Grantsville, MD

Hancock, MD

July 25, 2003

Westbound: Chalkhill to Grantsville Eastbound: Hancock to Frederick

Grantsville to Hancock: The Most Difficult Day of the Entire Journey

This was the single hardest day of the tour. I can’t be sure that taking it easy for the previous two days helped, but it surely could not have hurt and might have made a significant difference.

I got going reasonably early, went to the dining room, and again had a disappointing breakfast. All the ingredients were there but it seemed like my plate had sat for a while before the server brought it out. Breakfast at Bubba’s and in Winnett had raised my expectations. These eastern places just didn’t match up. Even the smoke houses of Glendive and Fergus Falls were better.

From US 219 where the Holiday Inn sits to Cumberland, the National Highway first spends about ten miles going up and down between 2500 and 2800 feet. The hills aren’t too long or too steep and the traffic was light to non-existent with the Interstate so close. The highway would have been a bit flatter, thanks to modern earth moving, much noisier, and likely easier, but it was off limits and in the morning nearly out of mind. I was happy on the historic back road. After the first ten miles, US 40 begins a long descent into Cumberland, losing 2200 feet in about seventeen miles. I took the loop on MD 36 which follows th railroad from Frostburg to Cumberland. It’s narrow but on a weekday and riding it down hill, it was quite nice. I have seen comments from folks that tried it from the other direction on weekends. They were less pleased. While the grade isn’t steep, it might be tiresome, especially if also fighting traffic.

Upon reaching Cumberland, I started to think about lunch but saw nothing I liked on the route into and through town. Cumberland seems like a very old place that hasn’t recovered from the changes in the economy during the twentieth century. Once downtown, my route then turned toward Pennsylvania for a bit to reach the continuation of US 40. In retrospect, I can see that I missed the necessity of taking a left hand turn just before going under the Interstate. As a consequence I stared to the east on a road south of what I intended. I caught the mistake almost at once—though without then understanding how it had occurred—and used a back up route to go north via the country club neighborhood. This was a section of the route I had looked at from several perspectives and I recalled a general sense of what my maps had shown me during the planning phase. The road through the neighborhood was quiet, narrow, curvy, and sort of interesting and surely prettier than staying on the industrial through street I had left too soon. Upon reaching my intended route, I again thought about lunch, concerned that leaving town might abandon further options.

I soon saw another restaurant-inn kind of place. It’s a combination of four operations, a steak house, a pizza place, a micro brew, and a motel. It seemed a little upscale for cycling clothes but they were cordial and served me very well. The French Dip was very nice but the lemonade was superb and with free refills, the last such of the trip and arguably the very best. I got away from there a little after one and finally faced the big challenge.

In the next thirty eight miles to Hancock, the road climbs four and a half major hills for a total gain of more than five thousand feet. DeLorme’s Topo software tells me seventeen miles are uphill and twenty-one downhill. That makes the average uphill about 300 feet per mile. That fits my memory. The steeper parts seemed more like 450 feet per mile.

Having had a moderate morning and a great lunch, the first hill, about a thousand feet up in five miles was not too bad. The second one might be a little steeper at 550 feet in less than two miles but because it’s shorter, it too as ok. Of course, another flat tire between hills one and two did give me a little extra rest. Shortly after fixing the flat, a fellow on an upright caught up with me and rode along for a while. It turned out we had lived in Ann Arbor at about the same time twenty years earlier and, like me, his brother had attended the law school there. My impromptu companion now runs a bicycle touring company based just over the border in Pennsylvania. After a bit more chat, he put his professional, unloaded legs to work and accelerated toward home.

I then faced the third hill which I knew to be nastier than the others because after gaining about 450 feet in a mile and a quarter, the road gives back about half the gain before climbing another 650 feet in a bit more than three and a half miles. Up I went, trying to spin smoothly but not going much faster than my stalling speed. From time to time the ankle would remind it was tender. And I was getting thirsty. I had water to squirt on my head, which helped keep me cool, but it just didn’t taste good. I had some juice but it was in the bags. I had no desire to stop on an uphill, especially with an impaired starting ankle. On the other hand, it was nice to have no traffic. If more than three vehicles passed me on that hill, I would be surprised. Eventually I reached the top, had a nice view, and let the bike go back down the east side of the hill with modest braking. When a highway interchange and gas station came into view, I stopped to get something to drink and take a rest. I believe that was exit 68 on Interstate 68.

