Biking C&O Trail from D.C. to Pittsburgh

In October of 2008 I had picked up an Outside magazine while I was waiting to get my ears lowered. The article that sparked my interest was about a bike trail along the old Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, then it continued to Pittsburgh Pa. The canal had been constructed from Washington DC to Cumberland Maryland, beginning in 1828. The idea of a canal from Pittsburgh Pa. to Washington DC had been on the minds of our founding fathers since they waved goodbye to the last British ship that sailed back to jolly England. Canals were expensive to construct but it would be a cheap way to move freight, with the abundance of water in the east. The C&O was in operation from 1850 to 1924 but it could never compete with the railroad. The canal construction costs were estimated to be $3 million and take 10 years to complete. In reality the contractors spent 22 years and $13 million digging this canal and it never reached the goal, to the Ohio River in Pittsburgh.

The vision of a canal from Pittsburgh to Washington turned into a wet dream very quickly. The construction of the canal and the railroad from DC started on the same warm day in July 1850. The rail line beat the canal to Cumberland MD by 8 years. For 74 years the long canal boats, pulled by mules carried everything from coal to household goods. I imagine the Civil War had a huge impact on the canal and the mule drivers along the Potomac River.

According to my map Rosslyn Va. seemed like a good place to start my bicycle adventure. With the help of the internet I found a plane ticket to Ronnie Reagan airport and a clean motel in Rosslyn. By 1:00 pm I had arrived at the motel with my bicycle in a cardboard box and my gear in a backpack. The room wasn’t ready so my hosts advised I take the subway to DC and have a look see.

The subway was just minutes away and by 3:00 pm I was standing in the middle of all the major attractions that our capital had to offer. My first stop was the National Art Museum with a display of Turner’s master pieces. Then it was on to the Washington Monument, with the sun setting over the surrounding buildings. Lots of other tourists were soaking in all the history of the area. Since it can be interesting taking pictures of people, I decided to find a few subjects. My first victim was a Japanese girl that was either wanted or very camera shy. She threw her coat up over her head and is probably still running in a scared rabbit pattern around the Lincoln Memorial!

After a nice dinner, I was in my room and had the job of putting my bike back together. This wasn’t my first rodeo so I had plenty of practice pulling the bike pieces out of the shipping box and making it look like a bike again. With one eye on my wrenches and the other on a Leave it to Beaver rerun on the tele, I was just adjusting my seat height and tightening the bolt, when SNAP, I had two 1/2 bolts in my hand and it was 9:00 pm. My host said the janitor might have a replacement bolt but he didn’t show until 8:00 am.

The next morning I played lets find the janitor. My new host said he would be in the furnace room. I checked in the that room and it had everything but a janitor. I found him behind the trash dumpster sucking a cigarette that had a filter and wasn’t twisted on each end. Together we went through boxes of loose bolts. My janitor friend with a toilet plunger in hand was called away on an emergency. Without his help I was able to find a bolt about 2 inches to long but with a handful of washers, I made the whole contraption work

The trail had been neglected since 1924 that is until the 1950's when Supreme Court Justice William O Douglas ventured upon the path and was taken a back by the horrible condition of the path. Mr. Douglass’ goal was to have a park like setting from DC to Cumberland MD and have the National Park Service as the manager.

The next morning I arrived at the dirt path within minutes from my motel and without becoming a hood ornament from a crazed DC commuter. I noticed a lady walking her dog along the canal and not being quite sure I was on the right path, inquired.
“Is this the C&O Canal?” “Oh yes it goes on for a couple miles along the Potomac river.” she said.
“No it goes on for 330 miles, all the way to Pittsburgh and I am going to follow it!” I yelled.

There are 74 locks along the canal with 74 houses for the lock keepers and families to stay. The locks were constructed to control the depth of the water in the canal in order to keep the boats floating. Most of the locks and homes are still in fine shape and I passed a few within the first hour. It was autumn, the leaves of the hardwood trees had a special glow of red’s and yellows. The water in the canal only made it more special with a double image of vibrant colors. The park service has installed lots of metal tablets explaining history along the waterway. These plaques explained that the Potomac River played a major role in both Revolutionary War and Civil War.

