Hoping for a Tail Wind

The C&O Canal is administered by the National Parks Service. It is one the best preserved and least altered of the early American Canals. It grew from George Washington’s vision of linking the valleys of the early west with east by “ties of communication.” Thats some vision considering how young the nation was at the time. And really, as far as old white slave owners go, how much more fucking awesome can he get?

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I wake up just before sunrise and I’m feeling fantastic. Daniels moving a little slow but we drink some campground coffee and get a move out. The protocol has been to knock out a bunch miles before the heat becomes too oppressive. It’s doesn’t take long for me to get soaked in sweat. By 10am it’s Stevie Wonder Hotter than July hot. Put him and Ruth Bader Ginsburg in bubble wrap, pretty please.

25 miles later and we’re back in yet another cot dayum “Port” town – this time its Williamsport. Im stating to feel like I need my own port. Im literally running on fumes and need something for breakfast. The cafe I spot is closed due to covid. Cue recurring theme music. We hit a gas station and have to do the computer screen ordering thing at Sheetz. Ugh, what utter trash for calories. We take a longer than normal break and talk about how absolutely gassed we are.

We work up the gumption and push another 30 miles to Hancock. I’m definitely struggling and falling behind Daniel at times. But we get there. I hear the town might be named after John Hancock, but I think they mean Herbie Hancock. Fact check that with the ghost of Chris Farley. Either way it’s far superior to Williamsport. We hit the local bike/camp shop; I pick up some dried food dinners and cliff bars. Then we wander out back and there’s basically a hostel. We take free showers and fill our waters. There’s even a freezer full of ice and electricity. Daniel calls it “the Hancock Hilton”. I pass on napping in the bunk beds and instead siesta in a chair before we decide to spend another hour in town grabbing some extra sustenance. Two pubs in town and one has pictures of a confederate flag in google. So we opt for the other because who wants to dine with people who are proud to be losers. And also traitors. Fuck that noise. Good choice as the other – Buddylou’s – is part antique store and part restaurant beer and eats. We enjoy some fantastic food and beer in the AC and Nina Simone and James Brown are playing in the background. The waitress is super awesome. It all feels so “normal”. We discuss how quickly this luxurious comfort will dissipate back into pain and exhaustion once we’re back on the trail. Living in the moment is a must when on a tour of this length. In my opinion, it’s a must whenever you’re alive and maybe even when you’re dead.

In the ultimate dialectic relationship, we were both right about the exhaustion. I felt gassed after just another mile outside of town. The heat is just too much. My hands hurt. My wrists. My elbows. My shoulders. My ass. My legs hurt. Dude, my legs have never actually hurt on tour. They might be sore to touch, but they have never been painful during usage. All this reminds me that I have to cancel my annual physical with my primary doctor because there’s no way I’ll be home in three days…

But I digress.

Every mile is painful. I want to stop every other mile for a break. This heat has changed the game. I play some music and push forward. Mmm. Shoutout to Norah Jones. Damn she’s talented. And fine as fuck. We get the 15 miles in and setup camp at another hiker biker sight. There’s a couple from Richmond here. They did 30 something miles on a weekend trip. We all meet while sitting in the now pretty steady current of the Potomac. My muscles are struggling just to not get swept downriver into some weird non-bicycle having purgatory between Maryland and West Virginia. But the hydrotherapy is awesome. The water is warm but it still eases the total body inflammation. Plus I feel cool as fuck. And I am cool as fuck. And I am ready to set before the sun does.

After 15 years of folklore and second hand sensationalism about the C&O Canal Towpath Trail, I wake up eager to hit it like Ike on Tina. This graded, crushed stone trail connects with the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP) to connect Washington with Pittsburgh via 330 gloriously vehicle and hill free miles. Daniel and I get a little separated in the 7 miles through DC. I push straight across while he goes more toward the Capitol. When we reconnect, Daniel has choice words about not being able to get through due to the entire area being blocked off. He furiously says “Cheeto-lini claims to be tremendous but can’t even go around without 10 blocks of distance from the citizens. Even in Tiananmen Square the people could go in and get themselves run over”. Then he makes a comparison to France and the usages of guillotines. His perspective make me think a bit about our government being of the people, for the people and by the people. Supposedly.

