Day 12
October 15, 2021:
The gurgle of the creek woke me up eventually. I listened to it a while. My tent was shaded from the rising sun, but I could tell it was light out. Checking the time, I saw it was around 9:00 am. I played a few rounds of computer hearts on my phone, then got dressed and left the tent. The front tire of my bike was pretty flat, so I knew it had a slow leak of some sort. This was fine for trails like the Ghost Town Trail, but it wouldn’t be fine for real roads and the big hills I knew were coming.
I got my tire repair kit out and used the tire levers to pry the tire rubber over the rim. This was the hardest tire I’ve ever changed. It was so difficult to get the tire off. When I finally managed to, I pulled the inner tube out and used my hand pump to inflate it, holding it up to my ear to hear where the leak was. Finding it, I wiped it off and scratched it with the scratcher tool. Then I took a sticky patch and applied it to the inner tube, pushing down hard to make sure it was properly secured. I may need to get a new patch kit, since a lot of the patches were stuck to the paper underneath – maybe some moisture got into it. I used the hand pump to fully inflate the tire, seeing if the patch held. It started peeling loose, so I knew it wasn’t worth risking on the roads. I took the patch off and fully deflated the broken inner tube. I took a new inner tube out of my pack and followed the directions on the box to insert it into the tire rubber and pry it back onto the rim. I’ve done this wrong before with Mama’s bike, and even though I know how to do it, following the directions will make sure I don’t waste a spare tire for nothing. I’ve always found these directions confusing though. As I said, this was a more difficult process than usual, and I probably spent 45 minutes working on it.
Afterwards, I sat on one of the boulders watching the creek for another hour or so. It was nice, but the real reason I spent so long there was because I didn’t feel like packing my sleeping bag and tent away. I was only ready to go at noon, and made my way down the trail about a mile or two, towards Twin Rocks. There was a gorge the trail went through that had huge boulders near the surface but thick layers of coal protruding from beneath. It was cool to see a layer of coal for myself, and it reminded me of moments in Minecraft, when you’ll just find coal in the side of cobblestone walls.
Near a road intersection, there was a woman walking her dog. She saw my pack and asked where I was going. We ended up talking for a full hour, with topics ranging from her experience and knowledge of geography in PA, the UK (and Scotland in particular), and France to travel planning tips and specific trails and towns I might want to check out. Her name is Nell, and she is a world traveler and adventurer much like myself. While I was initially put off by her ‘I know better than you do attitude,’ I soon realized she probably did know better than I did, and that it would be wise to listen. I think the biggest thing I took away was her warning of the weather in Ireland and Scotland in the winter, specifically in November, when I’ll be there. The days are very short, the weather extremely wet and cold, and storms can run across the length of the Atlantic before hitting those islands, so they can be intense and make for a miserable experience. She implored me to visit Spain or Italy first, where it’ll be warmer, and to visit Scotland and Ireland in the early summer when it’ll be much more pleasant. I hear and understand what she’s saying. But I nevertheless think I’ll stick to my plan. I have the equipment to ride through the rain, and can stay at hostels if the weather ever gets really bad. Her advice has shaken my confidence, but I do still think I’ll be alright. While we were talking, her dog Baxter kept getting his leash tangled in the bushes. At last, Nell decided Baxter was eager enough for the trail that she best get walking. I checked the time. It was 1:10 pm. It had been a captivating conversation; Nell is a great story teller. But I hadn’t wanted to spend so much time there, and I too was eager to be off.
I had originally been planning on stopping in Nanty Glo for lunch, but wanted to put in more distance, so ended up going all the way to Ebensburg. I went to Our Station House, a fire station themed restaurant that had entrée items listed as ‘First Responders’ and wings with ‘Paramedic Sauce.’ I got a dozen of the wings with that sauce. It was a sweet and spicy combo, and was pretty good, but I’ve had better. I had two ginger ales with the meal, because I felt like it. I also used the opportunity to throw away all my trash from the BBQ meal I had brought with me the day before from Clem’s.
From Ebensburg, the trail ended and I had to follow country roads up and down several hills to Cresson. In Cresson, I peddled the main street through town, and literally saw a drug deal happen in broad daylight. I kept going, pretending I hadn’t seen anything. The top of the hill in Cresson is right at the highway overpass at 22.
From there, I went down Old route 22, which Nell had recommended. There was a sign warning trucks of the steepness of the hill ahead: 11% grade downhill for the next three miles. It was a blast of fresh air, and the hill continued for miles beyond that at a slightly less steep grade. I flew down the hill at what felt like maybe 45 mph. About halfway down, a small thought entered my mind, but I quickly buried it, just wanting to have fun: “I hope this is the right way….” (it was). If it hadn’t been the right way, I think I would have just made it the right way. I wasn’t going to go back up that hill.
The hill deposited me at Foot of Ten, a small town near Duncansville. There were thunderstorms predicted overnight. Mama was worried my tent might get hit by lightning. I told her that was BS – that there are some things she can be worried about, like me getting cold, wet, and uncomfortable, but that getting hit by lightning would be a freak accident. Cycling down Mill Rd, I found an abandoned building that I seriously considered staying at. The windows had all been blown out, and broken glass, dirty clothing, and rusted farm equipment was on the concrete ground. Graffiti was sprayed on the walls, and some corners smelled of urine. It creeped me out. It would be a roof over my head, but I didn’t feel comfortable staying there. I worried I might get awoken in the middle of the night by the sheriff or a farmer with a gun, or worse, a local hoodlum that would steal my things or give me trouble. One of the big things about stealth camping is precisely that you try to find places where you’ll be unlikely to run into others. I reserved the abandoned building as a Plan B, and went back up the road a bit with another idea in mind.
I saw a farmer and his wife on an ATV riding through their fields past a barn back towards their house. They parked the ATV inside and walked toward their garage. I called them over and introduced myself, and told them what my deal was with the trip. His name is Dave and his wife is Kathy. I offered the Dave $20 if I could sleep in one of his barns, and that I wouldn’t leave a mess, wouldn’t be loud, and would be gone by dawn. He asked if I smoked, worried about his hay, but when I said I didn’t, he showed me a place in one of his barns where I could stay and refused the money I’d offered. He asked if I needed anything, and said he’d give me breakfast of eggs and bacon the next morning. Dave also told me to look out for some of the cats that lived in the barn.
The barn was a bit drafty, but I had a roof over my head, and was otherwise quite warm. Dave said I could sleep on the hay, but I decided to set up my tent anyway since I thought that would be more comfortable. Once the sun had set, I got out of the tent and watched the clouds roll in, obscuring the bright moon. I saw two of the cats scurry around the barn, but I never saw them up close. A friend recommended the app Radarscope, and I learned how to use it. I saw that the rain wouldn’t start until the early hours of the next morning.