Within the first hour I came to the boathouse at Fletcher’s Cove. An independent contractor rents boats and kayaks for river adventures on the Potomac river. A 6 foot high water mark on the wharf’s pilings gave me an idea of how high the river can get when the river needs to show its strength during flood stage.
The sound of dried leaves under my bike tires made a muffled crunch sound with every mile I pedaled. I had just gone by Glen Echo park when I noticed three gentleman walking along the path. They were walking side by side and I slowed to pass and to exchange greetings. I looked away from their glowing faces when I saw a bike coming down the path hell bent for election, in my direction. It looked like it was going to a head on collision and I had only seconds to react by leaning as far to my right as I could. I think this maniac on a Schwinn was going to try and knock me off the path, which could prove to be difficult since I am built like a brick out house at 6'3" and 260 pounds. My left shoulder caught the bike rider’s right shoulder. I held my ground but he flew through the air and went right over his handle bars and did a half twist and landed 20 feet over the embankment on his back. I got off my bike and ran over to the side of the trail and looked down at this fella who had landed flat on his back, with blood all over his face. He was completely motionless, just staring up at the sky and trees. The three walkers and myself climbed down and he came around enough to ask, “ What happened?” “I am not sure but I think you were going to try and knock me off the trail but it was like Custer, it seemed like a good idea at the time!” I explained. I had visions of helicopters with nurses repelling down to carry this biker away. But within a few minutes he said he was allright. Come to find out he was a volunteer for the park service. The blood was caused by the thorns on the blackberry bushes as this Flying Wallenda sailed through them. He was very lucky because 2 huge oak trees were like goal posts as he was projected between them.

By late morning after the dust had settled from my near head on, I had reached Great Falls Park. This section of the Potomac River has a series of falls and rapids that would be very challenging to any kayaker. I stayed for a hour watching the roaring river and the dare devils playing chicken with the each other. The kayaker would climb up above the waterfalls and after getting into their vessel, they would descend into the angry water. Within minutes they would fly over the falls and be lost in the foam of the water before reappearing in the calm of the pool below.

As I leaned against the steel rail that kept the peanut gallery from falling into the river, I started a conversation with a fellow biker. He had always planned on biking all the way to Pittsburgh, but work, a bitchy wife, snot nose kids and mostly lack of motivation kept Pittsburgh in the far horizon. My new friend could have been the welcoming committee for local sights. This was his 30th time venturing no more than 30 miles from DC his home so he sure knew the area. The thought of lunch motived him enough to suggest an off the trail lunch spot.

I could clearly see that the older building that would be our lunch spot was a built in Pre war time and the Revolutionary war would be my guess. A wide porch protected the front of the part tavern and part country store. The wooden floors creaked as we made our way in the back of the store to order our sandwiches. The multi colored metal ceilings probably was witness to many events. The sun was warm on our faces as we sat at a picnic table to devour our long awaited prize. A black fella joined us at our table. He too was from DC and was out hunting squirrels, with out any luck. “You know since I was a kid these critters have gotten smarter!” he explained. Early this morning I had biked by the huge complex that was Bethesda hospital, so I decided to spin a little yarn. “ Did you read the newspaper article about the experiments on squirrels at Bethesda Hospital?” I asked. “No.” he said, like he wished he had. “There’s been a series of articles about genetically engineering a squirrels brain.” I explained. “ One night because of the increase in brain power the lead squirrel was able to escape his cage.” I said “ The king squirrel then let out all his comrades from their cages.” I said. “From then on they have roamed the countryside at will!” I warned. “The worse ones are the flying squirrels with the large canine teeth.” I explained. “Half of me doesn’t want to believe you and the other half wants to go home!” yelled my hunter friend. “And the second half is leading the first half!” as he got into his car.

After lunch, I would continue on my travels north without producing to much mischief, I hope. My biking friend had exceeded his pedaling limit and would head back south to his warm bed. As I approached mile post 35 I came to the last operating ferry that crosses the Potomac River from Md to Leesburg Va. The river was about 1/4 mile wide at this point and numerous signs warned of the do’s and don’t of using the ferry. Within minutes the old flat boat loaded with cars from the far side arrived. After paying my dollar, the operator let our side board, with my raggity ass bringing up the rear. I snuggled between 2 cars and hung on as the ferry started with a jerk. The driver on my left side rolled down his window and was very curious about my trip. As I related the details of my trip, the ferry made short order of the river. My newest friend informed me of the latest and greatest news of Leesburg Va. I would find a few motels and fine dining. The home of George Marshall had been turned into a tourist stop and was worth having a look see. George Marshall was secretary of defense under FDR.

The countryside on this side of the Potomac was about the same except for playing hide and seek with fast moving vehicles. By 5:00 pm I was biking through the main part of town. Within minutes I saw my destination a Days Inn, with a restaurant right next door.

