Reaching Clarion (Day 9)

After camping on top of Rockton Mountain, I got up the next morning, assembled my bike and gear and enjoyed some downhill coasting into Luthersburg, PA. From there, it was a few more hills and turns, taking me to the small town of Reynoldsville. Since it was noon, I decided I might as well get some lunch, so I went to George's Hotdog Diner on Main Street. I'd been having a hankering for a hot dog for the last few days and figured George's was the way to go, but once inside, I got convinced by the worn-out, dowdy waitress to order the all-you-can-eat pizza special for $4.99 instead. While scarfing down the doughy pizza at the lunch counter, I chatted with Mike, a young optometrist from Dubois, who was also indulging in the all-you-can-eat special a few stools down from me. He ended up eating eight (8) impressive pieces of pizza, while I barely was able to polish off five (5). As he paid his bill, he wished me luck on my bike trip, warning me that I had three major hills between Reynoldsville and the next town of Brooksville. "Are they big?" I timidly asked.

Mike paused to think as he laid out the tip for the waitress. Then, as if he knew his answer was going to ruin my day, his whole body exhailed and he solemnly admitted, "Yeah. They're pretty tough." Then he reiterated, "Three of 'em." He tossed the last crust of bread down his gullet and got off his stool, shaking his head in sympathy. "And I can't imagine biking up those hills after eating all that pizza."

Mike's warning was spot on; I had to bike three major hills, just as he described, over the course of the next 14 miles, and, just as he predicted, my pizza-ingestion caused major problems as well. By the 4th or 5th mile, my stomach started feeling like a slab of cement, and nausea started to creep up my throat. Every time I reached another gut-wrenching hill, I thought vomit was surely on its way. Along this stretch of road, I kept passing billboards for Edgar Snyder & Associates (a local accident law firm), in which, Snyder, the bald, grey-faced lawyer would be pointing straight ahead, next to big bold letters that read, "ACCIDENT?" For some reason, each time I passed these ubiquitous advertisements, the nausea would increase and the only thing that would help make it abate is if I answered the billboard by saying "No thanks. You?"

By the time I reached the depressing town of Brooksville, I decided to continue on for another 18 miles to the Super 8 Motel in Clarion. Of course, I had to pedal up another steep hill out of Brooksville, where I was going so slow, some college student carrying a keg up the hill almost passed me. Having some 20-year-old drunk on my tail made me more determined and I leaned into my pedals and picked up speed. 18 miles later, I reached Clarion, tired, sweaty and still a little nauseous. Unfortunately, I had to bike another 2-3 miles south of town to get to the motel... and naturally, there were a couple dandy hills along the way.

As soon as I reached the Super 8, I checked in, dropped off my stuff and jumped into the pool, cooling down with the dead bugs in the chlorine and urine infested water. Ten minutes later, thunderstorms came raging in and I retreated into my room.