We woke up in Ron’s yard around 6:15 AM and were able to start riding around 7:00 AM. It takes me a lot longer to pack everything up than I thought it would. At this point, my bags have the smell of old garbage because I have no way of drying my clothes or towel before packing them. Consequently, they stew inside all day creating new and interesting life forms. Note to self: clean them in Pittsburgh. We accomplish a good deal of riding for the day up and down hills and then up a mountain before we finally arrive at this green sign.
This sign is what every touring cyclist dreams of seeing. It represents air condition and the internet and getting off of the saddle and into relatively comfortable chairs. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the woman who was studying for some kind of test next to me at the computer terminal: I know that I smell. If you were to ride a bike for eight hours of a summer’s day and did not have the benefit of a shower, I believe you, too, would emit something like the odor of rank intermingled sweat and sunscreen. Forgive my olfactory trespasses and please accept this humblest of apologies.
Now then. We spent a couple of hours in the library and then rode into Somerset proper, a town we had been dreaming about the entire day as we were riding up the endless hills. We imagined the streets paved with gold, a bike shop on every corner, and a delicious and cheap diner with great fries. Alas, Somerset was like a lot of other small Pennsylvania towns we passed through. A historic courthouse. A town square. And, then a strip mall with corporate chains not far from the center of town.
In fact, they are not unlike any small town in South Carolina. It is somewhat surreal to hear contemporary Christian radio being piped in at Wendy’s and to see Rebel flag bumper stickers and T-Shirts in Pennsylvania. We could just as well be in the Appalachians of North Carolina. I keep expecting to hear southern accents and am still somewhat perplexed by the accents I hear.
We ended up at Wendy’s (which we seem to be doing a lot) where I had a processed chicken sandwich. We then went to a DQ where I had the first Blizzard I believe I’ve ever had. How did I grow up in the South and never go to a Dairy Queen? As with most places I go, people struck up conversations about the trip. A lot usually have their own stories of road trips across the country. It’s great because you never really feel isolated from people because so many are curious.
In spite of our afternoon lethargy after a hard ride in the morning and the drowsiness caused by fat-laden foods, we were able to get on our bikes and ride a somewhat easy 10 miles to Rockwood, PA, home of Rockwood Mill Shoppes and Opera House. We stayed at a very cool place called Husky Haven Campground. The owner, Barry, let us charge our electronics and hang out on the porch swing at his guest house. Later, I fell soundly asleep to the sound of a brisk little creek nearby.
