We crossed on the bridge over the Chesapeake and Delaware cannel a few miles south of Newark, Delaware, Newark is a small college town and the northern most town in Delaware before entering Pennsylvania. Knowing the flat riding was over we rode through the center of town and located a Starbucks, we figured that a double espresso was in order to get that little extra boost for the climbs that shall begin in the next mile or so. We where the center of attraction at Starbucks; where are you going, where did you start, how long have you been riding and of course, what are you going to do about the hills in Pennsylvania?
We've been in the saddle since May 1, 36 days, and ridden 2,146 miles while carrying 65 pounds on my bike and Christine carrying 50 on hers, we are trained and in top form. I'm 6 pounds lighter, my bottom doesn't hurt, my heart is conditioned, my legs are strong, Christine is void of her aches and pains, lean and strong; bring on those hills, we are cycle tourists, we live in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, we train on hills every ride, how tough can it be?
Our destination is French Creek State Park, a very manageable distance of 59.4 miles, the hills are short and very steep; similar in contour to corrugated steel, continuously up and down. No long and steady climbs, short and steep; assents at 3.5-5 mph and descents at 20-25 mph, they never end, up and down up and down, not enough time on the decent to recover from the assent, lactic acid in our legs, not enough time to clear it before the next climb, we are tough, suburb condition, I know we can do it, it is very demanding, we are cycle tourists, we ridden 2146 miles on fully loaded bikes, lean and strong.
We've made it to the French Creek State Park entrance, a closed ranger station with honor system registration, over to the bulletin board to select a campsite, the heck with it, we can't choose a site from the map and decide to camp and pay on the way out. Back on the bikes, I must say rather tired and lacking energy; all campsites are up a hill, this is the rule of cycle touring and this was not an exception. We begin the climb and are greeted by the ranger coming down in her ranger car inquiring whether we have paid and what site are we camping in. "Haven't chosen a site yet, we are looking for one that is in the open and near the restrooms, we'll pay on the way out if you don't mind and by the way how far is it to the campsites? The ranger is agreeable, "That is fine with me, leave you registration on the post in front of your campsite, the campsites are about 5 miles, just up this hill, enjoy your stay". "Bean, did she say 5 miles up this hill"? Christine had sort of a defeated look on her face when she replied, "Yes, 5 miles up the hill". So much for up and down, up and down, this is 5 miles up, we can do it, we just rode near 60 miles, half of which was climbing, we can climb this, just 5 miles up the hill, we're lean and strong. "Bean you go first and I shall follow". I make an adjustment to my load as Christine begins to climb, she is now around a curve out of my sight. We begin the climb, by we I mean the swarm of gnats buzzing around my face, several hundred mosquitoes and me, damn gnats. I round the curve to find Christine stopped in the middle of the road, she has lost it, in tears, gnats swarming around her head, mosquitoes biting her, "I can't make, I can't climb this, damn gnats, I can't". I'm in the exact same condition as her without the tears, feeling defeated by the gnats, mosquitoes and the climb. We've come this far and my ego won't let me walk my bike. "You can do it, try traversing the road, apply bug repellent, take a drink of the PERPETUEM, you can do it, give it another try". We are back on our bikes, giving it everything we have, traversing the road, shooing the gnats and swatting the mosquitoes, at 3.5 mph, over an hour and a quarter of climbing to the campsite.
The chosen site is in front of the restrooms and in an open area, we chose the open area hoping to avoid the mosquitoes, wrong, they are everywhere. I now face an unfortunate reality; we did not find a store on the road leading to the park, no food and no cold beer. The food is not a problem, we always carry a one day supply with us just for this reason, the beer is another matter, we are the only campers in the "B" loop and the sign at the entrance states:" No Alcoholic Beverages Allowed".
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| CLOSED BETHLEHEM STEEL PLANT |
No sooner did we get the tent up when we are greeted by the campground hosts, a mid 60's retired couple spending their summer at French Creek State Park as the hosts. "Where is your registration, if the ranger comes by and it is not on the post she will be upset". Now bear in mind we have just ridden 59.4 miles on roads that have the same contour as corrugated steel and "enjoyed" a 5 mile climb at 3.5 mph, surrounded by gnats, loosing blood to mosquitoes and arriving at the campsite without a cold beer; do you think I am concerned about the ranger's anger? "I'll get right to it but I have much bigger problems than a concern for the rangers disposition, where are the guys with the big motor homes camped, I must ride over there and introduce myself"? " What's the problem, maybe I can help, we are the hosts". "Don't think so, the sign states "No Alcoholic Beverages Allowed", I need a cold beer, it's been a tough day, I'm heading over to the motor home area to mooch a cold beer or two". "Well it's against the rules, keep it hidden, the ranger won't like it; personally I don't care what you do. I drink beer in the park myself or should I say I eat steak in the park. I have a couple of extra steaks in my ice chest, how about if we bring you three ice cold steaks, I'll be back in a few minutes". The Ford Taurus with the retired campground hosts on board arrives at our site within 10 minutes," here are the steaks, I hope you enjoy them". "Thank you so much, I'll get right to them". 3 Busch Lites in a can, my new favorite beer.
We are up early the next morning, about 5:30 knowing that the mosquitoes don't get up until 6:15; I must replace a spoke on the drive side of the rear wheel that disappeared on one of those climbs, by this I mean totally gone from the wheel. I finally get to use the 6 pounds of tools that I've been carrying for the past 2000 miles. The spoke replacement takes about a half hour, one hour and fifteen minutes to break down camp, you do the math; the mosquitoes are up and begin to attack as we head out for the 5 mile decent. Fifteen minutes later we are back to the "corrugated steel" terrain and wondering if we have what it takes to do these climbs for the next 60 miles. We are greeted at the foot of one of those short steep climbs by two Canadian men in their 20's with 10% body fat on light road bikes and less that 30 pounds in their kits, "these climbs are killing us", states the leanest of the two. Here we are with 65 and 50 pounds on our expedition bikes, the reality strikes, "I have an idea Bean, let's ride to Philadelphia, hop on a plane and spend the next 5 weeks in Jamaica sipping rum and hanging out on the beach".
Ten miles later we leave the route and divert into Pottstown, Pennsylvania to find a bike shop hoping for a little encouragement or at least some sympathy; we strolled into a small shop on the main street, "beautiful day out there, how you doing on the hills with your loaded bikes", ask John the shop owner, "they are steeper from here north and a little longer". Not quite the encouragement we were looking for. "Hey John where is the airport, will you watch our bikes for the next 5 weeks, we' re going to Jamica to sip rum on the beach, the hills are too steep, we have too much weight, we are too old, where's the coffee shop and a good place to eat, may we leave our bikes here, I think we want to walk". On the walk around Pottstown we came up with plan two and three, plan two: rent a car, load the bikes and head to Maine and Acadia State Park or plan three: lighten our load, ship all the camping gear to the Hinckley Yard in Southwest Harbor, Maine and stay in motels for the next tendays.
The coffee shop was closed, we had the world's best hot dogs along with the world's best coffee two doors from John's bike shop before returning to the shop to retrive our bikes, "John where is the UPS Shipping store"? We rode to the store, unpacked every item from our kits and shipped 55 pounds of gear to Southwest Harbor, Maine, we are now commited to motels for the next ten days; we are off to find a cheap motel. So much for the sipping of rum on the beach in Jamica.
That is what we did about the hills in Pennsylvania.
