Day 4: Keuka Lake Trip. The home stretch.

August 6, 2021 by nmarzano 1 Comment

Packed up and out of Hoffman campground by 5 am, I am eager to close this out. Just 90 miles to go. The home stretch to Lake Keuka.

Exiting Pine Creek Gorge

The last 40 miles of the Pine Creek Trail come easy, coasting gently uphill. The valley is empty. Birds chirp. Tufts of low-slung fog nestle between the trees. A white-tailed deer bounds onto the paths, and ambles down the trail a bit before leaping into the forest.

I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things in nature, but this feels like goddamn Brigadoon.

At Wellsboro, the path dumps me back onto road. Leaving the gorge for the first time, I can see dark clouds and a heavy rain line ahead on the horizon. Pulling into the Dandy Mart, I decide it’s a good moment to have a coffee, eat some donuts, and decide whether I want to ride through that dark curtain right now or wait it out. I wouldn’t call what I’m doing “bike touring,” but I’m not racing either. I have all day.

Super soaker

Twenty minutes and several powdered donuts later, the rain hasn’t abated but I’m antsy. The road crests the mountains near the New York State line. Hopefully the weather clears up on the other side. My weather app insists it will, but lately we have some trust issues. Time to get soaked.

To say the next 30 miles aren’t my favorite miles of the trip would be an understatement.

I don’t have the greatest faith in motorists’ awareness of solo cyclists on a normal day, and I do my best not think about their lowered visibility in this downpour. In times like these, some people turn to prayer. I find that cursing helps.

The detour

A few miles past the state border, the rain abates and I get a backroad reprieve from the highway. Then, I hit my first route snag. Huge orange signs signal in no unclear terms that the bridge is under construction two miles ahead. Traffic is detoured fifteen miles in the wrong direction. I decide to ignore it. Clearly these warnings are meant for cars, I think. I forge ahead, expecting to find perhaps a pedestrian path on one side, or maybe a resurfacing project I can talk my way through. I find neither of those things. Actually, I find nothing. This is a zero bridge, Thelma and Louise cliff situation. The downpour starts again, abruptly, mockingly. In literature they call moments like this a “pathetic fallacy.” I can confirm this is how it feels. I slink back the way I came, and map out a more serviceable detour.

Keuka Lake

Around noon, with the sun breaking through, I turn on the dirt and gravel fire roads of Moss Hollow and Birds Eye State Forests. Apart from a few pothole-heavy sections, they aren’t that technical, nor is the total elevation all that bad. I hit a two mile stretch of steep grades that feels like biking straight up a ski jump in spring, with grades pushing 17-20% in places. Otherwise, it’s a peaceful and fitting end to the journey.

The forest gives way to fields and farms, on a paved backroad that eases me over the last hill.

And there she is: Keuka Lake.

Day 2: Keuka Lake Trip. Lehighton to Catawissa.

August 1, 2021 by nmarzano 1 Comment

Day two bikepacking through Pennsylvania. I know it will be a wet one. Yesterday I managed to dodge storms, but today the downpour is inevitable. The forecast calls for soaked socks and the constant squeegeeing of touchscreens.

Other than that, this should be a pretty easy day. There aren’t many options for rustic camping (state forests, parks, or campsites) between yesterday’s D&L Trail and tomorrow’s ride through Bald Eagle State Forest, so today will be spent largely on PA backroads. I’m targeting the Indian Head Campground just outside Catawissa, just 70 or so miles away. Feels a little conservative after yesterday, but I stick to the plan. There aren’t great camping options along the route, and while my 1000-lumen headlight is strong enough to get me out of a jam, I haven’t yet invested in a legitimate night-riding system. Pushing distance is part of this trip, but night riding has to remain out of scope.

When I say “out of scope,” it’s because I often think in terms of “layering” new challenges. I’m a lifelong biker, but have only been card-carrying “cyclist” of the lyrca-sporting variety since August 2020. Prior to this trip, I knew what it felt like to bike a century, race gravel, and to bikepack shorter overnighters. I’m far from expert in these things, but they were experiences in my toolbox nonetheless. Yesterday I combined those into a fully-laden long day. I “layered” on the new challenge of a 105 heat index. Each new experience gives me the confidence to layer on one or two unknowns next time, and then calibrate how hard I can push myself in those conditions in terms of distance, speed, and elevation. Today, I’ll find out what it feels like to do some climbing in a downpour.

