Days 58–65: Bad Backs, Good People, History Lessons, and the Road to Washington
As we left Pittsburgh behind, I couldn't help but notice how much the landscape of America was changing.
For weeks we had ridden through farming communities, ranchland, small towns, and wide-open spaces. But now, as we moved closer to the East Coast, we were entering older cities shaped by industry, immigration, and history. Pittsburgh was a perfect example. It was a city of contrasts—old steel mills and modern skylines, rugged hillsides and flowing rivers (which necessitated many bridges).
There is a unique beauty in Pittsburgh, particularly where the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio Rivers converge. As I rolled out of town and onto the Great Allegheny Passage (the GAP Trail), I was treated to some spectacular views looking back toward the city.
The ride was off to a great start.
Until it wasn't.
I stopped to take a photograph of the river and an old steel mill across the way. As I twisted to my left to frame the shot, a sudden spasm grabbed my lower back and left hip.
"Uh oh. That's not good."
Fortunately, after a few minutes, things loosened enough for me to get back on the bike. As I continued down the trail, the movement seemed to help. The GAP Trail itself was beautiful—hard-packed gravel, shaded forests, and relatively gentle grades. Evidence of a recent tornado was everywhere, with large sections of trees cleared away from the trail.
Along the route I met several groups of cyclists making their way toward Cumberland and Washington, D.C. Three women from Virginia particularly stood out. They had driven north, taken the train into Pittsburgh, and were riding back over several days. We spent time talking about their lives, careers, and adventures.
The joy of unexpected stories and conversations.
By the time I reached Connellsville, however, I knew something wasn't right. As soon as I sat down, my back tightened and the pain flared.
I was hoping a good night's sleep would solve the problem.
It didn't. The next morning, when I tried to get out of bed, my back seized completely.
For 58 days I had been focused on moving forward no matter what. But there comes a point where determination becomes counterproductive. Finishing the ride mattered more than forcing a single day's mileage.
At that point, Scott and I made a decision. I skipped the riding portion of the day and drove ahead to Meyersdale.
Sometimes the smartest move is to take a step back so you can keep moving forward.
Small-Town America and an Unexpected Chiropractor
Meyersdale turned out to be one of those unexpected gem. Great 12 room guest House with a knowledgeable proprietor that catered to riders on the GAP.
That evening we wandered into a local restaurant and struck up conversations with longtime residents. They talked about living on one side of the mountain, vacationing on the other side of the mountain where is was quieter (I had to laugh to myself) and spending entire lifetimes in this corner of Pennsylvania.
Back at the Yoder House, we ran into the same three women cyclists I had met earlier on the trail. Before long, Scott was helping one with a hip issue, another with a neck problem, and another with a sore back.
Apparently word was spreading that our support crew offered more than snacks and directions.
We also met several other riders heading toward Washington, D.C., including veterans of RAGBRAI and other long-distance cycling events. We have covered a lot of interesting terrain but is also the people we have met that have kept the ride interesting.
Unfortunately the Meyersdale chiro was completely booked. The next morning we found a chiropractor in nearby Rockwood. Scotts theory was that the relentless bumps and rough surfaces from previous days had knocked my hips and lower spine out of alignment.
Whether it was science, magic, luck, or some combination of all three, I felt noticeably better when I got off the table. So I got back on the bike.
Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Traveling Through Time
As we continued along the GAP Trail and crossed into Maryland, the landscape changed once again.
Pennsylvania had felt rugged, rocky, and industrial.
Maryland seemed greener, softer, and more lush.
Eventually we transitioned from the Great Allegheny Passage onto the historic C&O Canal Towpath. The scenery changed immediately. The trail narrowed. The air felt more humid. The canal ran quietly alongside the route.
As I rode, I found myself imagining the mule teams that once pulled canal barges toward Washington.
And maybe this sounds a little sentimental, but I also found myself thinking about history.
This is America's 250th birthday year. Riding beneath the canopy of trees along those narrow corridors, I couldn't help but picture Revolutionary War soldiers marching through similar terrain generations ago. There was something about the landscape that made history tangible.
For a few moments, it almost felt like stepping back in time.
The Paw Paw Tunnel
One of the highlights of the journey was the famous Paw Paw Tunnel.
Scott had warned me about it earlier in the day.
What he neglected to emphasize was just how unusual it was.
The tunnel stretches nearly three-quarters of a mile through the mountain. Inside it is pitch black. Riders must dismount and walk along a narrow path squeezed between the canal and the tunnel wall.
Roots. Rocks. Potholes. Darkness.
No chance of riding through.
So for three-quarters of a mile, I pushed my bike through the darkness, following the tiny circle of light ahead until finally emerging on the other side.
It was a memorable ride moment.
Unfortunately, the next fourteen miles were among the least memorable.
The trail was rough. Muddy. Rocky. Overgrown. Progress slowed to a crawl.
