Breakfast is included at The Gunther Inn, though it’s at the Princess restaurant across the street. Nice family diner, a “Pappos Family Tradition for Four Generations.” The few others in the diner at 7 a.m. clearly are locals. They know it’s French toast Tuesday, which I discover only after ordering eggs, sausage, hash browns and toast, and not all of that is included. Whatever I ordered that was extra comes in under five bucks, plus tip.
I’m checked out, my bike parked in the alley garage last night. I strap on the three bags and head for the road out of town. Easy — enjoy the steep hill in the other direction, applying plenty of brake, and turn left onto the trail. Except, there appears to be more than one steep road out of town. Just before I ride through a tunnel, I notice that it appears to run under the Great Allegheny Passage trail. Perhaps there’s an entrance just ahead.
Except, there isn’t. I roll toward a small town I don’t recognize. I turn around and start the long, hard climb back up. Past the tunnel, I can clearly see part of the GAP trail. There’s a big old red house on the left with a “NO TRESPASSING” sign.
My only other choice is to walk the bike up that steep hill, in my toeclip shoes.
OK. Drop my bike at the end of the walkway, right next to the “NO TRESPASSING” sign. I walk up to the front door and hold my hands out far enough to make it clear I have no weapon. Ring the doorbell, and a dog starts yipping. I’m about to give up when a woman’s voice yells, “come get your dog! I hate that dog!”
A man’s voice: “I’m in the bathroom!”
The woman starts to struggle with the door.
“Sorry to bother you,” I say, “and I see the NO TRESPASSING sign, but is that the Great Allegheny Trail behind your yard?”
“Yes it is. Go ahead.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I have just 8 1/2 miles to the Eastern Continental Divide, but the gradual climb is no problem. I’m trying to remember whether there was an alternate route around the Big Savage Tunnel, the 11 football field-long underpassage that certainly must be full of snakes.
There is no alternative route, and thanks to the bike lights I carefully recharged last night, I can say there’s no bear, and I didn’t see any snakes. A few cyclists are riding toward me, but I’m solo heading back north. It’s a bit cool with a few drops of rain here and there, and I’m wearing my yellow rain jacket over a light, black zippered hoodie.
I miss the company of Greg and Tom, but I’m enjoying the quiet run back to Pittsburgh. I’ve waived off any opportunities to catch a shuttle for any part of the return trip. Once through the short Continental Divide tunnel, I can enjoy the slight downhill cant, though I keep peddling at a steady pace, as I’m riding 72 miles today, the second-longest stint of the six-day ride.
My only worries now are my computer, which caught some malware last night on the unsecured Gunther wi-fi, and my phone, which seems to have caught something, too. I can’t dial out.
About mile 47, which is 32 miles into today’s ride, I come up on a cyclist holding up a smartphone camera, to my left. Another cyclist is approaching, so I stop to avoid ruining his shot.
“Keep going,” the camera subject says. “I can’t do a high-five if you don’t get into the shot.”
I’m in such a zone, it takes me five miles to figure out that I’ve just high-five’d Hutch, from the Cumberland Trail Connection bike shop.
I cross the tall bridges that pass over the Casselman and Youghiogheny Rivers and back into Confluence, Pennsylvania, where the proprietor of Confluence Cyclery tunes my derailleurs, again, and gives me detailed lessons on how to use the left brake-handle shifter. I’m 47 miles into today’s ride, which means I’ve got 25 to go.
It’s almost 2 o’clock. I could get the Sisters Cafe to stay open late, but the wife in the bike shop’s husband-wife team says the grocery store in town makes great sandwiches, and that sounds like a time-saver.
I enter the grocery store, and one local says to the woman behind the deli counter, “that was a great sandwich you made me yesterday.” Almost sounds like a plant.
It’s not. I begin to order one, and the woman tells me she can’t. The bread man hasn’t arrived yet, today. So it’s packaged cheese-crackers and a Mars bar for me.
The cycle shop has free wi-fi and a laptop, where I send emails to my wife and the office IT guy. I pay $10 for the tune-up and head out. Half a mile out of town, my IT guy calls. My phone somehow turned on the blind-user’s mode, which means you have to tap the numbers twice to enter the security code. He tells me how to turn off the feature, and says he’ll send me a fix for my laptop, which I can download in my Connellsville B&B tonight.
Miles: 72
Like Writing a Bicycle 