Believe me, it's not about the miles. There is so much else that is the reward of a trek, not just keeping your head down sweating out a long conversation between your heart and some target zone. Yes, you have to cover ground and today, ten days out, I am 476 miles along the way. If we don't count the rest day in Maysville, I've averaged about 53 miles a day. I'm pleasantly surprised, but face it, whether on a trek or at home, days vary.
After leaving Maysville, a short visit to famous minister and Underground Railroad activist John Rankin's home, up a half-mile hill above Ripley, OH, turned into a two-hour stay chatting with Prof. Todd, a Phd. candidate at University of Kentucky, who works summers with the Ohio State Historical Society. Overlooking the broad sweep of the Ohio, he fed me with stories of the area, Rankin's operations and those of free blacks like John Parker (whose Phoenix Foundry was the largest ironworks between Pittsburgh and Cincinnati) and in which creek draws on the Kentucky side fugitive slaves would approach the river.
You have to take time when such opportunities arise and, Prof. Todd traded my attentiveness with "better route" up river and up the valley hills to East Fork State Park, my destination for the day. The route's advantage was requiring the equivalent of only one climb up Paoli Pike instead of two, but it was still about 7 p.m. when I arrived at the State Park, and at the southern end instead of 10 miles further where the formal campgrounds were. Fifty-five miles, a significant climb, stick a fork into me, I was done.
While calculating off of which trail or service road I was going to "stealth camp" for the night, a strapping, white-haired 65-year old gentleman out on his Specialized triathalon bike pulled along side. He was sweating bullets and said he was working out "to open up his arteries" in preparation for a 150-mile ride the next day. He assured me the area really was unpopulated and confimed my plan. I told him about my Hennessy Hammock, plans to make couscous with olive oil, chicken and pine nuts and then climb into my sleeping bag and go to bed. He smiled and said, "Simple. And life is good." We parted after sharing an experience of what I call "the brotherhood of the wheel": like-minded people viewing the world from the wonderfully crazy contraption called a bicycle.
I won't belabor how one stays civilized stealth camping without showers doing 50-plus miles a day, but suffice it to say it involves wet wipes, as many as it takes to wipe yourself down from head to toe. You remain better company with yourself and don't frighten people when you stop to chat with them.
The couscous was great and more than I could finish. The next morning I'm sitting on one bucket pannier heating water with my mountain stove on the other while I made coffee and reheated leftovers for breakfast. More olive oil, pine nuts and a few shakes of hot sauce made a lively and nutritious breakfast to get me on my way.
Twenty-two miles got me to lunch at Milford, OH and the Little Miami Trail, a 70-mile rails-to-trail conversion Ohio seems to have done plenty with. I called home to wish happy Mother's Day to Kathy and the girls and then spent Sunday afternoon amid hundreds of people of all shapes, ages and skill levels out enjoying the newly mild weather. I made another 25 miles before tucking into a canoe livery/campground along the river. Being Sunday night, the campground was practically deserted. I washed, just snacked and got cozy for a night in the 40's while the sound of water riffles over a gravel bar lulled me to sleep.
For those of us used to roads in rural, urban and suburban areas, rails-to-trail conversions seem almost miraculous. The Little Miami Railroad was the first West of the Allegheny Mountains and, boy, did those surveyors do a good job through what in the early 1800's was forest primeval. Gentle grades carry you through miles and miles of riparian woodlands, skirt farms and glance through small towns that still survive despite their distance from the bustle and commerce of the Interstate Highway system. To those who risk roads on a regular basis, these trails are unusually calm, almost mesmerizing, even a touch monotonous. But they are good and right and necessary as alternatives to our car-addled culture and we should all start advocating and supporting their development where we live.
During the next two days I passed thousands of acres of black-soil farmland but never saw a roadside stand. If necessary, community gardens could easily spring up to feed local communities, much as the "truck farms" dotted towns where I grew up as a kid in northern Illinois. But what I saw this week was acre on acre of corn and soybeans planted to supply the industrial food systems on which we now rely. Feed stock, oil and fiber, vegetable proteins, perhaps even ethanol for our cars. It had been sunny and all these three-inch sprouts swirling in rows like Maori tatoos across the landscape looked a little dry, liked they needed a good soaking to really get on with summer's growth.
Rain was forecast for late Tuesday, vicious squalls in fact with 40-mile per hour winds and the possibility of hail. Luckily for me, strong southwesterly winds preceded the approaching front and urged me on my way.