Fortunately, later in the day I connected with another cyclist—a lawyer from outside Austin who had extensive long-distance riding experience. The path improved and we paced each other for several miles, helping each other maintain a stronger rhythm.
By the time I rolled into Hancock, Maryland, I was ready for lunch.
Thankfully, Scott and Karen had already located a great sandwich shop, an ice cream stop, and a bicycle store where I purchased a C&O Trail t-shirt as a souvenir. Needed a physical reminder of Paw Paw.
A Much-Needed Rest Day
The next day was officially a rest day. Originally we planned to visit Gettysburg I really wanted to go. But it wasn't practical. Sitting for hours in the RV and then the tour bus didn't seem like a good choice with a sore hip and cranky lower back.
Instead, I handled a different important task. I got a haircut. After considerable research, I found a place called The Slowdown Barber in Hagerstown. My barber, Cole, had an interesting story. He had served as an Army medic attached to a sniper unit. We spent the appointment swapping stories. Even better, Karen approved of the haircut. Quite a victory.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent doing something almost as challenging as cycling across America: reworking travel plans.
One of our sponsors and close friends, Bill Shopoff, unexpectedly couldn't make the final weekend of the ride. Since he was also bringing Amanda and Sally, we suddenly had to scramble to create alternative travel arrangements. After a series of phone calls, schedule changes, and airline gymnastics, everything came together. Amanda and Sally were coming. The finish line crew was taking shape.
I also spent part of the day reaching back out to potential donors. As the ride entered its final week, fundraising had understandably taken a back seat to simply surviving the journey.
Harper's Ferry to Washington, D.C.
Day 64 brought one of the most enjoyable rides of the entire trip. My son Joshua joined me, along with our friends Jeff and Donovan. None of them were serious cyclists, but all three were enthusiastic, athletic, and eager to be part of the adventure. Back when they were in high school, these boys could eat us out of house and home. Now, they each have three kids of their own. They may not have been seasoned cyclists, but their energy, determination, and good humor were more than enough.
We started conservatively, rolling along at an easy pace while they got comfortable on their rented gravel bikes. Soon enough, the smiles appeared. And they stayed there all day.
The best plans require flexibility. We were motoring along but came to really the only section of the trip that was truly death defying, a no shoulder major highway. Jeff pulled out Google and found an alternative bike path to Leesburg. The detour added roughly four miles and plenty of climbing. Nobody complained. In fact, the guys seemed to enjoy the challenge.
Amid rolling Virginia countryside, green fields, and beautiful homes scattered across the landscape. I crossed the 3000 mile mark. Photos of the milestone were required.
Lunch in Leesburg took us to a restaurant called Buford's Biscuits, famous for its fried chicken. It was probably the largest lunch we've consumed during the entire ride.
Then we returned to the trail. I even taught the guys how to ride in a paceline. For about ten miles we looked like we knew actually what we were doing.
That ended when sunscreen migrated into Donovan's eyes. Fortunately, a father pushing his baby in a stroller along the path (who was also a cyclist that had recently completed the GAP/C&O trail) had an extra water bottle that we used to flush Donovan's eyes.
The remainder of the ride took us steadily toward Washington, D.C. As we crossed the Potomac, the monuments began appearing.
The Washington Monument. The Kennedy Center. The Capitol.
Jeff was absolutely giddy the whole day. Josh was strong and could have done another 30 miles. Donovan showed persistence and battled through. This company beat the hell out of listening to podcasts and music.
When we finally rolled into our hotel, my niece Abby and her husband Kenny were waiting outside cheering and taking photographs. A great finish to a great day.
A Day in Washington
Our final rest day in Washington was part reunion, part sightseeing, and part reflection. I met up with a college friend I hadn't seen in nearly fifty years. Josh insisted we visit Ben's Chili Bowl, one of Washington's iconic institutions. There I met one of the owners, now 93 years old, who told me:
"It's a good day. I got up, put my feet on the ground, and I was still here."
Hard to argue with that philosophy.
Later we visited the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History. One exhibit featured Chef Mary Sue Milliken, whom I had met through Chef Cycle. Another showcased Route 66—the Mother Road—and the migration west during the Dust Bowl years. Seeing Route 66 displayed in the Smithsonian was unexpectedly emotional. For weeks we had followed sections of that historic road across America.
That evening we joined Donna Batcho from No Kid Hungry for dinner and heard stories about families whose experiences with hunger had shaped their philanthropic giving decades later. It was a powerful reminder of why this ride exists.
Tomorrow would be Father's Day. More importantly, it would mark the beginning of the final three riding days. After more than two months on the road, the finish line was finally visible. I started to allow myself to think about successfully completing the journey.
Help Us Finish Strong
On Tuesday this journey will come to an end in Rehoboth Beach.
But the mission continues.
Every dollar raised helps No Kid Hungry connect children with the meals they need to learn, grow, and thrive.
If you've followed along but haven't yet contributed, now is the time.
Together, we can make sure that no child in America goes hungry.
To donate:
Thank you for riding this road with us.
