The Kindness of Strangers on The GAP Trail

    When last we tackled the GAP (Great Allegheny Passage) trail it turned into an almost 20 mile bike out and back from Confluence to the Pinkerton Tunnel and bridges and back.  It was an amazing ride, with breathtaking views, but we haven't biked all summer and wanted to avoid another extra long ride for untrained legs.  

After listening to someone suggest some features we should see, like the famous half mile Big Savage Tunnel and the Mason and Dixon line etc. We made a plan to actually drive an hour to Frostburg Maryland and start there going west back towards Pennsylvania in order to see some of these sites with a shorter 12-13 mile out and back.

    This trip could have been a disaster from the get go. We arrived at the Parking for the Frostburg entrance to the trail, only to find Steve's bike had a flat tire.  Trying to inflate the tire was no help at all it just wouldn't hold air.  I had seen a bike rental place in an old train depot station at the top of a hill, and we pushed our bikes up a switchback to the depot in the hopes that they would have a new tube we could buy.

I am pretty proud of us for keeping calm and carrying on and not letting the bad luck dampen our mood.  We enjoyed some bike themed sculptures on the trudge up the hill and luckily someone was able to go find a new tube that fit Steve's tires.

    Of course changing a tube on the trail takes time and can be frustrating.  We chatted with a group that was on their way to Ohiopyle who had stopped for lunch. And were mildly entertained through the frustrating tire changing task with trying to convince some of them that Whitewater rafting wasn't that dangerous, and only 4 out of 16 of our rafters fell out and were retrieved without major injury.  I don't think we sold them on it though.

    After the tire struggles Steve filled the new tube and the tire seemed to be holding air fine, so we finally started our journey out from Frostburg.  By now it was 2pm and we were getting a very late start but still doable with the shorter ride we planned.  I was not prepared for the steady uphill burn of my quads.  Honestly, had I known how steep the grade was uphill from Frostburg I might have argued for a different plan.  But you know me, my friends, when going gets hard I just get more hard headed and put my nose to the grindstone and push through.  

    We quickly came to the first and shorter tunnel the Borden Tunnel, which did have automatic motion sensor lights that would switch on as you passed through.  Some of them were out but it was still enough light to see our path without breaking out the flashlights.

The tunnels were a nice cool relief from the heat of biking uphill and it was super cool and a little eerie to bike through them.  They are probably not for the claustrophobic or those who don't like caves.  

    Unfortunately 4 miles into our bike, luckily on a long tree shaded stretch, Steve's tire went flat again.  After trying with a small hand pump to pump it back and hearing what sounded like a steady leak of air, we determined something was wrong with the new tube we had bought.  We were starting to debate walking our bikes the 4 miles back when another cyclist passed us then turned around and came back and tried to help with his electric pump.  The electric pump was much faster and very helpful as it had a digital pressure gauge, but still the tire wasn't holding air.  Then the group of cyclists who had stopped for lunch in Frostburg caught up to us and they just happened to have a spare bike tube on them of the right size for Steve's bike.  He said he had a feeling we might be in trouble and kept pushing the girls to go faster to catch up in case we needed help.  Providence and his kindness in giving us the spare tube saved the day!

I became the bike rack and held Steve's bike while he and the first rider who stopped worked to remove the outer tire, check the rim and outer tire for anything sharp and then get the tube carefully placed so it didn't kink or twist.  It really helped to have two people work on it together!  It was a such a godsend for him to come along and turn around then spend the time to help us get Steve's tire properly situated. Unfortunately I can't remember his name. I know he was a retired pharmacist from North Carolina, but can't remember his name!  He stuck with us for the next couple of miles, until we were sure the tire was staying inflated, and he encouraged us to go beyond the tunnel a couple short miles to make it to the "top of the hill" The Continental Divide.  Then quickly outpaced us with his motor assisted bike.  Yeah, I was bit envious of that bike.

The view just before the Big Savage Tunnel was spectacular. Though we were pretty out of breath from that hill!  We did pass the Mason Dixon Line but decided to make it a stop on the way back as we had just gotten Steve's bike fixed and wanted to get to the Big Savage.

The Tunnel had lights interspersed, however the GAP Trail Guide had recommended bringing your own lights so Steve and I stopped to break out the flashlights.  Note to self: add bike headlights to shopping list. For being such a big and well known tunnel it was practically hidden amongst the hillside foliage.

