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 1: Keuka Lake bikepacking trip

July 25, 2021 by nmarzano 2 Comments

The early train to Yardley

I’m up before my alarm. I’m always up before my alarm. I don’t know why I even bother to set them anymore. It’s 4:30am, black outside, and I feel like a burglar with very particular taste. I sweep up the shorts, jersey and other gear laid out the night before, and skulk down the steps. Solo bikepacking is by definition a solitary event, and it can feel indulgent and a little selfish. I’m waking up to my own personal Christmas while workaday Wednesday responsibilities await my wife and the rest of the world. The hope for any solo travel is that you learn something about yourself or the world that returns an improved version of you to friends and family. But, no denying, it’s fun.

I make it to the platform for the 6:15 train to Yardley before I realize I’ve left my sunglasses on the dining table. Vacation has officially begun when you forget something important. No issue, there’s a bike shop in Easton at the fifty mile mark. I step out of Yardley Train Station just before 7:30, clip in, and head for the entrance to Delaware and Lehigh Trail just a few miles down the road.

Day 1: Keuka Lake bikepacking trip

Time to put the bike in bikepacking

My plan for the day is to make it to a carriage house AirBnB in Lehighton, about 92 miles up the D&L. I had ridden the first 50 miles of the trail back in October as an out-and-back, and knew it would be pretty easy going. The warm shower and bed I booked for this first overnight feels like a bit of a cop out, but I convince myself I’m paying a penance in mileage and heat index.

I did not need my phone to tell me it felt like 104 degrees.

Toasty.

Days earlier I’d decided to bolt a couple of extra bottle cages to my fork. Water management is no problem. I lather on sunscreen, revel in the shady parts, and enjoy the man-made breeze. I’m watching a storm system ahead on radar, and so far it seems to be clearing out ahead of me. The next few days will be gray and wet, so I am thankful for the sun. Even if it is trying to kill me with heat stroke at the moment.

Day 1: Keuka Lake bikepacking trip

Complications

Near the 60 mile mark I pull out my first aid kit: saddle sores? No, just hot spots, but I’m a bit freaked out. It’s pretty early in the trip to be dealing with saddle sores. I’ve read that what starts as chafing and irritation can quickly shut down a trip if it progresses to a full blown abscess. I’ve done 60+ miles plenty of times before without issue, and haven’t made any adjustments to my bike fit or kit. But it occurs to me that those rides have been mostly in cool fall weather, never in heat and humidity like this. Sweat contains salt of course, and I’ve been sweating buckets all day. Sparing the gory details, I clean and treat the hot spots, look forward to a shower, and hope that cooler days and rain ahead will make a difference.

With about 4 miles left on the day, another surprise from my body: sudden, persistent, stabbing pain in the balls of both feet. It’s bad enough that I decide to pull over rather than push the final miles. I throw my flip flops on, and air out for ten minutes. I’m well aware that feet swell up on longer rides, but this is a special kind of awful. It subsides, and I contemplate riding the last four miles in my flip flops. However, riding a soft shoe on a clipless peddle is like intentionally stepping on Legos over and over and over again. I pull the cycling shoes back on, leave them uncinched, and soldier on.

Bikepacking gravel: the tan lines wash right off!

Why use sunscreen when you can use dirt?

Killing daylight

I get to my AirBnB around 3:30 pm in the afternoon, ahead of schedule. I shower, do some routine bike maintenance, and house a small pizza, large salad, and large curly fries. It’s five o’clock in Lehighton, PA. Too early in the day to go to sleep. Too early in the trip to have a drink at the dive bar up the street. And my mind is too cooked to do much else. If I had my druthers, I realize, I’d keep biking into the night for a few more miles. Maybe 20.

But there’s no good camping option between here and my next destination, Catawissa. So I review my plan for the umpteenth time. I have an awkward chat with the other (vaccinated) house guest. He seems to be staying here for a while and surviving on Powerade based on the stock of nothing but in the fridge. Eventually, I browse through the host’s eclectic DVD collection, and settle for The World’s End. It’s no Shaun of the Dead, but it does what I need it to do: kill time until I crawl into bed around 9:00. I’m eager for the sleep train to transport me to Day 2. I don’t have to wait long for it to arrive.

Read on: Day 2

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.