I hoped for another early start on Saturday morning. I hoped minimal services would help get me up and out. I fell asleep at 1 am with alarm for 5:45 to catch 6am breakfast and hit the trail. In hindsight it all started breaking down friday night. I stayed up way too late planning an alternate scenic route through Antietam. At 5:45 am I was barely coherent enough to realize my biking clothes were still soaked from the previous night's sink washing. I rolled the clothes in dry towels, jerry rigged the hair dryer to blow over them, set a 7am alarm, and crashed back into bed. At 7am clothes were still wet. I snoozed alarm twice. I thought of getting breakfast while clothes dried. That plan withered in thought and at 9 am I learned my new watch only snoozes twice and then goes silent.
Finally up and moving accumulated fatigue checked my every move. Trapezius muscles ache, hands and ulna nerves tingle, feet twinge, legs feel like lead, and saddle sores on the bum round out the contact points.
Continental breakfast was at least, if not more, heavily preserved than my trail food. The warm and friendly staff provided positive offset to the meal. Eventually, with great lethargy, and with still damp shirt shoes and socks I made it into the saddle to start pedaling. On this morning I think I counted each of the ~600 accumulated miles one at a time with each nerve sensor that fired from my bike contact points.
I hoped for easy miles on the paved WMRT. Storm debris quickly dashed those hopes.
In the first mile I navigated three separate downed trees that blocked the trail and shoulders. My hopes for easy miles quickly eroded as I climbed over, under, around, and through fallen trees.
Storm damage carried over from WMRT onto the C&O Towpath. I stopped counting after the 24th tree crossing.
Initially navigating the trail-turned-obstacle-course gave welcome reprieve to inflamed contact points. That got old after the 3rd round of shouldering a loaded touring bike. Even traveling minimalist the gear, and especially the water, adds up in weight. Learning from recent heat and storm ignorance I checked forecast before embarking. I stocked up with 6L of water for predicted scorching heat. There was water available on the trail. 6L was overkill. That said stocking up once allows me to keep rolling with fewer stops. I harbored dreams I another big day.
A few miles into the trail and before debris beat me into submission I happened on a rather clean downed limb. There were minimal limbs around a 10" trunk. I'd hopped limbs I this size before with no concern so I lined up to traverse the log without dismount. With a smooth approach all indicators were good. I shifted my weight to preload the front fork. I rocked my weight backward and hammered a downstroke to lift the front tire. It didn't budge. I forgot the fork was locked out for pavement riding so it would not compress and rebound. My power pedal stroke was mostly powerless after several consecutive 100+ mile days. Mid frame gear/water weight and handle bar mounted bed roll and food pouch sealed my fate. Luckily the tire lifted just enough to strike the upper leading edge of the log. The lift I did manage avoided a dead blow endo. The front tire bounced off the log and up into the air. Elevation just a bit too late. That in turn nearly bounced me off the bike. Left toe clip released and I clenched the left Ergo handlebar end by just the tips of my fingers.
The rear tire slammed into the side of the log and lurched over reverberating up through my tailbone and rounding out the experience.
The bike and I coasted away from the the log with me much the worse for wear. The jolt addled my core providing a new compliment to the ailing surfaces of my contact points. Mental note: don't try to hop logs on loaded touring bike when tired.
That sufficiently zapped my will power. I eased up to "smell the roses" and nurse my wounded body and ego. I came to a section of river that stood out in my mind. Low grade whitewater made great sounds while attracting rafts and tubes. People floated down river and milled along the bank. There was a nice little concentration of life in the area of Shepherdstown and Harpers Ferry. I learned from helpful trail travelers about the college town, historic area, Appalachian trail crossing, and bountiful services. Internet and trail guides reinforced word of mouth. It all added up to a veritable Eden to this bruised traveler.
It turns out Harpers Ferry is a bit of a mothership for the Appalachian trail. In Cumberland my homeless passing through status drew comparisons to railroad hobos. In harpers ferry that same status garnered welcome and inspiration. I found food and lodging options in a Mecca for recovery and exploration. DC was 60 miles away and it would have to wait.
Location:Shepherdstown
Awesome stuff. Glad to see you made it through the adventure safely and found an unexpectedly cool stop.
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