The next morning I awoke to a little liquid sunshine. I noticed as I rode my bike off the ferry into Md, I noticed a horse trailer. A black fella was riding his horse from Vermont to Oklahoma to celebrate Black Awareness month. His wife was following in the combination horse trailer and living quarters. In Oklahoma he was going to stop at the museum in Ponca City dedicated to a black cowboy who had invented bull dogging. This cowboy was having a dandy time seeing the country from a top his horse. He had a few questions about crossing the Potomac River 25 miles ahead and getting into Harpers Ferry with his horse. I knew of a steel bridge that handled only foot traffic but besides that I wasn’t sure.

The 25 miles from the White’s Ferry to Harpers Ferry should have been a snap except for the pounding rain. The dirt track had turned into a mud track with piles of mud collecting on my shoes and bike. By 10:00 am I was standing on the Harpers Ferry steel bridge that crosses over were the Shenandoah River and the Potomac River form a junction. I had crossed this bridge before when I had hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. The bridge was originally made for all types of traffic but now it’s for foot travel only.

Harpers Ferry is a very old river town and was the site of the famous raid by John Brown when he tried to free the slaves in the 1800's. Many of the old homes and factories are now only occupied by National Park personal that run them as museums. As I cycled my way through the narrow streets I was lucky enough to find a motel that would let me check in early. There is nothing worse than standing in front of a motel clerk with water dripping off your jacket faster than it’s raining outside. “We need a wet cleanup at the front desk!” I expected to hear. I hung my biking outfit in the bath tub to drip dry and then ventured around the town on foot.

My first stop was the Appalachian Headquarters to catch up on some gossip about the trail. Then I headed into the heart of the small town along the river. Every building had something to do with the history of the area. The Civil War played a big part of this town’s history. The Rebels and Yanks fought and died over this real estate many times with no one being the victor, except the under taker. I looked around the building where on a dark night in the 1800's John Brown and his sons tried to take over the arsenal, in order to liberate the slaves. It wasn’t actually the original brick building because from day one, souvenir hunters have carried the building away piece by piece. Three times the building has been rebuilt. Another landmark that held the armory where the guns were actually made was fascinating.

Being a sucker for any sporting goods store, the one along the old main street was special. A small spring was discovered when the original building was constructed so the owners just left it. The stream has made its’ own way thru the building, and you step over it to go upstairs.

An old train station still in operation is across the street. Passengers from Washington DC have been using the line for years.

The next morning was more of the same with a monsoon hovering over my head. I have to remember, if it was easy everybody would be doing it! By noon I had made the midpoint section of the C&O and it stopped raining and I was hungry. Williamsport had a visitor’s center and small lunch spot. I could fill my belly and brain. The track was very boggy so I had to push down hard on the pedals to make any head way. In this area there are a series of dams that form large and small lakes. I stopped by one of them and observed a woman in a kayak slowly paddle up to a heron and talk to it. No I didn’t have to many martini’s for lunch, she does this every day. A professional photographer almost knocked down a row of Japanese tourist to get a picture.

By dinner time it was beginning to rain again and my butt said it was time to rest the body anyway. The town of Hancock with a bike shop and motel would come in handy. The mud had chewed up my chain so the bike and myself could use some R&R. The bike mechanic told me that the summer was a very busy time on the canal as he cleaned my chain.

Next morning was more of the same with the rain not beating down quite as hard. Just enough to piss off a biker. Part of the canal trail had been washed out for years so I had to travel on the main road as a detour. The farms and countryside with turning leaves were worth the side trip. By noon I ended up at a little town called Little Orleans. A old time country store and bar was the only thing still standing. The store had a collections of this, that and the other thing. These pictures were of fish caught on the Potomac river. Deer antlers nailed to the wall with last years Christmas lights still lite and hanging from them. On the bar were large jars of cloudy liquid that at one time probably held eatable food. Now they just looked like some mad scientist’s chemical experiment gone south.

The bartender stood in front of me as I bellied up to the bar. “This used to be quite the place in its’ time.” said the bar keep. “The mule drivers from the canal use to run up here for a few drinks, while the lock people changed the mules.” said the bartender. “If the mules took longer than expected they sometimes had a little trouble finding there way back to the boat.” he said.

No big surprise but it started to rain again. The town of Paw Paw W.V. was just around the next bend and that would suit me just fine. I found a B&B in this small town of a gas station and 2 restaurants. No one was at the B&B so I walked to the restaurant next door. The same fella owned both of them. For $65.00 I got a bed and breakfast at the nice restaurant. In between taking food orders the waitress threw me the keys to the old house next door and told me to get settled in any bedroom, I had it all to myself so far. After a shower and a little wash off of my bike clothes and bike, I headed back to the restaurant for dinner. The waitress had plenty to tell me about this area of W.V. Paw Paw is a fruit that grows on a tree like a apple but it will make your mouth pucker up if it’s picked and eaten before it’s ripe.

