state college gets less than two months of sun a year.  the winters are long and sloppy, not cold enough for serious snow accumulation but cold enough to get the occasional 2-3 feet.  but when the sun does make its presence felt, it is remarkable, perfect temps, scattered clouds, deep blue skies…  as a side note, i lived on the side of mount nittany, and in my last year there i had a close encounter with a bear.  returning home i hear a noise in the bushes about 5 feet to my right.  i look over and see fur moving: a deer.  the deer stands up and emerges from the bushes, inches from the road.  i think, oh, thats odd, a person in a bear costume. right as i breeze by, i realize it is of course a real bear, but i am past and no harm has come and it happens so quickly that i do not have time to get scared: looking behind me i see him ambling across the street.  i believe he was checking for cars.

ahh but back to yesterday.  i stop for coffee at mile 120, (or so), at a proper david lynch roadhouse, with wood paneled interior, waitresses in smart red uniforms and thick diner mugs of steaming hot coffee, served too weak to bother with cream.  in proper lynch mode i buy a squishy donut.  back on the road the sky blackens from a flannel grey to a muted midnight.  the wind tosses the car half across adjacent lanes.  the mountain passes loom ahead, made eerie by the crack of good weather i can see at the top.  descending the backside of the twisting road, passing thousands of acres of thick pines and tiny deep blue lakes, i emerge into a world sheltered by 1200 foot mountains, which serve to hold the cold front at bay, roiling just a mile back in my rearview mirror.

i arrive at the yellow wooden post office with bright white trim in Lemont, the same post office that i picked up packages from for 2 years.  i am to meet a fellow named whit, who will be the ride leader, a philosophy major turned pro bike racer turned philly english teacher.  we will generate a cue sheet for the ride, i will drive, point things out, make the right turns, get us mildly lost, and he will diligently record our path on a custard yellow note page with a dying pen.

i have already driven 4 hours.  i am about to drive 8 more.  onward.  i point out local oddities, the house with the stream under it, the barn filled with rare bikes and roosters…  our journey takes us through rolling, impossibly scenic farm lands, past tiny streams, chuttering black buggies with dour amish drivers.

rusted cars about 3/4 of the way to milheim

on a side note, my toes are unreasonably tingly right now.

our rough mid point dumps us in milheim, a squalid down shoved at the bottom of a mountain pass that no one uses any more because the timber industry has dried up.  we are looking for food.  the local pub is closed, not open for 4 more hours.  turning back to the car we see what appears to be a missplaced western hotel, a rambling brown wood fascade with a wooden sidewalk/porch, and a carved painted sign reading hotel milheim: fine food, spirits, and lodging.  we walk in.

we wander thru 3 ancient dining rooms, the last of which oddly has old iron bathrubs serving as salad bar containers.  our journey ends in a darkly paneled bar, attended by a sparely tooth’d woman with a cackling smile and hair that looked like an eminent fire hazard.  we ordered the special, and 2 drafts of cheap local beer and sat back in our cracked fake leather bar chairs and taked about racing and not racing and marriage and gear ratios and beer and i think, how strange, i have only just meet the guy.

pine swamp road

leaving the hotel, meager bill paid (28 dollars, 4 beers, sandwiches, fries, and soup!) we emerged into a torrent of rain.  epic rain.  fitzcarraldian rain.  i had left my window down.  i sat on a soggy fabric seat and we drove on.  the road twisted and turned past sinking creek, now a flooding river, mere feet from the edge of the road.  logs drifted down like whitewater rafters.  we turned over a bridge and left the river behind, climbing into the mist on dirt roads that were build to connect logging communities that no longer exist.  the visibility drops.  mist hangs like spanish moss from the leaves of laurel, pines press in close, their tops obscurred in white.  we slide thru muddy turns and bump over sharp rocks, the suspension protesting and chattering.

penn

ahh the reason for the ride.  penn’s view overlook appears suddenly on our left, a shear drop of 1000 feet to the winding river we left below, mountains stretching out only to dissolve in the gray curtains of rain.  white clouds scatter at our foot steps.  whit has to snap a few pictures.  i hide under a scrawny pine, clinging desperately to granite boulders.
more views await, the car sliding around turns as even downshifts will not slow our progress.  we emerge on the otherside of the ridge, passing a lake that has been recently drained for dam maintenance, an oddly visceral site, like a corpse post autopsy.  soon we are climbing again, road names like vonada gap, synagog gap, mountain church road, locust grove road.  we drive a twisting ridgeline, and suddenly turn down, barreling down the mountain back toward the valley.

