Beat Summer Heat with "8 o'clockers" -- 33.3 miles

Summer heat can sap your desire for a long ride or a workout.  So, I find myself tending towards "8 o'clockers", either early in the morning or later in the evening, to enjoy myself in these peak summer months.  Getting out early this past weekend meant temperatures in the 60's up here in western Floyd County and good summer riding.

Saturday, going solo, I combined two of my favorite loops from my home two miles west of Floyd Central H.S. for a nice 33.3 mile ride.

SOUTH SKYLINE LOOP

I first headed east on Old Vincennes Road up to the Luther Road stop sign, hung a left to go east and continued to cross U.S. 150 and on down to Paoli Pike were a right takes you to the light at Scottsville Road.  The Hobknobb Roasting company is a good stop there, but I was only 5 miles out and looked forward to a fresh cup when I was circling back about 10 miles later.

Turning left, go up to the next stop sign, St. Mary Road, and go right for a delicious, curvy roll along the base of Spickert and Moser Knobs.  It's shaded in the mornings and traffic is usually light unless its rush hour or school is just starting or getting out.  St. Mary's of the Knobs church is a nice place to stop, stretch and drink some water if you, or the less experienced riders with you need a short break.  The cemetery also has headstones from many older area families, some dating back to the early 19th century.

At the church, take a right to get on Campion Road and continue a meandering ride along the creek bed until you come to the marked intersection where Atkins Road goes north, Moser Knob Road, to your right, heads northeast straight up hill and So. Skyline Drive, also to your right, curves back right and southward.  

Atkins Road is the easiest way to get up on top of the knobs and, after a right turn at Von Allman a couple miles later,  makes for a sweet ride along the ridge crest on North Skyline back to Moser Knob where you can hapilly come down the hill back to Campion.  If you want a few more miles, take it;  it's great. 

But today, I wanted to do a figure eight that included some of the western part of the county and one of the sweetest creekside rides out here, Hamby Road.  So, I turned up South Skyline, which starts level but in about a third of a mile turns into a good uphill climb to get your heart and lungs pumping.  Once on top, it's an easy ride and, once past some extravagant subdivisions and antenna farms, turns lovely as you follow curving rollers through a mostly wooded ridge crest back to Spickert Knob Road (it comes up the knob on your left) and on a gentle grade downhill back to St. Mary.  At Scottsville Road, watch for traffic as you turn left and book it back to Paoli Pike.  Now might be a good time for a coffee and bagel or morning muffin.  They roast locally, so the brew will be good.

From here, you backtrack west on Paoli Pike, just after the Post Office turn left on E. Luther Road and follow it back uphill to U.S. 150 and onward to Old Vincennes where you take a right and can enjoy a gleefully quick downhill back to Floyd Central H.S.  If you start here, you've done a good 15 miles or so, with lots of aerobic sections, hill climbs and shady country road down hills to put you in a good mood.

GREENVILLE/HAMBY ROAD LOOP

 If you want a bit more, about 17 miles more, keep heading due west on Old Vincennes.  Go straight through the stop sign in half a mile at Edwardsville-Galena Rd., and in about 150 yards go straight again (despite the yellow line curving left to John Pectol Rd.) to stay on Old Vincennes.  There's a testy little rise .4 miles ahead, but once up and over, it's smooth sailing.

After Featheringill, you pass a horse farm and ride over some rollers into a gentle downhill into the Indian Creek basin.  At early morning or evening dusk you might see a Great Blue Heron or deer along the creek before climbing out and up for a mile to Buttontown Road.  On your left is the old Greenville cemetery worth a check if you need to stretch after climb.

Turn right at Buttontown and you're heading due north towards Greenville.  Just after passing the park and before getting to U.S. 150, take a left on an unmarked street along a chain link fence.  It will bring you through the backside of Greenville where in less than a mile, you will come to Georgetown-Greenville Road.   On your left will be the neat-as-a-pin, beautiful, white United Methodist Church, which is celebrating its 108th anniversary this year.  If you need some drinks or a sandwich, the Greenville Mini-Mart is one block to your left and worthy of your patronage.

Turning left, you enjoy a gradual downhill ride southward out of town.  After passing some pretty cattle farms, the road turns right and quickly climbs up a rise, but it's not too bad.  Keep going and enjoy the better direction of the rollers that will take you down to Richland Creek, which you generally follow for a few more miles before the road ends at a T where you'll turn left. This is about 10 miles out from the high school.