After leaving the gas station with sighs at not being able to use the Interstate’s shoulder, I continued on old 40. Now lest there be confusion in the reader with access to maps, please note that the road at various segments was US 40, US 40A, old US 40, and even MD 144. If I mix the labels, I apologize, it’s really one continuous, historic highway. Soon I faced another road closed sign with the detour heading left, north, up hill toward Pennsylvania. The sign had no information about the length of the detour. I stopped. In Ohio, I had walked one detour with only a little trouble and added about five miles by following signs at another. This one was in the country and started out up hill, out of the saddle the highway planners had carefully chosen centuries earlier. I just didn’t like it. I went a little further and found an older man and a younger man in a front yard. The blockage was about a quarter mile further down the road. I asked them if I would be able to get through the construction area. They expressed certainty that I would. Off I went.

The project was another culvert replacement. I was able to cross the construction area itself easily but getting past the fence on the far side proved more difficult. In retrospect, I should have unloaded the bike and lifted it over. I culda dun dat. But instead, I thought I saw enough of an opening to go through the trees at road-side and return to the road on the other side of the fence. It wasn’t so easy, however, once I got in that shallow wood where there was enough sunlight to have everything grow in profusion. Plus the inclines were different and I was gaining height above the road when I didn’t want to. And then I lost my balance, fell, retwisted my left ankle and sat down hard. The pain from the ankle was a sudden stab that left me wanting to cry but at nearly 58 years old lacking the energy. Now what?

I rested for a few moments to steady my breathing. The bike was to my right. It hadn’t fallen far but I couldn’t be sure everything was ok until I got back to the pavement. The main question was my own bodily integrity. I stood up carefully using the trees for assistance. Only the left ankle hurt and it was sore, worse than anytime since Moses Lake, but still operable. Gingerly, I made my way over to the bike. Another mirror was broken but the rest looked ok at first glance. I looked at the trees and saw a possible route out of my green trap. It wasn’t easy and certainly did not allow for rolling the bike the whole way, but there was no turning back. Another ten minutes and my fifty yard journey was complete. Once back on the road, the rest of the bike seemed ok. It was a little down hill so starting up was no strain. I got going.

There was still one major hill to go. Almost 950 feet in just over two miles. It was now after 5pm local time and I was beginning to worry about lodging for the night. A little way up the hill I stopped to try to call my wife back on the west coast to ask her to arrange lodging in Hancock. I was able to get a cell signal and she was happy to help. According to the cell phone records, that was at 5:58. I was unable to restart up the hill so I coasted back to a side street a few yards back and used its level contour to build momentum before resuming the climb. Progress was steady. Again there was no traffic but the pavement on this stretch was poor. It seemed like the oldest segment I had encountered. At least the shade kept me cool as I worked my way up the hill. The left angle was tender but spinning did not bother it too much. Up I went at 3.5 mph or so. At 6:20, I crested the hairpin on Sideling Hill and called home, well her office, actually her cell phone, again. She gave me the information I needed and I promised to call again when I got there. Neither call, of course, mentioned the fall or the ankle.

At this point another plug for technology in general and Verison in particular seems apt. My two calls to the west coast and her call to Hancock cost us only the minutes she used to call the motel. The long distance cost nothing extra and the minutes between us were unlimited. When we were kids, the cost of long distance was a burden; now it’s a joy.

The ride down the hill was relaxing. Once at the bottom, I faced two more little bumps on the way into Hancock. The motel was just where I was informed; only one thing didn’t match. The owner was prepared to give me a better rate than he had quoted if I would take a room in the original inn building. If I relinquished a room in the motel for Friday only, he hoped to rent it to a later arrival for both nights. Once he showed me where I could leave the bike and that was even better. I cleaned up, hobbled toward town, and settled for Pizza Hut yet again.

It is true that one can eat all the pizza one wants when cycling across the country but I must advise prospective travelers that if your plans include losing weight, then I recommend either smaller pies, sharing them, or indulging a little less often than this account records. I did lose about15 pounds but with a little restraint, it could have been closer to my goal of 30.

The Pizza Hut was busy causing the service to be a bit slower. I took my time eating. And it had been well after dark before I set out. Combined with the call from the west coast at 8 pm there, 11 pm in Maryland, I didn’t get to sleep that early. Even so, I had competed the toughest day of the trip, survived another fall, and could look forward to having four days left in which to complete two days of riding. I was happy.

Back up to Manitowoc to Washington

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Westbound: Chalkhill to Grantsville Eastbound: Hancock to Frederick