Riding through tunnels is a little disorienting.  It's very cool and quiet, the crunch of your tires and your breathing echo back to you. You lose all the background forest noise, no wind, or breeze stirs. Then the combined lights from the tunnel and Steve and I's flashlights created some crazy shadows, and even though we were still going up hill it looked and felt a little downhill.  Very surreal and fun times!  Continuing after the tunnel the hill got steeper and steeper, until the final hill before the Continental Divide I did not downshift in time and had to dismount and walk up the last few feet.  There were beautiful murals surrounding the tunnel and a relief map showing the steepness of the hill which finally explained my cramping feet and burning quads.

You can see from the picture how much steeper the side is that we went up and suddenly I didn't feel so bad about my struggles with the hill.  My Garmin sports watch even gave me a badge for over a 1000ft of elevation gain during a bike ride.  Reaching this point on the trail is apparently a major achievement.  As we sat enjoying our lunch a cyclist arriving from the Pittsburgh side asked for help taking his picture.  As he hoisted his bike over his head for the shot we asked how far he had come and he said he was biking 90 miles.  Oh well is that all! lol, we all have our levels that for us is achievement.

The way back to Frostburg was a lovely breezy zoomy ride, where I could pedal a few and then coast my way down the hill.  We did make a stop for some photos of the Mason and Dixon Line. The rod and chain was an actual form of measurement that surveyors used to use. Steve assures me that you can still find some property descriptions with rod and chain measurement notations. For more info see the Wiki page https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gunter%27s_chain

     By the time we made it back to the Frostburg parking lot we were pretty tired and ready to get back to the campsite. So after taking care of bikes, a quick change out of bike shorts, and a quick snack we headed back.  As we left I heard a strange slidey, scrapey noise from what I thought was the roof of the car but Steve thought it was just all the crap we had stowed in back sliding around.  Unfortunately it wasn't until we had already driven the hour back to the campground that Steve realized he was missing the key ring that had all of the trailer keys and bike lock keys.  After a quick search of the car and not being able to find them, we realized he may have left them on the roof of the car when he locked the bikes up.  That was the scraping noise I heard when we left the parking lot!

 

    Yeah, so this kind of "well crap" moment could have led to arguments and accusations when we were younger and first married.  I think it has really helped us to have much more important and life threatening things to worry about over the last 6 years.  We have perspective and practice with "going with the flow" in these unexpected "Oh shit" life moments.  So fatigued, and with the self bribery of dinner out somewhere along the way, we turned around and drove back to Frostburg. We hoped to find the keys and not have to invest in a saws all for the trailer hitch lock.  It's a good thing Steve and I are used to long drives and we just tried to sit back, enjoy the audiobook and watch the sunset over the hillsides.  We got back at dusk and used our flashlights to search the sides of the road all the way up the hill from the parking lot.  Steve was unsure of where they flew off and continued up towards the train depot, and I felt certain I heard the noise at the entrance to the parking area and continued to search the road and ditches at the entrance.  

    After awhile of searching the ground I happened to shine my flashlight up the parking lot entrance stanchions and there was a loop at the top of one with the keys hung on it!   Someone must have found the keys and hung them from the loop.  I was so relieved and for the third time that day saved by the kindness of strangers! It was a long day of lessons that helped to restore our faith in humanity. Who knows how many times the keys could have been run over and made useless, but someone picked them up and put them where I was able to find them.  YAY!!!!  I then found a Mexican restaurant in Frostburg that was still open where we could rest and celebrate. 

    I am forever grateful for the kindness of strangers, and we now have several things to add to our list for the next bike trip.  Starting with an extra set of tubes for each bike, and an extra set of keys that stays with the car!

Light at the End of the Tunnel

 Steve and I had a wonderful camping trip this year, we stayed in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania for 4 days and Hocking Hills, Ohio for 3 days.  We had several adventures in hiking, biking and white water rafting, however the one I would like to share today was our day biking on the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP) rail trail.  Our white water rafting guide had recommended driving to the next town up the trail (Confluence) and from there biking about 6 miles up to the Pinkerton train tunnel.  He said that it would be a pretty ride with several trestle bridges to cross over, and the Pinkerton tunnel was a local landmark and unique experience.  We thought a 12 mile round trip sounded doable for two people who haven't biked all summer.  

We packed a lunch to eat when we got back to Confluence and snacks, extra water in a camelback, first aid kit etc. for the ride.  We though we were probably overpacking for a 12 mile bike, but not knowing the trail and how far we might be from help we tend to overpack and prepare.  

We were very fortunate that most of the trail was wooded and shady, it also followed the river with several gorgeous overlooks.  

