Prior to riding along the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Towpath (C&O), which parallels the Potomac River, I stopped at a grocery store in Cumberland to gather food for the day. Today's ride was one where I didn't plan on stopping at a convenience store or gas station unless I absolutely needed to. As I pedaled away from the grocery store and toward the C&O, I heard a rhythmic clap from my front tire, saw that something was stuck to it, and slowed down to figure out what was stuck to the tire: an earring had pierced the tire and the tube! Of all things to puncture a tube, I've never before had this happen due to an earring. No matter, as this was a quick fix with putting on a new tube. A little more than 10 minutes later, I was on my way. Yesterday, on different occasions, two cyclists said, "rocks, roots, and ruts" regarding the C&O when I mentioned that my ride would continue on the C&O after the GAP. Firsthand experience was soon had after leaving Cumberland. Initially, the path was similar to the crushed limestone surface along the GAP. Here and there, I had to steer around puddles, but it eventually became pointless to do this. A steady sometimes heavy rain began to fall about one hour after leaving Cumberland. At this point, the trail had become a real mess. The area had been inundated with rain for the past several days, and the trail had not dried up yet. This additional rain made the already poor trail conditions worse. More often than not, I was riding through puddles, mud, and across loose gravel. It wasn't long until most of my bike and trailer were caked in mud. All of this considerably slowed my progress over the course of the next six hours. Despite this, I still enjoyed taking in the area along the way. The forest was very dense, almost rainforest-like with a canopy that more often than not covered the trail. There were very few cyclists along the towpath. I passed by maybe one or two an hour. Aside from the cruddy weather it was a weekday, too, so both were likely explanations for having the towpath mostly to myself. Periodically, I passed by old locks and lock houses along the towpath. The conditions of both varied greatly as some were well preserved, and others were much more deteriorated. This combination, I felt, provided a good balance of what the C&O had been like during its heyday while also capturing the passage of time. One of the highlights of today was the Paw Paw Tunnel. This was a real marvel, for black powder was the only explosive used in its construction. As I learned, black powder is not an efficient explosive in excavating. All told, a mile long cut into the rock, including the nearly 3200' long Paw Paw Tunnel, took much longer than the two years projected for completion. Construction began in 1836 and finally concluded in 1850. Much like the Big Savage Tunnel from the day before, a cool breeze also sifted out from the tunnel entrance. Unlike the Big Savage Tunnel, the Paw Paw Tunnel has no lighting and had the canal running through it. Once far enough inside, it is nearly pitch black dark, because the tunnel's slight bend prevents the opposite end from being visible for a short time. Even when the opposite end is visible, it is merely a speck of light that seems almost unreachable. Once out of the tunnel, it was back to riding through puddles, mud, muck, rocks, and the mess that was the C&O towpath. Give or take two hours after the Paw Paw Tunnel, I was riding through a puddle that appeared to be no different than the several hundred that I had already ridden through. Based on experience from earlier in the day, riding through puddles was safer than riding through mud, because the tires on the bike had a tendency to cut into the mud which threw off the balance on the bike. Little did I know that in this puddle, the murky water obscured a big rock beneath its surface. When riding through the puddle, I struck this rock, lost my balance, and went down on my left side. Aside from a scraped up knee, I was no worse for wear and kept on riding. Shortly after this fall, I rode past what appeared to be a ramp for cyclists to exit the C&O. The tape that had tapped off the construction had been trampled over, and I decided to ride on rather than cross the construction tape. About two miles down the path, a sign indicated that a footpath led to the Western Maryland Rail Trail (WMRT). I investigated the trail before riding up to it, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a wide, paved path for riding on. Deciding to ride on this over the C&O was a no brainer. Shortly after switching over to riding on the WMRT, I waved down two cyclists, because I wanted to ensure that this path led to Hancock. Wendy and Dan shared that the path did, we chatted for a bit, and I rode on. About six miles later, I noticed a group of cyclists riding down the trail toward me. They were riding in a cluster, which was a little unnerving as I approached them, so I slowed down a bit. Just after passing the front of this group, one of the passing cyclists weaved out from the group. His head was down and it's my opinion that he didn't see me, as we were only seconds away from a head on collision. I quickly reacted and steered to my right to avoid riding head on into one another. The left sides of our handlebars clipped where my left hand took the brunt of the collision. I then grazed the fence that lined the edge of the trail, and went down on my left side again. Almost immediately after hitting the ground, I was back up on my feet pacing up and down the trail. My left hand was aching, and it took me about a minute to realize that my middle finger on my left hand was not properly aligned. Given that my left hand was not in terrible, agonizing pain I thought that my finger was dislocated. The cyclist that struck me, who was unharmed, was a Boy Scout that was on a trip with fellow troop members. Two of their leaders were physicians, and they both informally assessed my finger. Both thought that it could be dislocated, but also wondered if it could be fractured. One of the physicians volunteered to drive me to the nearest emergency room. I took him up on this friendly offer, and I met him adjacent to the trail at the bikeshop in Hancock. The nearest hospital was a 10 minute drive to Berkeley Springs in West Virginia. This counts as visiting a state, right? Once there, it was a short wait to be seen in the emergency room. X-rays revealed that my finger was not dislocated; rather, it was broken very badly. Aside from the main fracture that ran horizontally across this finger, there were a number of hairline fractures that ran toward the knucle. The ER physician shared that I would have to have surgery for this injury to heal properly. Fortunately, the soonest that could happen was in a week, because the swelling would have to go down prior to surgery being feasible. I only had four more days of riding until the trip was complete, so this pre-surgery timeline favored me. After the ER visit, the scout leader drove me back to the bikeshop. During the ride back, I reflected on the collision and felt thankful for the ride to the ER. The possibility of even having transportation to the ER in the first place was a blessing. Once back at the bikeshop, I had to hurry back to riding as it was shortly after 7pm, and daylight was already starting to fade. Riding when it's dark is doable, but it's absolutely not my preference. The next 13 miles was along the remaining portion of the WMRT, while the final segment of the ride was along two state highways. It was a choice of riding on these two highways or going back to the C&O Towpath. Going back to the towpath would have taken more time, it would have been a messier ride, and the jarring ride was an element that I didn't need to experience with a broken finger. This was by far the harshest day of the entire trip. Between the small setbacks, the cruddy conditions along the towpath, the rain, and the collision I was ready for today to be over. Fortunately, after a day like this, tomorrow's ride to Gettysburg was the shortest distance I had planned to ride for the entire trip.