As you continue along Georgetown-Greenville a couple more miles, you'll see the classic suburban fringe:  new single family homes along the county road like punctuating active farm fields of handsome corn and soy beans as you get back into the Indian Creek watershed.  After crossing the creek, keep a look out for Cooks Mill Road on your left, it appears quickly.  Take it and in only a third of a mile take another left onto Hamby Road and gear down to climb your last hill.  It's short and the last one of the day other than climbing back up to the Floyd Central

parking lot.

You'll quickly leave the soybean covered hilltop and start down.  BE CAREFUL, there is a wicked switchback to the right which you have to take s-l-o-w-l-y.  Once around it, let it go and enjoy one of the sweetest stretches in the county.  You follow the cooler air of wooded creek bed, see more farming, break out into the sun as you cross the creek bottom and re-enter the woods as the road ends in about 1.5 miles at Buttontown Road to your left and John Pectol to the right.  Turn right, cross the one-lane, wood plank bridge, and continue along similar shaded road (without the creek) about three  more miles back to Old Vincennes Road where you curve to the right and go .8 miles back to the high school.  

While the elevation changes sum up the same, this loop to me seems easier to do counterclockwise.  Maybe it's where they occur in the route, but the climb up from Indian Creek over the hill into Richland Creek drainage and the climbs up rollers back into Greenville seem more challenging.  So, on those days you need more pepper in your ride, take the loop clockwise.

Now's a good time for us all to be posting what we think are "best rides".

  

Mr. G gets to Great Lake Erie

Preview: Time to wheel it in and wrap up about this Underground Railroad Tour adventure. I'm done. Access to broadband terminals (and free time) was sketchy on the road but I want to finish these notes. This post will catch me up to Lake Erie. One more will describe my gentleman's tour camping through the northeast's wine country and getting to Niagara Falls. A last post relating the pros and cons of my experience seems in order. Since I'm online again, I'll also field any questions.

I awoke rested, warm and dry after surviving semi-rig alley to get to the motel outside of Mansfield, OH. I was also off route, even off the map I carried showing the way to Oberlin. The Adventure Cycling Assoc. route required backtracking and a big left turn to get going the right way (North). I decided on freelancing the hypotenuse of the triangle on county roads into and through Ashland and picking up the route 20 miles later. A free county map at the desk helped me sort out a plan.

The sun shone brightly after the prior day's rain. A 15 to 20 mph head wind out of the north, though tough, now seemed a bargain compared to yesterday's weather. You just tuck, get as sleek as you can, use your gears and grind it out. A fast and easy downhill on U.S. 42 toward town seemed a good omen. Climbing up the other side of the gentle valley, before reaching Ashland's city limits, had me pay for every fun foot in altitude I used in that downhill. My friend David "Bump" Runge interchangably refers to these as "altitude and/or attitude adjustments" and anyone who's ventured farther than a 6-mile fun ride knows what he means. Soon after getting off the highway onto the main road into town (Claremont Ave.), I saw a one-horse Amish buggy coming towards me trotting at a spritely pace. I marveled then, and many days afterwards, about what "one horsepower" was capable.

Also reaffirmed was what poor judges of distance most people are. After passing a major intersection, I pulled off into a car dealership to double check my route. The owner was cordial, said he had passed me on U.S. 42 on his way to work, and assured me the downtown intersection for which I was looking was only a mile away. "A professional," I thought. He was off by almost 100 percent. Persistance found the interesection 1.8 miles later. This happened so many times it was noteworthy how people were wildly off in their estimates of distance, often by miles. So, check as often as you need but don't obsess. Making my way through 30-plus more miles into the wind also tamed me of watching the computer too closely. Like waiting for the tea kettle to boil, the miles don't pass if you're constantly watching them.

