Last week, my friend, John Haines, and I rode the GAP/C & O Canal trails from Pennsylvania to DC. We couldn't have asked for better weather, better travel conditions, or better ice cream. We spent the night before at a converted Catholic church owned by his sister and BIL. Part sound and video studio, part event hall, and all art gallery, it was quite a unique way to start our adventure.
Along the way, we had plenty of adventures - most were great, a few were challenging. When we missed our daily ice cream reward in Frostburg, because few things are open on Mondays, we doubled up in Hancock. That's the way we roll. We finished in DC only slightly later than expected - the shut-down eased our rush-hour ride and commute back home via the train.
As we boarded, we got talking to a man with his own bike, and plenty of bike adventure stories. It turns out, he holds the record for completing the two-trail ride (334.2 miles) in just over 20 hours continuous riding (on a single speed 'fixie' no less). I got a fan-boy photo with him as icing (or ice cream) on the cake of our fantastic trip. Also, I ended up writing a poem to commemorate our ride.
Rollin’ and Flowin’ with the Trail – Our 2025 Ride from Pittsburgh to DC
An early rise and rainy drive
to where three rivers join,
Family smiles join with home-made tacos.
In a church-turned-studio,
their unique artwork emanates from brick and glass.
An old steel man stands frozen in time
while the dog plays by the river.
A brewery band and Millie’s ice cream top off the day.
Steel town sunrise.
We roll into mist —
heat climbs, we climb too.
With every hill and every mile,
our blood pulses
like the river to Ohiopyle.
We camp, with little, among the trees.
Ice cream never tasted so civilized.
A hill divides the continent’s flow
First up and up, then down we go.
A sculptured zig-zag up the hill to town.
The rustic inn greets us
with railroad history and a round-about.
But Frostburg Mondays are mostly frozen.
Few restaurants open, and no ice cream.
Only pizza to reward us.
We revel in the downhill air stream.
A big brass seal in Cumberland
signals the trail’s changeover.
We roll smoothly into Hancock.
Quirky Buddy-Lou’s deliciously greets us
despite rumors of its mid-week closure.
We double up on ice cream, just because.
A bunkhouse fire warms the night
while old riders swap stories,
their laughter flickering like the campfire.
The trail twists through
a tunnel of green and Pawpaw too,
around rock-walled river bends.
The troubles of the outside world
flow like the water over dams we see.
A familial meeting near the HQ
brings generations together,
like the vertical lift bridge that
connects trail and town, past and present.
A helpful hint and a dinner together,
soft-serve stacked high at the Little Red Barn.
Topped off with a waterfront cabin
beneath a Brunswick moon.
We sleep deeply, without power,
but with hearts humming in gratitude
while visions of the river’s beauty
undulate through our dreams.
A final push to Georgetown,
some rocks and flats along the way.
But like the pickle sub
picked up at White’s Ferry and
the rapids flowing over rocky Great Falls,
life is filled with challenging beauty.
And finally, tired but exuberant,
we reach that magical mile zero.
Legs weary, eyes wide,
our hearts happy but reflective.
334 miles of up-and-down rolling
steadfast through the world.
Because life’s the ride --
the flat tires, the uphill struggles,
the friendship that fixes everything.
And when it’s all said and pedaled,
life is good, damn good,
because we kept on going.
Credits:
Created with images by Tim Stevens