Day 7

October 10, 2021:

I woke up at dawn, the sunrise initiating increased activity on the road past Y Tavern. I used the bathroom quickly, then returned to the tent to work on my blog. I had internet from Y Tavern across the street, and my laptop was still fully charged from the night before. I wanted to get as much done as I could, and update previous blog entries with photos. This took several hours.

At 11:15 am, I decided to start packing to begin the day. Even when packing quickly, the process takes me about an hour each day. I didn’t have the urgency of a mediocre camp site to hurry me on my way, so it was only around 12:30 pm that I got off and away.

I followed the highway over the crest of the hill into Uhrichsville, then toward Cadiz. I felt a little bloated, and wasn’t sure if I needed to fart or to poop, and didn’t want to try the former while risking the latter. It took a lot of the joy out of the ride for those miles. I finally pulled over at the side of the road, leaned my bike on a tree, and went off the side of the road down a hill. It was instantly a mistake. I found myself confronted with several spike trees that tore at my clothing. Nowhere was comfortable. I ultimately tried bracing against a tree, and released a weak fart. Pfew. At least it wasn’t anything serious. I pulled my pants back up and was immediately startled by a noise in the undergrowth. A black cat emerged, stared at me, then scampered away back the way it had come. I got back on my bike.

I broke off toward Bowerston for the Conotton Trail. The road to Bowerston led me up several long, steep climbs. Hills, hills, hills. They’re a really up and down experience. As in, my mood is inversely correlated with the derivative of the incline. On one, a helicopter flew overhead from the southeast, then circled four times around me. I could have sworn it was following me. I wonder what their deal was.

Reaching Bowerston, I stopped at the B&B convenience store for a Klondike bar, a sandwich, and a gallon of water to refill my bottles with a makeshift funnel. While I was outside leaning against the ice machines of the convenience store, I spoke with a guy with a mullet about my trip. He was very surprised to hear I was going all the way to New York. Another guy pulled up and saw me. He seemed to know the guy with a mullet, and they talked for a minute. Mullet Guy mentioned my trip. “Get this, this guy’s bicycling to New York!” “Is he goofy?” I smiled and nodded, like a penguin in Madagascar. “I suppose I am a little goofy.” From there, I crossed a bridge over the Conotton Creek and started down the Conotton Trail towards Jewett, OH. It’s a nice trail. It follows the Conotton Creek and the rail line there through farm and swamp land.

As I passed Scio, there was a large chemical plant. I think it may have been a refinery for liquefied natural gas (because that’s what it said on a lot of the train cars), but I’m ultimately not sure. I remember having watched a lot of the Chemical Safety Board videos about disasters at such facilities, and I hoped their safety standards were up to snuff. I’m not sure the trail is really far enough away from it.

I also noticed a number of very nice bird houses near the end of the trail. They hung from branches every thirty feet or so, for miles. I imagine they were made by local school children, or perhaps a local art studio. There was some variety to them, and I found that the two I especially liked were a lighthouse one, and one that had sunflowers painted on it.

Upon reaching Jewett, I realized I wasn’t wearing my bike gloves. I’d only stopped at two places – once some six miles back at a bench before a covered bridge, and at B&B at the start of the trail – a full eleven miles back. I called the convenience store, but they didn’t see the gloves outside. I called both Dada and Mama for advice. Dada said I should go back for the gloves, because I owed it to the guy who gave me a discount of them in Beavercreek. He spoke of honor. Mama said I shouldn’t go back, arguing that I needed less expensive gloves and that the path lay ahead. She spoke of possible psychological damage were I to go back. I thought that maybe the gloves were at that bench, six miles back. Ultimately, I decided to return for them, but for my own reasons. They were comfortable, sure, expensive, sure, but more than anything, I liked them, and contrary to what some may think, I do care for my things.

The ride back was at a slight descent, so I covered ground quickly. I tried to remember how many covered bridges there had been on the trail. One? Two? I thought it would be after the one closest to Bowerston. Of that, I was right. But there were four covered bridges. And I had thought it was six miles back, but in reality, it was eight. No gloves. Having gone eight miles back, I figured I should check the rest of the way too. I asked a few other cyclists on the way if they had seen them (nope). So I went all the way back to B&B. No gloves. Someone must have taken them.

I went inside for another Klondike bar to comfort myself. I also got two cans of soup I could heat with my stove later for dinner. A friendly guy in line let me cut him in line for the checkout. He’d seen me in town earlier, and I asked him if he’d seen the gloves (he hadn’t.) He knew I was bikepacking, and that I needed all the time I could get to make camp. I packed away the soup, then got on my bike. As I was crossing the bridge over Conotton Creek again, I saw a glint in the grass at the side of the road. One glove! A few yards further, I found the second one. I was heartened that my effort had been rewarded.

I hardly made it a mile down the trail when I found a good spot. It was up a cliff above the trail, accessed more easily by a slope up one side. I found a good spot for the tent to go, then did about twenty minutes of gardening to remove a lot of the thorn bushes where it would lie. After the tent was set up, I used my camp stove to heat the soups for dinner. They were okay.

At around 10 pm, another night train came by. This one was quieter than before. I didn’t see any lights, and it didn’t sound its horn. I did still hear the ghastly screeching noise, but it wasn’t as if it was right on top of me. I played some computer hearts on my phone, then went to sleep, hugging my bike gloves close.