What we did not anticipate was the constant uphill climb.  There were a few downhills headed east to the tunnel, but mostly my quads were burning with the consistent pedaling needed to make our way.  Then, at the 7 mile mark, we realized it may be farther than the guide's estimate of 6 miles.  We decided to stop, rest, and re-evaluate the distance by using the interactive map we had downloaded for the trip.  Stopping was harder than we'd thought; with tired legs, Steve's usual dismount did not work as well, and he ended up scrapping his knee up on the gravel path.  Guess we did need that first aid kit!

Consulting the map, we saw that we were more than halfway there and maybe it would be another couple miles to the tunnel. This we felt was doable, especially if the way back was going to be a steady downhill.  We continued on, and eventually got to the tunnel just shy of 10 miles. Our 12 mile bike had turned into a 20 mile bike!  But we made it, and the overlook was gorgeous!  And the tunnel, well, that was an experience.  

The Pinkerton tunnel is 849 ft of unlit tunnel.  You can clearly see the other side, however, after the first few feet, the blackness is total and you can see nothing around you.  I had several minutes of anxiously steering straight towards the light at the end, with hands I couldn't see, on a path I couldn't see, and praying that there were no obstacles for me to run into!  It had not occurred to us to pack lights.  The cold of the tunnel chilled the sweat on my back, and all I heard was the gravel crunching beneath my tires and my breath echoing back to me from the tunnel walls, which added to the general fear factor.  I was very relieved to make it unscathed to the other side.  The way back I was a little easier about it since I had made it through once and knew what to expect, but it was still very unnerving riding through such total darkness.  I had some time to think about the symbolism, how often we are going through dark times that scare us and where we can't see what obstacles or dangers might be ahead, and we just have to trust that we will make it to the light on the other side.  To get through the scary times, hold steady and steer towards the light.

The way back to Confluence was a much easier ride with a constant downgrade that let us coast a lot.  I was very grateful for that!

Resting on the way back, we found a couple benches that were engraved with sayings that fit the trip perfectly.  As Steve feels I am the loveliest flower in the garden.  And for some reason, this trip between hiking Laurel Highlands and Hocking Hills involved a lot of climbing.  Steve would turn to me and ask, "Say it,"  and I would reply: "Yes, Ray, we are still going up".  

The Many Scarred Tree

 One of the tools that I use to help with anxiety has been to practice meditation and mindfulness.  This does not mean sitting for hours staring at my belly button and trying to think of nothing.  Rather it is about no matter if I am sitting, walking or performing some chore or task,  I am also practicing keeping my focus on noticing the world around me. Not distracting myself with music or audiobooks, or letting my brain endlessly spiral around upcoming tasks etc.  It is taking some time to really notice the little things around you that normally are just background, that we might not even really see as we walk by.

A few weeks ago I happened to have a little over an hour of time between work and a writing class I am taking, so I stopped by a small park and explored a new to me nature trail.  It happened to be a low energy day so I knew it would be a slow meander and just took my time at a pace that didn't have me stopping to catch my breath.  It happened to be a very old boardwalk, covered with moss, and with many uneven boards.  It even had some areas under construction with missing boards and new off to the side ready to replace them.  Going slow was probably the wisest way to take with the somewhat treacherous path.  There were several lollipop branches with one overlooking a river that I chose to rest at, and meditate and watch the river for a bit.  Watching the river, with no people about, it was still a busy place.  Reflections of sunlight off the water danced on the underside or tree branches overhanging the river in a mesmerizing pattern.  Huge red dragonflies patrolled and circled across and around, across and around, with occasional dives at the insects skimming the water.   A large fish jumped, startling me with its sudden huge splash.  Shortly after a huge raptor (I am not skilled enough in bird identifying to know the exact type) bright white and brown speckled body dove down towards the water.  It seemed to be coming right at me as its claws reached for the surface and missed its prey.  It circled twice before flying off further down the river.  I tried to focus on my breathing and simply take it all in, and marveled at just how busy the world is with no people around.  How much life is going on in the world that we often do not take the time to notice.  

I continued on my way, wanting to give myself enough time to get back to the start of the trail, and eventually I came upon a tree that was so torn and scarred that I was amazed that it still lived. Something in the tree's past had tried to take it out and been unsuccessful. Here it stood, scarred but very much alive. Standing straight and tall with a bright green canopy overhead.  A silent reminder that damaged does not mean broken.  Sometimes we make it out of the trauma heavily scarred and survive and thrive nonetheless.  