One of my planned stops was Wilberforce, named after the Englishman who convinced the British Parliament to outlaw the slave trade 30 years before the United States did. (The recent movie "Amazing Grace" is about his efforts and it got excellent reviews.) This is also why fugitive slaves often had Canada, not yet a nation but British territory, as their ultimately safe destination. Today, Wilberforce is home to two colleges and the National Afro-America Museum and Cultural Center. When I stopped at "the depot" in Xenia, where three rails-to-trails converge (God, does Ohio have it right!) I phoned ahead only to discover the center was closed on Sundays and Mondays. It became an easy day as I just pedaled up to Yellow Springs, home of Antioch College, to my first home visit of the trip.
Since it's not about bikes or the UGRR, I'll go light on the details. But my friend who grew up in Shively and Pleasure Ridge Park, spent a lot of business time in the Bay Area during the '60's and '70's chose to settle in this progressive little community in 1981 and voices very few regrets about his choice. Conservancy green belts, great food, intellectual stimulation and no rush hour are all part of the charm of this village east of Dayton.
My weekend couscous had me missing a decent tomato, so I had phoned ahead to say I wanted to make bruschetta after I pedaled in. Richard, way beyond me in kitchen skills, knew where to shop for fresh mozarella, Italian parsley, and good wines and then blew me completely off by grilling duck breasts with a cherry pepper glaze, red and yellow sweet peppers and portobello mushrooms and a salad of baby greens (from his window boxes) with pistachio oil and an aged balsamic vinager nearly as thick as molasses. I pitched in a 2005 Covey Run Gewurtztraminer from Washington's Columbia Valley (we took the dog for a mile walk after this and the bruschetta before grilling) and a 2003 Piegaia Chianti Classico. My God, how simple. Life is good.
The next day, aided by the following wind, I made a record 79-mile run and tucked into a small camping cabin at Alum Creek State Park to ride out the storm. If it thundered or hailed, I never heard it, only the steady rain which started around midnight and lasted til about 9 a.m. In my minds ear, I could hear all those corn and soybean sprouts gurgling in delight.
During the day, I met a rider from Columbus who was "doing a 16-mile loop" and while we pumped together sharing tales he talked about going to Italy each year for biking vacations (Tuscany, this fall). I snacked at small town milk shake stands and little groceries, which road karma requires you to patronize as thanks for their existence and persistence on the landscape (no fast food joints yet). The epitome though was in Rathbone, a mere intersection south of Delaware where I needed to stop (after 67 miles) and figure out where I would shelter myself from the approaching storm. Scioto Valley Bait Shop, the sign said, but they had pation tables outside and signs announcing wood fired oven pizza! In one room was the bubbling minnow tank and next door these gods and goddesses of the road weary traveler, were making caesar and caprese salads from scratch (fresh mozarella and slice tomatoes on pesto foccacia all drizzled with olive oil) and fresh pizzas baked in a marvelous oven on a trailer out in the side parking lot.
I mean, what are the odds of that? I stayed and ate and laughed for an hour and a half before busting out the last dozen miles to the state park. Remember, (and Ed, we must talk about this when I get back) it is not about the miles.
Wednesday, approaching Amish country, I rode through beautiful, wet fields and small towns punctuated by oaks and cottonwoods. Over hill and dale, stopping for lunch at a small town's grocery, gas pump and cafe (all in one building plastered inside with posters of beer girls and NASCAR drivers) I made my way to Bellville for a home visit and potluck with nine new friends from the local Unitarian fellowship. The small, rugged stone church built in 1894 in this village of barely 2,000 souls suggested another example of something right about Ohio (though they assured me the politicians here are not part of that picture). My gracious hostess and the good company's discourse allowed me to digest the road already traveled and that yet to come.
Today started in the low 40's with showers passing through and a good wind kicking up from the north. That's why I'm here in the library on the computer, tipping my hat in your direction and telling a bit of this tale. I've got my tights and rain jacket on, neoprene gloves and over boots ready if I run into rain. I'll be camping tonight somewhere between Bellville and Oberlin. They forcast a frost tonight, so it'll be an experience. Fleecies, windbreaker, down bag, stocking hat. But, oh, that hot oatmeal and coffee will probably taste really good in the morning.
Remember, Friday, May 18 is national Bike to Work Day. I'll be pedaling into Oberlin. You all make a statement on the roads back home.
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