After a quick grocery store detour in Jim Thorpe, I roll into the Lehigh Gorge. The last miles of the D&L Trail offer a placid start to the morning, from sweeping mountain views to lush rhododendron forest. I pass one early morning hiker, but otherwise am left alone with my thoughts and the white noise under my wheels.

Day 2: Keuka Lake Trip. Lehighton to Catawissa.

After 15 miles, I hit tarmac. The clouds open up. I push a few wet, category 4 climbs. The rain shell goes on quickly, and I think about my rain pants and poncho. I’m drenched by the time it takes to consider. It’s no big deal, and next time I’ll probably leave those out of my kit altogether.

I grind on, traveling roads with and without shoulders, hoping my rear blinker and the neon bandana hanging on my saddle bag are enough to catch the attention of ~~most~~ all drivers. The miles wash away. Before I know it I’m buying lunch, dinner, and breakfast at the Catawissa grocery store. I arrive at Indian Head Campground by 12:30 pm.

Wait… what the hell am I supposed to do in Catawissa, Pennsylvania until bedtime? The campground is dead. There are a few quiet RVs around the perimeter. The tent area is, unsurprisingly, empty. Clearly, I am the only person around here dumb enough to go damp-camping on a Thursday. I set up my tent on a picnic table under a dry pavilion and move it to the choicest patch of soggy ground.

Then, I hoist myself on the table and settle in for a sit. I shovel food into my face, scroll the news, call my wife, call my parents, make small talk with the lady at the camp store, post on Instagram, do the crossword. I check the time. It’s 2:00 pm. This is going to be a long night.

The rain breaks for a bit, and I bolt up the road to get some more provisions: a small bottle of whiskey, some carrots and hummus, and a lighter. Back at camp, I struggle for an hour with a damp bundle of wood the camp lady sold me. No dice.

Today’s lesson: it’s much more fun to be in the saddle than on a picnic table. I will never do a day this short again. Fortunately, I’ve built options into my itinerary for tomorrow. Option A: bike a distance similar to today and sleep in Ravensburg State Park, sticking to the original five-day journey. Or Option B: put in around 100 miles the next two days, and arrive at the lake house a day early.

I have a few shots of whiskey, throw on my audio book, and drift to sleep by 7:30. I’m resolved to make this a four-day trip.

Day 3: Pine Creek Gorge or bust.

A case for taking the long way to vacation

July 21, 2021 by nmarzano

Each summer around the Fourth of July, Melissa’s high school friends get together at a family lake house in the Finger Lakes. It’s adult camp with all the trappings and toys. Water is skied, wakes are foils, waves are runner-ed. Occasional puzzles and light reading are permitted. The kitchen staples send a clear message that this trip is first and foremost about not overthinking it: hot dogs, hamburgers, Twisted Teas, scotch, cigars. Occasionally one of the spouses smuggles in some ruffage in the form of a premade salad kit. For the most part, the week is spent on property, slipping in and out of our own daily detoxifying and retoxifying regimen.

It takes about five hours to drive the 270 miles from Philly to Lake Keuka. I decide it’d be more fun to take the long way and do it by bike. How does one decide they are ready for such a trip? My credentials include two overnight bikepacking excursions, a mid-pack finish in a 60-mile gravel race, and just one 100 mile century ride (ever). Like many others, I hadn’t squeezed into a pair of lycra before the pandemic. I only recently learned how to pronounce “chamois.” But I’ve run marathons. I’ve travelled solo on several continents. I’ve backpacked into and out of the Grand Canyon. I’ve been chased by storms down Rockies and Alps. I know how to take care of myself, and how to listen to my body when I’m pushing the limit.

For the most part, the week is spent on property, slipping in and out of our own daily detoxifying and retoxifying regimen.

I’m also pushing 40, and increasingly conscious of that sweet spot between reckless kids yelling YOLO as they “send it” to an early grave, and those excuses that so often masquerade as “adult responsibility”: self-doubt and over-preparation. It feels more like a mid-life clarity than a crisis. New experiences are new. I want to train to the point I trust myself, and then JFDI. I’m not talking about Philly to New York; I’m ready for that trip. This ride is in many ways about another ride. Before I hit that infamous mid-life milestone, I want to finish one of two single-stage, unsupported bikepacking races developed by adventurer Nelson Trees: the Atlas Mountain Race in Morocco, or the even more harrowing Silk Road Mountain Race through Kyrgyzstan. Taking the long way to vacation will help me answer a few important questions about myself before I take that plunge. Can I do successive long days in the saddle? How does my body respond? Do I enjoy bikepacking in all kinds of weather, or just the idea of it?

Melissa is on board, and so I get to planning my route.