It was a long afternoon and no towns had cafes for a lunch break (an unfortunate fact related to our car-dominated modern life) until I got into a small burg called Sullivan with an intersection sporting a park, Masonic lodge, antique store and post office on one side and a small grocery store next to the volunteer fire department on the other. Good food becomes a hallmark of each day when cycling and the Sullivan Market delivered with a more than respectable ham and turkey sub dressed with fresh tomato and lettuce on a bun the girl assured me was "baked right here every day". A couple of root beers out of the cold case and I was revitalized for the final run to Oberlin. A 42-mile day mostly against the wind had me delighted to reach this destination, home of the first college in America to admit women and blacks and today still a beautiful, historic town crawling with students happy the school year had just ended. I downed a pint of Newcastle Ale at the local watering hole and then, sitting on the deck of my B&B host, called home to share the good news. That evening I pored over maps with my host, an experienced sailor and outdoorsman, considering a turn westbound along Lake Erie to make a loop homeward. We agreed, despite the logistics of getting back home, the one way route to Canada was more open-ended, adventuous and in keeping with the spirit of my trek.

I awoke with aches. While nothing seemed wrong, I could feel every muscle bundle in my thighs. Never having done a trip of this magnitude, discretion seemed wiser than pushing to an injury. I arranged a late morning hour with a massage therapist and left just after noon. Considering it a "recovery day", I pedaled only 30 miles through scudding clouds and occasional light drizzle to Medina where I treated myself in a fine restaurant on the town square to a great sushi dinner to celebrate Kathy and my wedding anniversary. I felt blessed but deeply missed her, our girls and home.

Under sunny skies next morning, I started east bound for Cayuhoga National Park and points beyond. Just five miles out of town I ran into some steep uphill rollers that I handled without strain, confirming the prior day's "easy mode" was a good decision. Later, after a delightful lunch in Peninsula with a couple cycling the tow path (Nate and April who posted a picture here earlier) there was nearly a mile long climb out of the valley. My legs felt strong and the break had done me good. Unfortunately, the skies darkened with threatening clouds and lowering temperatures soon after I reached Hudson, around 5 p.m. Several trys for lodging at local guest houses proved fruitless this Sunday evening, and I quickly moved on to Streetsboro where I could get a motel with breakfast thrown in. I was playing safe, but having left the National Park also meant all opportunities to camp were well behind me. Only 37 miles for the day, but I was out of the weather and able to get a nice diner before hitting the sack.

The next morning, Monday, the sun shone again and I was determined to get back on pace as I headed north. The weather held as I travelled through truly beautiful countryside east of Cleveland and into Amish country towards Ashtabula. I had my eye on a campground on the edge of town, but when I called ahead to inquire for a site with trees for my hammock, they said I "had to have a tent" to camp there. Unfazed and with sunny skies, the miles slipped away as I pushed on. Long lines of drying clothes at the Amish homes suggested they too were glad for sunny weather after the past three days of threatening skies. Blue jumpers, bib overalls, sheets, towels, T-shirts, bed spreads, most anything washable in the house was strung out taking advantage of the clear day. Sixty-one miles later, the last 8 on the Greenway Reserve Trail, I pulled into Austinburg and made arrangements for the night. A great day.

Tuesday, it was only another seven miles into Ashtabula on the shores of Lake Erie. I had to pass through all the town before getting to the rather industrial looking port and bridge over the Ashtabula River, but the wide, flat, green expanse of water as far as the eye could see was a major milestone in the trip. I stopped at the Hubbard House, one northern terminus of the Underground Railroad from which fugitives would have to cross only one quarter mile to the family's portside warehouse before catching a steamer (like the Indiana or Sultana) with a sympathetic Captain to be carried across to Canada. Today a historical museum, I was disappointed to read on the door it wouldn't open until Memorial Day, the official beginning of summer in these northern parts. I pushed off to see the lake and head eastward for lunch in Conneaut ("Conny-aut") another 11 miles out and ending the day after 50 miles in Erie, PA, where I stayed with a gracious family who hosted me with a cookout, visiting friends and a taste of the finer wines I could expect in the coming season. All along the day's ride, I was surprised by flowering redbud trees, dogwoods, lilacs and rhododendrons and cool breezes off the lake. The wonderful Spring weather just added to the delight of having made it without serious mishap 721 miles from home. (Knock on wood) with

'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night (and the suspicious Christian minister said "hit the road")

Day 11--Can we spell h-y-p-o-t-h-e-r-m-i-a?
Last post, I was avoiding grey skies and rain squalls in Bellville's public library. After a couple hours, I summoned the persistence to get going. Nothing looked good outside but finding out what the road would bring was at the heart of my venture and trumped the alternatives. Sometimes you just have to push off and go.