I get on right in Georgetown at mile zero. This trail makes me happy. There’s exactly zero motorized vehicles for the next few days. There’s exactly zero hills for the next few days. There’s exactly zero turns for the next few days.

With the day off and gourmet nourishment, I suggest a century but don’t foresee Daniel wanting to push for a 100 mile day on this tour – mainly because he’s said as exactly that many times over. I’m not sure how concerned I am about getting one in on this tour, but I’m not ruling it out whatsoever.

We push 40 miles and take a break. Then we push 25 miles into Harpers Ferry thinking about shade, ice cream or beer. We decide to get all three and soak up some AC too. History lessons later, but feel free to google John Brown if you aren’t familiar.

After 84 miles we camp at a hiker/biker site along the trail. No fucking vehicles. No electric hookups. No water supply. Just the Potomac River separating Maryland and West Virginia. We’re popping up the castles sooner than average and yet there’s already about 6 or 7 other set up. A few of us cool off in the river.

Later as the sun is setting, the river comes alive with fish and bugs and tides. Then a sun shower slides through just when things couldn’t get any better. A group comes by in kayaks, their leader breaks the ice with “did someone order a pizza”. After that is just ignorant word vomit, including a warning that the folks across the river in West Virginia have been know to get drunk and shoot hikers and bikers. I’m not sure if they do it on purpose or not. He continues about the coming full moon. I decide to move him along with the much more artistic full moon display of my bare ass cheeks. After that it’s a quiet and wonderful evening camped on the Potomac.

Zero days are for suckers.

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The sun rises on our day off. The last concrete-like plan we discussed is to pack up, bike into downtown DC, see some sites, eat some food and generally vacate in the city before hitting a short stretch of the C&O, getting rural and popping up our tents. I wake up dehydrated. Like head pounding, body cramping, sluggishly out of it dehydrated. I need more water – like from the toilet – and more of what plants crave. I pound a gallon of water and succumb to the ancient gods of ibuprofen. Shortly there after I suggest to Daniel we stay camped in Pat’s backyard another night and hit the canal early the next day. He’s down. Flexibility in plans, check.

50% less headache later and Pat is hooking up the aero press espresso for me. It’s been a gourmet experience all around as a guest in his home. Last nights dinner was bomb. This coffee is fantastico. And even the new 12” vinyl from his group Model Home is ultra electro-funky.

Afterward we roll toward downtown DC with our wholly unloaded bicycles. Feels light and easy comparatively but I’m still struggling up some inclines. It’s hot as balls and we stop off at Litteri Deli for their classic sammich, before heading to the Capitol and White House. It’s Fourth of July weekend but there’s no sign of the Cheeto in Chief. No surprise there. Not much in terms of protests either. There is a very moving collage of images, phrases, faces and names strewn along the gates in front the fence around the White House. The juxtaposition of this near police state against the backdrop of memorials dedicated to lives lost at the hands of police officers is chilling. The energy is thick and heavy. I’m damn near tearing up out of compassion for the many who have suffered and the many more who will suffer more – before, as Pat concedes – “it gets worse before it gets better.”

We grab some groceries for dinner and head back to Pats for refuge from the near 100° heat. We’re chatting in his living room and I pass out in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t have stopped it if I wanted to. Señorita Siesta has come for me and make me her bitch. Pat stages a photo which may be my favorite adult photo of myself in current existence.

Dinner somehow outdoes last nights. Seared tuna steaks. Green beans. Potato and mixed greens salads. Chips and salsa. Daniel insists Pat sends him the recipe.

We chat about the upcoming trails and best way to reach the C&O from here. Somehow Pat and I get on the topic of Rick James and our love of his autobiography. It’s called Glow and it’s a good read. After some bike cleanup and tuneup, I’m ready for another nap or as it’s normally called – sleep.