Genesis of an Obsession, Part I

Warning: The following music video contains brief nude bicycling. And Freddie Mercury.

About a month ago I decided I would bicycle to work. Other than about 2 miles each at the beginning and end of the commute, the majority of the riding takes place on the well groomed Capital Crescent Trail. 11 miles each way takes me about the same amount of time as it takes to drive. I feel great when I’m done, I save money on gas and parking, and perhaps most unexpectedly, I’ve discovered a new hobby. Last weekend, I took my bicycling obsession to the next level when I embarked on my first tour since the legendary Kermond CAM Tour ’94. Ride with me below the fold, as we embark upon Goose Tour 2011 (Cumberland, MD to Pittsburgh, PA)

Day 1 begins at Union Station where J-Press, Mikey P, and hazenberger will attempt to board the Amtrak train to Cumberland. Official Amtrak policy on traveling with a bicycle is not well defined on this route so there is a non zero chance that the tour may never leave the starting gate. A fellow cycling enthusiast who notices our gear tells us that she was escorted off this train by the police the last time she tried to board the train with her bike. Not a promising omen, but we gamely shove off.

Armed with our tickets and disassembled bikes (any and all bike tech, clever packing, and general bicycle know-how was handled by expert touring cyclist J-Press.) we manage to talk our way past the ticket taker at the gate. As we walk down the platform, a man who identifies himself as the VP for Amtrak Customer Service starts talking to us. He is a bicycle supporter, and claims that this route will become more bike friendly later this summer! “Perfect,” we think, “a high ranking ally. Surely, he will stand by us in case we get hassled.”

As we walk up to the train with bike frames and wheels in hand, the conductor stops us. “Whoa whoa whoa, who told you that you could bring those bikes on here?” Turning to find our executive ally proves fruitless as we notice him slinking off at the first sign of confrontation. (And don’t call him Shirley) J-Press responds that he’s done this ride before, and that “the guy at the gate said we’d be OK since the bikes were in pieces. (A minor fabrication).

After a brief hesitation the conductor allows us on the train and we stow our bikes in the dedicated luggage car. Success. The trip begins. Next Stop, Cumberland.

What sort of train is this?

A few more pictures from the train:

Looking out the back of the train

Old Shaving Ad carved into mountain

A river, trees, you get the idea

Countryside, now with mountains

Three hours later we arrive in Cumberland. De-training proves to be another mini challenge as the door attendant starts berating us when he sees our now fully re-assembled bikes, “I can’t believe they let you on here with those. Who let you on here? He’s gonna get fired that’s for sure…. So where’re you guys from?” (The tonal shift from annoyed and angry to friendly was literally that fast. We also learned that this particular conductor? conductor’s assistant? porter? Used to own a Pepsi plant drive a Pepsi truck route that served BCC and good old Walter Johnson High School. We also learned that the BCC area, “sure has changed since I used to deliver around there.” (a very thinly veiled allusion to the fact that BCC sure does have lots of African Americans these days!)

When the train stops in Cumberland, we disembark much to the bewilderment of the meth addled locals who have apparently never seen 3 guys with bikes and luggage before. After checking into the hotel we eat dinner at Cumberland’s finest/only dining establishment The Crabby Pig.

Would you like your food fried? Tough shit, that's the only way we serve it!

Adequately sated, we walk back to the hotel and go to sleep. Day 2 awaits…

Day 2: The Fairfield Inn & Suites in Cumberland were surprisingly lovely and provided an ideal breakfast for budding cyclists. Tons of eggs, bagels, hot and cold cereal, muffins, fruit and yogurt were all available for immediate consumption and/or surreptitious theft for future trail snacking. As we finished breakfast, a brief downpour threatened a delayed start, but less than 10 minutes later, the skies had cleared and we were off.

I’ve been told that the first 15 miles of any long bike trip are the hardest. Our trail out of Cumberland did us no favors by being entirely up hill. To be fair, it was a railroad graded hill, so it was less taxing that it might have been, though we did climb from an elevation of 605 feet to 2392 over 22 miles. EXTREME! (Note: it was not really extreme)

Our first break was in Frostburg, MD. Or rather, our first break was near the sign pointing toward Frostburg, MD.

15 miles, done!

At this point, it was threatening rain, so we decided to haul quickly to try and make it to an upcoming railroad tunnel before the storm. A few miles down the road, we reached the tunnel although other than a passing mist, the ominous storm front passed us by. At this break we met a couple of tandem cyclists visiting from San Francisco. They were riding the entire way from DC to Pittsburgh and were quite friendly. We met up with them again at the Mason Dixon Line, where they took our picture.

Follow the Drinking Gourd

Mikey P and gear

hazenberger, Mikey P and J-Press

Onward and upward we make our way to the Eastern Continental Divide (how awesome does that sound. It sounds like where the Kraken would live if it were a mythical land beast.)

Release the Kraken, or just have a cold bagel

Where am I? Oh, there I am.

Wild trains once roamed these mighty woods.

History, in mural form

Cresting the Eastern Continental Divide, we begin our descent. Our pace picks up considerably and in almost no time, we knock off close to 50 miles.

The following episode is true. Be forewarned that murderous geese lurk verily onward.

I once hit a goose with my car. I was 16, it was raining, and the goose was in the middle of the highway and did not fly away. It was an accident. I felt terrible, but slamming on the brakes would have resulted in the death of not only the goose, but me, all the passengers in the car, and probably several other cars full of people. Despite my shock and remorse, the goose community apparently knows a thing or two about holding a grudge.

On this day, around the 50 mile mark, we spot 2 families of Canada Geese (2 parents and several baby geese per set) walking along the trail. Riding 20 yards ahead, Mikey P slows down and gives the geese a wide berth as he passes. Because he is wearing headphones, he is oblivious to the fact that as he is riding by, the mother goose has started hissing at him like a FUCKING VELOCIRAPTOR.

File Photo: A FUCKING VELOCIRAPTOR

In a bit of serendipity that could not have been choreographed by the most twee Hollywood director (Wes Anderson) the goose takes flight. Kanye West blasting in Mikey’s ears, the goose gains ground on the bike and attempts to bite him in the back. J-Press and I look on in dumbstruck awe (the whole scene unfolding in slow motion) as Mike realizes the goose is following him and speeds off in panic. As we pass the geese, they hiss some more, and we rush to safety. Adding to the surreal nature of this episode was the fact that had we not stopped for a brief puff of fresh air 5 minutes before, our paths would never have crossed. Karmic justice complete, we do not see another goose for the rest of the ride.

Stay tuned for Part II, in which our intrepid riders camp in the rain, eat delicious roadside ice cream, enjoy the tastiest beers ever consumed by man, and end up in the City of Bridges.