Paul’s and my account of our bike trip on the C & O Towpath appeared in my last post, “Vacation/Adventure.” There was, however, a third party on that trip – Cilantro, our original tandem bicycle, came out of retirement and made a triumphant return. Here is her story.
It’s an old, familiar tale. I was Paul and Jill’s first tandem bike and I gave them the best years of my life. I never made snide comments while they figured out how to get on and off a tandem bicycle gracefully. I held steady while they learned to negotiate hills and curves safely. I took them to Oxford on Saturday mornings for donuts and coffee cake, to Indiana with 5,000 other Hilly Hundred riders, and to Holmes County, sharing the gravel roads with Amish buggies. No
matter where they went, my wide, mountain bike tires and sturdy steel frame provided a soft, cushy ride. I didn’t even complain when Paul and their son John took me on those insane mountain bike trails, bouncing over logs, down dry creek beds and around trees. I’m not going to comment on the mentality that finds fun in that sort of craziness. Not only did I take Paul and Jill on biking adventures – I also went on some
adventures without them. I had my first ride on the C & O Towpath with their friends Maria and Chris – the three of us did the entire 185 miles from Cumberland, Maryland to Washington, D.C., including the infamous, 3,000 foot long Paw Paw tunnel through the Alleghenies (not my favorite part.) I also earned the nickname “The Love Boat” when their friends Matt and Amber took me on a biking honeymoon. Take it from me – that marriage between a fanatic mountain bike racer and a petite, non-biker would never have made it past the honeymoon without a tandem bike.I carved out a good, solid place for myself through hard work, dependability and congeniality. I kept myself
fit as well – no rust on my classy, ice blue frame and only a few nicks and dings as souvenirs of a life well-lived. Then one day without any warning, Paul brought home this shiny, bottle green, skinny-tire tandem named Big Al. (Just like a guy – always has to be Big something or other.) Next thing I knew, we were sharing the same garage space. Before long, Big Al was in the front row and I was permanently assigned to the back.Somehow, whenever Paul and Jill took off on a ride, I got left behind.
They thought Big Al’s skinny tires and lightweight aluminum frame made it easier for them to keep up with their friends. I thought they needed some new friends – I mean, whatever happened to “Slow but steady wins the race?” For awhile they took both of us on trips to Door County; but somehow Big Al always got called up on the sunny days to cruise the wide, open roads. My turn came on the misty days, the sandy trails and the bumpy rides. Now, I’m not complaining; but, if Big Al is such a hotshot,
how come he doesn’t tackle puddles or gravel. My best day was when Big Al had a gear shifting problem and had to cool his pedals at the bike shop. I thumbed my handlebars at him as Paul, Jill and I rode off.For the last few years, I’ve pretty much been retired. I have nice quarters in Paul and Jill’s unfinished
basement which is dry and clean, but it’s a little boring. Backpacks and rain jackets aren’t the most stimulating conversationalists. So you can imagine how excited I was when they started talking about a return trip to the C & O Towpath. Who has the heavy frame and sturdy tires to tackle the towpath’s rocks, mud, gravel, grass and tree roots? Who has the strength and the stability to pull a Bob Trailer full of gear? Certainly not Big Al, that twit.It was a glorious week. I took Paul, Jill and their Bob Trailer past
beautiful scenery, and up and down big hills without breaking a sweat. I negotiated narrow entry gates, high bridges and sand without losing my balance. I took it well when every square inch of me was caked with mud and all I got was a sponge bath out of an iron pump. I kept my cool even when sticks scattered across the towpath caused my chain to come off five times in a one-mile stretch. And, I made it over all sorts of surfaces without a flat tire.
I stayed in some great places along the way. I spent the night in a cozy barn at Georges Mill Farm. The lock house basements were very comfortable and, in one, my bedroom was definitely cooler than Paul and Jill’s. At the Jacob Rohrbach Inn, I stayed in a garage full of rental bikes – cute but empty headed and pretty ignorant. Since they rarely venture more than 10 miles from the inn, they kept me up most of the night with questions about where I’ve been and what I’ve seen. Best of all, I found I can still turn heads, even with close to 20 years on me. When Paul and Jill had a
breakfast of BLT’s in the Desert Rose Café, the owner of the local bike shop stopped in to ask, “Is that your cool bike out there?” Little kids pointed at me and waved all the time. Couples struggling to keep up with each other on single bikes admired me, and one boy in Sharpsburg called out hopefully, “I’d like to have that bike.”
Now I’m back at home, totally cleaned up, resting in the basement and enjoying my memories. I have the satisfaction of knowing that, even though Big Al is younger and faster, I’ve been places where he’ll never go, even if he lives to be twice my age. I also know that, across the country, many former railroad beds have been turned into packed gravel bike trails; and Paul and Jill are already talking about some future trips. The C & O Towpath was definitely not my last hurrah.