Lost in thoughts of the tree and what it meant or symbolized for me (not a mindful moment!),  I was startled by someone coming up behind me.  The first person I had seen out there, she said something like, "behind you", and I jumped probably a foot to the side as she speed walked past me.  She had headphones in and seemed to be going faster than was safe for this boardwalk.  I think she barely noticed me as she went by.  I wondered if she had noticed the scarred tree?  Or had taken a moment to watch the river?  I suddenly felt sad for her, and by that same token for my past self.  How many trails did I run with friends where it felt good to be out in nature but I was distracted with conversation.  Did I really see and hear and appreciate the world around me?  How many runs did I do with headphones and an audiobook or podcast running in my ear to distract me?  What did I miss by not taking some extra time to really feel and focus on all the vibrant life around me.  

This experience seemed to be a reminder that no matter how busy I am, trying to fit that workout in, I should stop and take a breath, and take the time to mindfully take it all in.

Taking a moment

 It's been a very busy week.  I have new hours and new responsibilities at work as I take on the role of Assistant Events Manager.  At home I am busy trying to clean pack and prepare our teardrop trailer for our vacation next week.  I am trying to take time to rest as I need it and it's frustrating how many times I have to go lay down until the fatigue passes.  I am past the go, go, go period of my life and strong willed part of myself really wants it back.  

 Yesterday I had a moment.  When I went to haul the bins out to the curb I bent to pick up a scrap of paper and as I did so a large dragon fly landed on the paper I was holding.  There I was, caught in a "moment".   I didn't want to move and could hardly breath as I inspected it's beautiful emerald green faceted eyes and it's iridescent wings shimmered in the early morning sun.  It seemed quite content to just sit there, the superstitious part of me wondered if it was a message.  The part of my brain that looks for meaning in the world around me wondered if it could talk what it wanted to tell me.  

For many different cultures around the world the dragonfly has many meanings. 

"Throughout many Native American nations (as well as other cultures worldwide) the dragonfly is representative of change, transformation, renewal, and self-realization, as well as speed, activity, dynamism, magic, and mystery."

A couple weeks ago I had a dragonfly "rider" while I was kayaking with my Brother and sister in law.  It stayed for over an hour sitting on top of my hat as I paddled down the Chippewa river.  My sister in law said you could watch it occasionally zip off of the hat and attack some incoming bug, then return right to the top of my head.  They wished they could have a guardian dragonfly!  

For whatever reason dragonflies have been making frequent appearance in my life lately.  Maybe to tell me it's time to trust the changes that go on in my life, embrace the transformations and growth and movement from one way of being to another.  Maybe it's OK to let go of the "Go, Go, Go" stage of my life and embrace the "active with periods of rest and contemplation stage".  In the end it would probably be healthier for me to Not try to push through my exhaustion and instead embrace the necessary times of rest. 

 

Robin Mama

 I stepped away from Facebook for a spell. It was shortly after the loss of a dear friend, and I found myself doom scrolling too much.  With many of the posts in my feed being horrible news and memes that just increased my general sadness and anxiety.  I felt bad letting go of Facebook, as it has over the years become my main way of sharing photos and upcoming events and life's happy times with friends and family.  However I just couldn't seem to stop myself from passing too many hours scrolling the feed that did nothing to improve my mental state.  I erased Facebook from my phone and though I told myself I could check in on my family and friends via my computer a couple times a week I found myself avoiding it altogether.

My only regret is a bit of narcissism that I enjoyed sharing pictures and adventures with friends and have been told by several that they enjoy my stories and shared pictures.  One sweet person in particular was part of my cancer support group and as things got more difficult for her she said she enjoyed living vicariously through me and seeing my adventures.  She passed away recently and I feel sad that I wasn't sharing these past few months.  

They say the thing people regret most at the end of their lives is when they withheld love, and that kind of feels like what has happened.  I love to share with friends. I share things that I hope will help others to find joy or appreciate the world around them.  I try to share things I feel are informative or events that other's might find interesting or inspiring or helpful.  I share because I love you all and at the core of it, I believe this world to be a good place with many good people who are just trying to do the best they can to survive it.

I will try to check in on Facebook each week, and share some of life's events, but if you don't see me on social media don't think I am avoiding you dear friends.  Give me a call to chat or plan a walk or meet me for coffee or tea ( I drink both).  Don't think that I am ignoring you or don't care if I am not online, it is because I am endeavoring to change my focus to the real world.

This morning I went out onto the porch swing and worked on my Journal and watched a Mama Robin feed her babies.  My journal question for the day was "What is making you hopeful right now?"  I used a mindfulness exercise where I went through the five senses to ground and center myself in the present and that pretty much answered perfectly what makes me hopeful:

-The smell of the damp post rain air.

