Up and Down and Up Some More (Day 8)

I have been spending the last four days going up and down several hills... a painful and quadriceps-numbing experience... taking me into central Pennsyvannia. Yes, I can finally say central! I reached State College, PA on Wednesday (Day 8), which is the geographical center of Keystone state. While in town, I stopped at a bike shop near the university to have my gears, chain, tires, etc. checked out.

As I gingerly wheeled my bike and trailer through the shop (trying not to knock any displays over), some cycling douchebag in shinny, skin-tight pants and a 200 dollar helmet laughed heartily as I passed by. "Whoa! I'm impressed! You're braver than me to go cycling wearing those sneakers," he bellowed while pointing to my Nikes. I just smirked and shrugged, not knowing what exactly was wrong with my footwear.

After a quick check-up at the shop, I was on my way to McDonald's to fill up on burgers and fries in anticipation of hitting the toughest hill yet -- 2100 ft. into the sky.



Once my belly was full of fatty meat, processed bread and greasy potatoes, I headed out and started up the steep incline. Fortunately, they've done some renovations on the highway since when I walked through in 2001, so the grade wasn't entirely unmanageable. However, that didn't stop me from having to stop a couple times to catch my breath and toss my sweaty hemlet onto the ground to let my head dry off. The sun was in full-force, and sweat was streaming from all directions. One good thing -- I had a nice detailed topo map of the mountainside, so I always knew exactly how far along the slope I was.



By the time I was up and over the peak, I was feeling mighty weak with limp-noodle legs. I stopped off at a rest stop which was more or less a picnic table next to a small parking lot in the middle of the Moshannon Forest. I collapsed in the shade of a rickety shelter and tried to regain my composure. While panting on the ground, a man in a rusted Toyoda pulled into the lot, climbed out of the driver's seat and immediately lit an unraveling cigar that looked like it was purchased back before our Cuban embargo. He sauntered over to my soaked, tangled body that was sprawled in the grass and asked the basic series of questions about my bike, my trip, and what the hell I was doing. As I mumbled my standard answers, the man's face crinkled with annoyance, realizing my tepid responses were rather half-hearted. He then tapped his jacket that was emblazoned with a patch that simply read "Captain" as if to encourage me to find some fire in my speech and give him his undue attention/respect... but it just made me less-excited to talk to him. Finally, the man got the hint that I was more interested in quietly recharging my body with some oxygen than waste it talking to him, and he shuffled back to his car, grumbling something to the effect of "Don't tread on me!"

After the man drove off and I rejuvenated my lungs and muscles, I got back on the bike and cyled down the hill to the next town of Philpsburg. From there, it was off to Clearfield, PA, some 18 miles away, which I reached right before dusk. The main road was being worked on, so I had a nice bumpy ride through town. A quick stop at the library and at the local Sheetz convenient store, and I was back on my bike and on the road heading west. This is when I hit an unexpected millstone -- another long, tough mountain going from 1500 to 2200 feet. I thought all my mountainous obsticles were behind me, so I was understandably pissy as I went up what seemed like an endless uphill climb. It was one of those moments when every time you thought you were at the top, you go around a bend and the road would keep climbing up. By the time I reached the top, it was pitch dark. I pitched a tent and fell asleep a few seconds after driving the last stake.