp left turn for it. It was little local diner owned by some really sweet people who showed us pictures of previous cross-country riders who had come through. It was a nice surprise to see a handful of riders walk in who were among the first off of the bike path, because we were certain that after all of that climbing everyone on the bike path would have passed us. Not to mention that we were practically the last ones out this morning while Dave fixed my chain (again...pretty soon my chain won’t have any of the original links in it I swear).
We didn’t stop for too long, just enough to enjoy the coffee, and we were off again for more climbing and small towns. It was comforting knowing that since we had already hit the highest point in PA we wouldn’t have to climb any higher, and we enjoyed the weather, the views, the road, and the company of just Sean and I. It’s been a while since we’d found ourselves at the front of the pack, and we surprised to learn at Kathy’s stop that only Steve was ahead of us. Kathy’s waterstop was at the memorial for Flight 93, the plane that went down during the 9/11 attacks. It was a moving memorial because it was so unofficial. One huge gate had been erected and just covered with hats, flowers, poems, stuffed animals, pictures, and other such tokens of grief, sympathies, memories, and prayers. There were about a dozen plaques mounted alongside from various group and organizations, enough park benches to be labeled with each person who died in the crash, and a few other pieces of memorial that were contributed by various people.
Moving on from that site, we found ourselves on, surprise, more hills. I still have this image in my mind tonight of a long stretch of straight road ahead of us that just went up and down and up and down. At this point I was getting a little worn out, but I was doing alright, especially when we got to a sign that read: 9% grade for 6 miles. All downhill that was, and with spectacular views. I’ve decided that this is some of my favorite type of riding, and I’ll take this real climbs any day over smaller rollers. I like to just get down into the granny gears and then feel the satisfaction of the descent before I do it again. After some more climbing, some construction, and a torn-up stretch of road that hurt my hand and feet from the vibrations, we finally saw the Cannondale sign for its factory buildings. It was a welcome sight because we knew that our campground was immediately thereafter, and we rolled in to find only three other people there. We even beat the truck! Thankfully the campgrounds also had laundry, seeing as how most of us had loads of clothes reeking of mildew from all of the rain and no way to dry wet clothes in the humidity. The campground even gave his free ice cream, and Sean’s magically refilled itself after every bite as I scooped my too-huge portion into his cup.
After some rain, pizza, and salad with pickles (who does that?), we walked over to the Cannondale factory for a tour. It was super interesting to see the logistics of how these bikes that are taking us across the country are made, to see to the rows of unfinished frames lined up on the racks and shelves, to see the paint room where every machine was covered with intricate layers of different colors of dried paint, and then to see the room where they test the products and break everything with machines. It’s a shame we were so exhausted that it felt like it took eighteen hours because it was a really cool tour.
Our climbing wasn’t done yet, but eventually we hit the summit, which was the highest point in Pennsylvania: Mt. Davis. This was at mile marker 16.9, and Pollie and Mark met us there for a waterstop. They told us that they hadn’t expected us so soon, and it was incredible that when Steve was the first to arrive, what they heard before they actually saw him was the sound of his breathing and the sweat dropping down on the pavement. I was so sweaty from the climb and the humidity that literally it looked like I had just crawled out of the pool. After a photoshoot, a waterbottle refill, and some gnat swatting, we embarked on the descent. It was such a beautiful morning, and with breathtaking scenery. It reminded me a lot of Wisconsin as we rolled through farmlands, some Amish lands, rolling hills spotted with trees, and fog that made the distant hills look like layers of paper cut-outs. I am infinitely thankful that we chose the road today; it was hard and satisfying and beautiful. You can’t see much on the bike path, and it turned out to be somewhat boring drudgery for them to get through the unpaved path.
Around mile 26 we hooked onto the rest of the group on the cue sheet. We were riding along with Kari coming into town and it’s a good thing that there wasn’t any oncoming traffic because when Sean and I saw the sign for coffee we practically screeched into a sharp left turn for it. It was little local diner owned by some really sweet people who showed us pictures of previous cross-country riders who had come through. It was a nice surprise to see a handful of riders walk in who were among the first off of the bike path, because we were certain that after all of that climbing everyone on the bike path would have passed us. Not to mention that we were practically the last ones out this morning while Dave fixed my chain (again...pretty soon my chain won’t have any of the original links in it I swear).
We didn’t stop for too long, just enough to enjoy the coffee, and we were off again for more climbing and small towns. It was comforting knowing that since we had already hit the highest point in PA we wouldn’t have to climb any higher, and we enjoyed the weather, the views, the road, and the company of just Sean and I. It’s been a while since we’d found ourselves at the front of the pack, and we surprised to learn at Kathy’s stop that only Steve was ahead of us. Kathy’s waterstop was at the memorial for Flight 93, the plane that went down during the 9/11 attacks. It was a moving memorial because it was so unofficial. One huge gate had been erected and just covered with hats, flowers, poems, stuffed animals, pictures, and other such tokens of grief, sympathies, memories, and prayers. There were about a dozen plaques mounted alongside from various group and organizations, enough park benches to be labeled with each person who died in the crash, and a few other pieces of memorial that were contributed by various people.
Moving on from that site, we found ourselves on, surprise, more hills. I still have this image in my mind tonight of a long stretch of straight road ahead of us that just went up and down and up and down. At this point I was getting a little worn out, but I was doing alright, especially when we got to a sign that read: 9% grade for 6 miles. All downhill that was, and with spectacular views. I’ve decided that this is some of my favorite type of riding, and I’ll take this real climbs any day over smaller rollers. I like to just get down into the granny gears and then feel the satisfaction of the descent before I do it again. After some more climbing, some construction, and a torn-up stretch of road that hurt my hand and feet from the vibrations, we finally saw the Cannondale sign for its factory buildings. It was a welcome sight because we knew that our campground was immediately thereafter, and we rolled in to find only three other people there. We even beat the truck! Thankfully the campgrounds also had laundry, seeing as how most of us had loads of clothes reeking of mildew from all of the rain and no way to dry wet clothes in the humidity. The campground even gave his free ice cream, and Sean’s magically refilled itself after every bite as I scooped my too-huge portion into his cup.
After some rain, pizza, and salad with pickles (who does that?), we walked over to the Cannondale factory for a tour. It was super interesting to see the logistics of how these bikes that are taking us across the country are made, to see to the rows of unfinished frames lined up on the racks and shelves, to see the paint room where every machine was covered with intricate layers of different colors of dried paint, and then to see the room where they test the products and break everything with machines. It’s a shame we were so exhausted that it felt like it took eighteen hours because it was a really cool tour.
posted by elizabeth at 12:02 AM
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