- The sound of cheerful and raucous birdsong filling the trees.

-The feel of the gently rocking porch swing supporting me and the warm mug in my hands.

-The taste of the dark rich coffee that makes me think of warmer tropical places in the sun.

-The sight of a mother robin who built her nest on my front porch wreath and is busily hunting worms to feed her babies.

May you find some peace and contentment sometime today my friends.

Thoughts from the trail

 

The day was bright and beautiful with unseasonable temperatures of 61 degrees.  How could I not spend some time on the trail?  The wind was blowing quite a bit and bare branches made a clatter above my head that at times drowned out the birdsong.  When the wind was still, the woods were still, only my footsteps crunching through last fall's leaves. The occasional rare hiker or trail runner would come along with a quick friendly greeting as we passed... two ships on a trail.  For the most part, however, I had the woods to myself and my own thoughts.  

This big beautiful cluster of trees all intertwined and grown together is what I call a "familiar friend" on the Kachin trail at Brighton Rec.  These "friends" are my mile markers.  They are there year after year, season after season, I smile and greet them as I pass.   This particular "friend" reminds me of the book The Hidden Life Of Trees by Peter Wohlleben.   It talks about how trees communicate with each other, support each other, and form intricate communities. If one falls sick the others will pass extra nutrients through their roots.  Solitary trees and new plantings don't have this support system and are more prone to disease, and more likely to succumb to it without the support from their fellow trees.

This tree makes me think of my own support systems and how enormously fortunate I am to have so many supportive communities in my life.  Extended family, choir friends, crafting and science fiction fan friends, running friends, cancer support community friends.  They have all been a part of my struggle.  This big enormous tree of lovely people who's well wishes and assistance kept me taking that next step I needed to survive.  Thoughts of good times with family or on the trails with friends, helped me through some of the most painful and scary procedures I have ever had to go through.  Music from choir kept me company through long dark and painful nights in the hospital, and lifts my spirits during those times I wonder why I keep fighting.  Meal trains, assistance with housework, and yard work and all the little things you don't think about until you can't do them.

I think of all of this and how important community is to survival.  I think about those in my Cancer support community...me included who have said we "don't want to bother anyone".  I find myself afraid that I am talking too much about myself or to break down crying with my own fears.  We don't want others to feel burdened or that we are being too needy.  My heart breaks that this culture of "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" and having to do everything on your own so you aren't a burden to others, has us turning away from the support that is necessary for survival.  If you were drowning in a pond would you try to call for help? Or would you just let yourself sink so you weren't a "burden" to others.  

Looking at the tree friend I see 8 or 9 entwining supportive trunks coming together at the roots.  I would not wish cancer or any other catastrophe on anyone.  But these life events show how important it is to come together at the roots.   In a world of divisiveness and loneliness, it is our community that keeps us strong.  

May you walk in the sunshine, have the breeze tickle your face, and live, laugh and love another day.

Stop For the Hush

 A friend met me for a fall hike yesterday and I had numerous moments where I had to stop in  my tracks and take note of the grace and beauty of the world around me.  I felt I needed to share some of my wonder and appreciation, and so I wrote this poem/prose.

The world is an almost twilight grey, with a few bright patches of eerily glowing leaves yet to cease clinging from their branches.  

The leaf strewn paths beckon and invite to crunch along their twisty ways. 

All is quiet and hushed, fall not quite done, but winter ever nearer in the icy air.

A sudden streak of bright white motion through the leaf bare forest. Two swans make their graceful way up into the sky.

Careful short stepping with toes gripping through shoes, we make our way on the slippery frost glazed boardwalk.

The lake is mirror glass still, golden reeds and white egret perfectly tranquil.  Not a ripple, not a breath of air to mar this perfect reflection.

Paths continue onward and upward, over hills and watching for rocks and roots hidden under the carpet of leaves, ready to catch a toe or turn an unwary ankle.

Leaves mostly fallen, and yet we happen upon some groves of bright color. Wondering at some strange chance of nature that keeps these brilliant moments in the forest.

Keeping eyes to the ground, looking for hazards we might miss the soft light glowing through the leaves above. 

A familiar sight each fall, greeting us like an old friend. The vivid leaves over the path remind us of falls gone by.

Making our way back to the beginning and through the towering pines. Crunching feet stilling for a breath or five. Listening for the susurration of the wind through the treetops.

Whispering to us to stay

and rest in the hush of the world

waiting for it's blanket of snow.