Since it was still quite early and there wasn’t a lot to do in this town, I thought I might ride my bike to Winchester. The waitress advised against it, since the road was twisted and unforgiving and so were the drivers of the logging trucks.

The next morning was a clear day with the sun actually coming out now and again. Luckily for me I had a head lamp for the 3,118 foot tunnel. The tunnel had water running through it for the canal boats and also had a 5 foot wide sidewalk carved out for the mules to walk. The tunnel took so long to dig it was only in use for a few years.

On the other side of the tunnel I met a man that had driven up from DC for a weekend retreat. He was a lawyer in the boiler rooms of our capital, and he comes up quite often, just to look at the flauna and flora.

By noon I could see the outline of Cumberland MD. The point were the C&O stops and the 150 mile Allegheny Rail trail to Pittsburgh starts. There was a bike shop right along the canal trail and before I could even ask the store manager about washing off my muddy bike, he handed me a hose and brush. After a quick wash off and some words of wisdom from the bike mechanic I was ready to head up the hill.

I was climbing over the Eastern Continual Divide. My first stop would be Frostburg MD., an old train town. The heavens had opened up again with a vengeance. I put on a rain slicker jacket that I had bought years ago for New Zealand’s crazy ass weather. I was covered from my bike helmet to my buttocks. It was quite the relief when I saw a sign for Frostberg but the climb wasn’t over I still had a zig zag trail to get part way up to the town. The train station and a combination tourist trap store and motel were across the street. This time in order to get a room I had to talk to the cook that ran the store and small café. The room was small but very clean, and had plenty of room to hang my dripping clothes.

After a warm shower I walked over to the train station. A train from Cumberland Md had shown up and was stuck on the wet track. It had rained so hard the steel track was slippery. The engineer had a grand idea, lets throw sand on the track under the spinning wheels. It worked too good, when the wheels got traction, the train leaped ahead and threw a few passengers to the floor of the train car. Within a few minutes over the moaning and groaning of the bruised victims you could hear the sound of a distant ambulance. Come to find out the spinning wheel and the sand happens a few times every year, and there are always people that have to stand up to look out the window just as the train gets traction.

I had a 15 minute walk up to the town of Frostburg. The towns main street ran parallel to the trail track but it was a couple hundred feet above it. The town had the usual assortment of bars and stores, with some of their windows decorated with newspaper because of the lack of business. While eating a Chinese dinner I educated myself with the local history from a local publication. Come to find out from my reading on Fathers Day 1953, Harry S. Truman our president at the time drove his family from DC to Frostburg and spent the day here. Then in 1981 a logging truck lost its’ brakes and jack knifed in to the Stoops restaurant, killing 3. Damn I missed all the exciting stuff!

The next morning the skies were clear and all was good in the world of biking and outdoor activities. I had 8 miles to go before I made the crossing at the Eastern Divide at 2900 feet in elevation. As I approached the tunnel that cuts through the divide, I noticed a couple of other bikers. Come to find out they do this trip every year from Pittsburgh Pa to Cumberland Md. They also have a friend they bring along, a small dog, safely tucked into the woman’s bike basket. They told me the trail in Pa is the best, especially since the trees leaves are turning. They may be right about Pa, because the trail was crushed limestone as I rode through a tunnel of lovely trees along the trail. A flock of wild turkeys slowly walked across the path, probably knowing I didn’t have a gun.

Within a few minutes I came upon 2 turkey hunters. I explained that they had just missed a flock of turkeys but they were in MD.. One hunter doing his best Elmer Fudd impression said “You have to be very very quiet!” The countryside with the open fields and large barns and silos was a welcoming sight.

The weather was clear and warm. I was making good time as I biked along the Allegheny Trailway. I rode through the town of Meyersdale and only stopped for a look at the train station, right outside of town. Then by dinner time I arrived in Ohiopyle on the Youghiogheny River. This was the town to be in during the colonial times, now it’s just for river rat kayakers and tourists who eat ice cream. I found a great motel and after a quick wash, I made my presence known down town. What there is of down town! The city had a Halloween contest going on, with all types of goblins and witches running around. The house ,Falling Waters, designed my Frank Lloyd Wright is just up the road, and might be worth a visit, except that all the tours were sold out and it was miles away. I walked along the river and watched the water tear across the rocky river bottom. The park service had built a great observation platform above a 6 foot water fall. It used to be the place where a grain mill stood until the spring flood waters decided it wanted to do some remodeling.

This would be my last day of the bike trip. Plans called for me meet my sister and her hubby along the trail and we would bike to Boston Harbor. Falling leaves from the surrounding hardwood trees covered the ground as we all biked the last few miles.