Shenandoah (or how learned to conquer mountains)

Despite losing Geoff's companionship, I decided to ride on through Shenandoah National Park, plainly illustrated with this map and elevation profile:

According to the interwebs, I climbed 11,800' over 4 days of riding.  I wouldn't give myself this shameless pat on the back if I didn't have 2 separate cyclists actually salute me while I was riding...and I'm pretty sure they outranked me.

This trip isn't about numbers, maps or boasting, though.  It is about experience that can only be gained by getting out there.  Shenandoah gave me the opportunity to do some Backwoods Camping, and do it on my own.

I tried out some open-air camping after running into a hiker on Saturday night that shared my camp site.  If he was going to camp under the stars, there was no way I was going to set up a tent.

"You're in Bear Country" is what the signs warned.  So I figured out to hang my food.  I'm not too sure that a clever raccoon wouldn't have gotten his paws in there if he had wanted to.

I do believe I outdid myself with breakfast.  (The plastic case contains some leftover pound cake... see below.)

And Skyline Drive is the birthplace of the new cycling dress style: Performance Casual.  It looks something like this...
That is what you get when it is actually 70 degrees, but the wind makes it feel like it is 40.  Come to think of it, this is probably why I was being saluted, the acknowledgement of a cycling revolution.










Realizing I had the opportunity to press on alone, unrestrained by anything but my own endurance and determination, I set off alone on Sunday morning down the drive.  My goal was to make it to within 5 miles of the end of Skyline Drive, 50 miles down the road.  I got to within 25 miles.  Good Enough.

Having gotten an early start, I now found myself with an afternoon completely open.  Cycling any further was completely out of the question, as my muscles complained at the very thought.  I sat at the closed wayside station, cursing the Skyline Drive administration for not yet opening the site so that I couldn't buy a banana and pondering the question of how to spend my free time.  Then it came to me quite clearly that I was in a national park, for God's sake.  People travel from all around (I ran into a bunch of Canadians, for example) to come hike the beautiful trails through the park.

I figured a nice quick hike would be appropriate so I set off to stash my bike in the woods somewhere that I could set up camp that night.  Unfortunately, I didn't bring a map or bother remembering any of the trail or parking lot names nearby so my quick hike, turned into a 4-hour affair.  The sun was already far too low in the sky when I read the Appalachian Trail marker that I had taken the wrong trail and now had 3.5 miles to trek to get back to my camp site.  I was in a raw mood.  I hadn't expected the hike to take this long so I did not pack any food or warm clothing, so now I walked with stomach aching and the bare skin of my arms already feeling the oncoming frost of night.  I decided to take a detour on the walk back to fill up my water bottle, only a momentary diversion.  I noticed, bitterly, a family eating their dinner as I walked to the tap and headed back to the trail.  Then from behind came a kind voice. "Are you hiking the trail?"  Though I hardly felt in the mood for a chat, I explained a bit about my trip to the elderly woman who had addressed me.

What followed is a blur, because of how delirious I had become from over-exercise and hunger.  I suddenly find myself myself seated at the table among these strangers I passed by.  Before me is a plate with a single deviled egg, chicken cutlets and olives, and a man is offering to put whipped cream on the leftover pound cake.  Now I am in a car being driven the remaining distance to my camp site.  You must have noticed that the chill was beginning to sink in.  And in my hand is a bag of leftovers.  My gratitude to you, strangers, is immense.