pine swamp view

midsentance i yell: fuck.  i slam my brakes and slid across the road.   i have almost run over a giant yellow cock.  the rooster is making his way across the road, oblivious to the fact that his death was nearly imminent.  whit chases him back home with his camera, and in fits of laughter we continue our descent, but at a more stately pace.

ahh i need more tea.

yellow cock!

so.  well.  how much more is there to tell?  those are the high lights.  we were mildly lost at one point, but after looking over a huge topo map that whit thoughtfully brought i divined the route (ok not really, we just sorta kept going and found the road) and we finished with no more yellow cock run-ins.  i took a slight break from driving and poked in an antique store for old cameras.  when i emerged, it was snowing softly.  i drove home having consumed 2 more cups of coffee and a bad gas station sandwich.

11 hours after i started, i returned to frederick a tired tired tired man.  mission accomplished though, and that’s the important thing.

all photos used up there are whit’s.  see more photos from this recon, whit’s last recon, and past state college rambles.

Spring Opener. Get it?

Yeah so, I thought 45 miles was a decent place to start.  Now: for the fat asses, (me) and the ladies (me) there will be a short cut back to the beer, making the ride roughly 30 miles.  That said, this ride is flatter than Kansas after the tornado season: 2700 feet of climing, with the largest hill being a 400 foot climb spread over a number of miles.  Where is this opener you ask?  Well, it will start in Union Bridge, which is sorta out where Big John lives.  A bit of a drive but not too far.  Why Union Bridge?  Well, this area is pretty close to a BOAT LOAD of roads that we havnt ridden but are charted via the Dirt Road Database.  In fact, there are about 12, count em 12! dirt roads on this route, comprising about 25% of the ride.  As they are all farm roads, they should be nice and packed down, with decent vistas and all that farmy zoo smelling goodness.  I reckon we can bring lunch and find a decent spot to gnosh it.  Did I spell gnosh right?  i assume its spelled like gnosis or gnome, or gnat, but frankly, I don’t know!

Len-E, sass-E, shad-E and stash-E, oxford comma not included.

Now… When?  Christ not this weekened, I am not in shape yet!  How about… the first weekend in May.  It will be warmer, more leaves on the trees, and I will be marginally less fat.  Always a bonus!  Saturday or Sunday, lets put it to the vote.

Oh yeah, the map!  Here.  & the elevation profile, below.

see, look at that hill! you cant even see it!

spoke card forthcoming.  don’t get your knickers in a bunch.

screen shot, obviously

Incidentally, Whit and I are sort of Co-Hosting a Rapha Continental Ride in State College on May 20th.  It follows the basic route of the October Ramble, (pics link here) with a bit more mileage and a bit more climbing.  We’ll obviously post pics of it all when its done.  My lazy ass is riding in the team van with a clutch of old rangefingers at the ready.

From the Rapha webs sight:

oddly, whit appears to be in a car…. hmmm….

snoop vase 2.jpg, originally uploaded by jamesjohnsonart.

A ride on saturday, the 20th!  or sunday… the 21st.  (apologies, I was obviously looking at the martian calendar… the first time). Ole Saint Nick will be in town, so we gotta get at least one ride in with him. I propose taking it easy: ie no mountain biking on road bikes. sub insane distance. maybe that ride that we were gunna do with the czechs but then didnt do. I can also do anytime during the week, but the 20 is a weekend day so………

Holla and lemme know what you’re thinking.  apologies for the earlier date confusion.

here is a link to his project, called fixing frederick, and below is his upcoming ride’s sales pitch:

If you have Veteran’s Day off, come on out:

Veteran’s Day East County Ramble
Sponsored by the Single Speed Outlaw Factory Team and The Bicycle Escape
Ride Leader: John Gorham, Single Speed Outlaw Team Member
Location: Libertytown Park, Libertytown, MD on MD 26 East, 1/3 mile past MD 75
Date: November 11, 2008 at 10 am
Ride Level: Casual pace on paved and gravel roads. Rolling terrain. <30 Miles. Rain or Shine.
Description: Come on out and catch the last of the fall foliage in the rolling countryside of eastern Frederick County. This weekday ride will be mostly on low traffic roads, linking together some of the most scenic gravel roads in the county. A few of the hills can be a challenge, but we’ll take it easy and regroup frequently so no one will be dropped.