Yesterday’s rain was over, our clothes were dry and the bikes oiled. We were all set for our first real mountain day of the trip.
We left tiny Hancock, MD and its intermittant internet for what we had been told was the metropolis of Cumberland and its relative urbane charm, a mere 40 miles down the road.
We gained a lot of elevation during the first five miles only to lose much or all of it moments later. Five hundred feet up, four ninety five down. In the hiking world such maneuvers are called PUDS or “pointless ups and downs.” After numerous repetitions we were already sick of it.
Soon we topped a ridge and there before us lay the level expanse of Interstate 68 and it’s smooth surface, reasonable grades and broad shoulders. Traffic was light, and our trip might even be shortened. We biked onto the on-ramp and saw none of those pesky California signs saying “No Peds or Unmotorized Cycles.” On we went.
Our first few miles were spent climbing the first of three passes, all with over 1000 feet of elevation gain, at a comfortable, constant 6% grade. At the top we found a nice rest stop with picnic benches and grand views. We were really on to something. Down from the top we sped, at speeds exceeding 30 mph, and the road sign told us Cumberland was a mere 22 miles away..
The next few miles were more of the same as we approached the second pass. We were thinking the hotel by 4 pm – it was usually 6 pm. We were midway up the pass, Mike a half-mile in front as I had stopped for a Gatorade break. That’s when I heard the loudspeaker growl behind me.
“Oh shit” was my first thought as I turned around to face the police cruiser. I could just hear the classic, “You’re in a heap o’ trouble boy.”
“How ya doing?” came the pleasant greeting.
“I think I’ve done better,” I replied.
“Well as soon as you catch up to your friend, you’re going to have to exit the interstate,”
“Okay,” I replied unenthusiastically, our perfect plan now up in smoke.
No ticket, but four or more hours of PUDS lay ahead.
I caught upto Mike, we exited the freeway and entered a well-placed Annie’s Pantry for cookies and Klondike bars. We didn’t intend to let our disappointment go unmedicated. Afterwards we lounged in their sunny yard.
We pulled into the motel at 5:55 pm, tired but happy that at least half our day had gone perfectly, and at least the Internet connectivity would be good tonight.
To be continued.
That’s the John Dalton I know. Always following the rules, once an appropriately credentialed law enforcement officer has taken the time to point out that they apply specifically to him.