Six miles down the Mohican Valley trail to Butler, it started raining again and I ducked into the public park shelter to pull out rain gear and hope for another break in the weather. It was in the low 50's and riding in this rain wasn't like summertime 80's when you don't care if you're getting wet. I hung out almost an hour, visiting with a group of high school students also waiting for the rain to pass so they could shoot baskets. When the sun broke through the clouds, I wish them well and set off again. I didn't get a mile out of town before the skies opened up again, this time for keeps. At the side of the road, I quickly pulled on pants, boots, gloves and a rain poncho as a farmer rolled past on a huge tractor heading back to his barn. It was too wet for field work.

The road was hill climbs and rollers over the next seven miles--long, steep climbs up to ridge tops followed by scary, fast down hills in the wet conditions before another hard, cranking climb up to the next ridge--and the full rain gear just made me hot. I haven't got this figured out. Working hard leaves you wet from the rain or from the sweat building up inside your protective gear and modern, pricey GoreTex fabrics don't "breathe" anywhere enough to keep you comfortable. After an hour of this, I was thinking hard of an alternative, like getting out of the weather. Thankfully, about four miles later, the rain let up and I was able to start peeling off some layers. The best thing about riding in the rain is being outside as it stops, the rafts of clouds separate and sun begins to again bathe the earth. It is always beautiful.

As I approached Charles Mills Lake south of Mifflin, a large Corps of Engineers flood control resevoir with recreational facilities, I thought everything would resolve into a camp ground there. A nice looking, rustic but refined restaurant appeared around a bend and I pulled over to dry out, eat and avoid having to cook for the night. But the clearing skies were bringing cooler air and falling temperatures. When I left after dinner, not completely dried out, I felt very cold on the bike, even with tights, long-sleeved jersey, and jacket zipped up tight. This didn't go away.

At Mifflin, site of the campgrounds, I feared a wet night in low 40 degree temperatures might mean shivering most of the night with little real sleep and a ruined tomorrow. I pulled over for directions at a coffee shop which had just closed but still had one car parked outside. The proprietress was inside roasting a batch of coffee and she invited me, offered me a warm cup of coffee and in an hour and a half conversation we got acquainted, shared family pictures, a tour of the 19th century cabin she had renovated into this beautiful place and broached the suggestion I could just sleep on the floor in front of the fire place until she came back early next morning to serve a breakfast group coming in. She just needed to call her husband, a second-shift manager at GM who also pastored a church. Ah, the thought of Christian charity soothed my weary bones.

It took nearly an hour to reach his cell phone and she retreated into the back kitchen when speaking with him. My chance of solace ended when she came back out, handed me the phone and said, "you speak to him".
"I'm sorry, but with the world the way it is, I want you out of there right now," the voice of the Rev. GM-Manager said at the other end of the line.
It was 8:45 p.m., getting dark, and as much as I wondered which part of the equation he placed himself and me on "the world the way it is" scale, I knew his wife's opinion and personal assessment of me didn't matter.
"Hey, it's your place, O.K., I can be out of here within 10 minutes but can you tell me where is the nearest motel?"
And in a vibe so typical of the day's weather, he tells me of a place 1.5 miles away where U.S. 30 and I-71 intersect and the caring wife opens the yellow pages and circles what she thought was the recommendation. I call ahead to confirm I'm coming and ask the East Indiana woman at the other end, "You're east of I-71, right?" In a heavy accent, she says "Yes, est", which I took to confirm they were close.

Dusk was ending as I turned left onto U.S. 30 westbound looking for signs of a motel before the interchange a mile away. No such luck. I get to the Interstate and call the motel again. "Yes, we are est of the Interstate," she tells me again. A partner gets on the line and clarifies they are two more exits West, another two miles. I rig a flashing red rear lamp and a headlight as darkness falls and start pedaling as best I can along a thankfully wide shoulder as car-carriers, flatbeds and tractor trailer rigs go booming past. The whole two miles is uphill. I expect the CB radios crackling with "We've got some idiot out here on a bike on the right shoulder, better cut him a wide berth," and am praying I don't get rolled over by a dozing driver. All I want is to get off this road, get off this road, get off this road and my heavy breathing stifles uncharitable thoughts of the Reverend's demeanor with his church and lines I could add to his sermons.

When I finally make the exit ramp, the view is of an indigo Western sky with a clear, delicately etched, new crescent moon just getting ready to set. A new phase of the journey has begun. And, after about 20 minutes of soaking in a bathtub full of hot water, the tingling sensations in my cold feet go away.