Day 5 : McKenny, VA to Kennett Square, PA
261 miles
I wake up just an hour after falling asleep. My groundpad is flat. I’m not sure how I managed to pop it, but it probably has something to do with my poor campsite selection. I’m hunkered down underneath a thicket of brambles, just feet from the road. The lights of a nearby convenience store faintly glimmer off my polished bike frame. I often camp within a stone’s throw of convenience stores in small towns because I need to eat large dinners, but I’m unable to transport them far. I usually take dinner to go in a plastic bag that I carry with one hand, limping along the road until I find a semi-suitable campsite. Last night my food bag contained a block of cheese, fruit cups, nutter butters, turkey cold cuts, peanut butter crackers, ½ gallon of chocolate milk, and a 2L root beer.
I fell asleep a bit after 10:00, but when my alarm starts singing five hours later at 3:00 am, I’ve managed to get less than four hours of actual sleep. There are many aches and pains that cause me discomfort, but my knees are the worst. Since I didn’t properly train for this trip–putting in only 2 ½ months of sporadic training since returning from my broken collarbone–my body simply is not ready for the torture I am subjecting it to. My knees are swollen and excruciatingly painful to extend. Multiple times I am woken up by pain shooting out from underneath my patella. I have to sleep on my stomach to quell the pain, but since my groundpad is flat, sleeping on my stomach is quite uncomfortable. I generally sleep on my back when I am camping. I try to blink away the sleepiness from my eyes, but I find myself thoroughly entrenched in sleep deprivation now. My vision is muddled and blurred as I log the first miles of the day.
The headwind is gone, replaced by a tailwind that grows to a stout 10-15mph by the afternoon. The morning breaks over me as I approach Richmond, and the young 5mph tailwind feels magnificent. I push harder than I have all trip, riding the high of rush hour traffic and tailwind. The sun appears between gaps in Richmond’s skyline as I cross the Roanoke River. A mural along the road pays tribute to the 2015 World Championship race, which was held here in Richmond. I was in Richmond for that race. 11-year-old me shouted and screamed from a tree as I watched my favorite rider, Peter Sagan, ride to his first of three consecutive UCI World Champion titles.
Richmond marks the true start of the infamous corridor of development known as the Bost-Wash Corridor. Make no mistake, the development of DC Spills into Virginia from Arlington to Fredericksburg to Richmond. My Achilles is raging now. The pain is immense no matter how I position my foot. Worry begins to creep into my mind. The only positive development is the sudden proliferation of Wawa gas stations, which provide me hot sandwiches and endless options at the soda fountain.
I weave through a maze of streets and bike paths to get into DC. There’s no direct route through for bikes. The most efficient route takes me straight across the Washington Monument and a block from the White House. I don’t stop to take in the sights. The National Guard don’t present a very welcoming picture. The Washington Monument and much of DC was built with slave labour. This isn’t the America I want any part of.
I don’t like making a habit of committing minor traffic infractions since it gives cyclists a bad name and I’ve gotten tickets for running stop signs and red lights before, but the traffic laws seem like suggestions in these big cities. I watch cyclists, pedestrians, and cars run red lights like they are orange, and I quickly learn to follow suit.
Baltimore isn’t a great place to ride a bike under the best of conditions. During a deluge at rush hour isn’t the best of conditions. I’m almost hit twice as I make my way through the city amid some of the heaviest rain I’ve seen in the Mid-Atlantic. Highway 1 is a hellish road north of Baltimore. Chopped pavement, busy streets, poorly designed interchanges, too many stoplights, and neglected infrastructure line the road, which beelines straight out of the city. It’s my second time riding this road and it’s even worse than I remembered. The double rainbow shimmering across the sky does little to improve the unsightliness of North Baltimore.
Finally, the development slacks a bit, but with it goes my bikelane. The road is one of the most dangerous I’ve ever ridden, and the sun is setting. I press on into Pennsylvania, where the road turns into a freeway. I can’t tell if bikes are allowed or not, but I quickly decipher that it’s not a welcoming place for cyclists who value their lives. I exit the freeway and labor on much less direct country roads. It’s quite hilly here. I rack up multiple 200-300 ft climbs in succession.
I reach Kennett Square, PA, but just barely. My headlight is flashing red, and a storm is bearing down on me from the west. My battery pack is dead. I have no option but to find a hotel, and am unfortunately confronted with only two options, both of which are about twice as expensive as I would like to pay. I hate coughing up so much dough for a room that I will only sleep in for 4-5 hours. I write today off. Not an enjoyable ride. I get a cheesecake from the grocery store; my consolation prize.
