Crush the Commonwealth 2009 - Saturday

Sleep came easily and five solid hours later I was feeling quite revived. We stumbled around the room repacking and kitting up for the last push into Philadelphia. My jersey hung still wet after a quick washing in the shower but the stench was quelled. Combined with a fresh shammy, knee and arm warmers, and vest I was ready for the day. Outside the sky was clear and everything was still damp after the night's rain as we rolled across the highway to the nearly empty Perkins to fuel up for the day.





The pot of coffee was wisely placed in front of me and I didn't hesitate to partake. Hearty breakfasts and even milkshakes were ordered all around and we looked over maps and watched the morning news as we waited for our food. A large stack of blueberry pancakes smothered in blueberry syrup was placed in front of me as well as a side of hash browns. Vegan? No. Delicious? Yes; sometimes concessions are made and I'm comfortable with that. Stomachs filled and one final bathroom stop we were off for the short jaunt to the start of the abandoned turnpike. Just out of town, an embankment to the left marks the spot where the turnpike once passed overtop of Rt 30 and a narrow muddy path leads you to the forgotten asphalt. Miles of this crumbling surface rolled below our tires as we dodged and weaved our way picking the smoothest path.







Shortly we were staring into the black abyss of the first tunnel and lights were powered on to illuminate the various debris that lay within. Graffiti covers the walls the length of the tunnel and water trickles down and pools in the concrete cave. The question arises as to how long these post apocalyptic relics can last in their slowly deteriorating state? Though officially closed to the public, passing thru is at your own risk and good judgment should be used. The first tunnel being the shortest, we quickly pop out the other side and continue on enjoying the wonderful cruise on our own private highway.







Entering the second tunnel you can immediately feel this one has a more imposing presence. The road surface is virtually a stream and even more water runs down the walls. Light is not visible from the other end and a musty taste is in the air. Our leds try punching thru the haze but only brighten a short distance in front of us. Our pace slows as we try to judge how much further we have to go. A faint glimpse of the exit appears and the fog begins to thin only a few hundred feet before exiting. And just like that we're back out in the woods and shortly rejoining bike route s.



A series of short, punchy hills follow as we enter into farm territory leaving the mountains behind us. Quick down followed by a quick up where winding out the gears is the easiest way to reach the summit all just to do it all over again. And again.





Passing thru the small town of Burnt Cabins leads to the approach of Cowans Gap and the twenty some minute climb that follows. A short steep pitch here or there, but the majority of the climb is seated grinding as we parallel a creek part of the way. We get a feel for the days wind as gusts hit us head on but as we're currently pointed south this is of little concern. The majority of the route travels east/west so optimism is that this'll be a benefit shortly. Reaching the State Park, we pull off to fill bottles and eat yet again. Shammy lube applied, the two Justin's take off ahead of us to get a jump on the long downhill and wide open farmland that follows. We drop the winding descent and make a right on a fairly narrow and busy road. Lots of tailgating and passing around blind corners follows as the stress level rises.

Reaching a busy state highway isn't usually a relief, but when it's been recently paved with 8ft shoulders that lay on either side, it is a welcome sight. With the Justins no where in sight and unsure if they took the correct roads, Eric and I waited vainly trying to contact via cell while Max pressed on. Figuring they've got maps, and not wanting to backtrack up the mountain, we head east and immediately feel the wind pushing us along. Pacelining at first, we drop down our cassettes as we get up to speed and the wind just keeps pushing. The road levels out and I've spun out my 46x11. Coasting now, I look back to Eric and grin as our speed maintains. 30+ effortless cruising is sweet. Dips in the road pass by as momentum and wind keep the pace high. The miles click off and we're shortly in Chambersburg but not before my camera takes a spill at speed. Fearing the worst, I double back relieved to find it in one piece and still working.

Guess what comes next? Another Sheetz. Seems that the wind kept the Justins just out of eyesight though we did close the gap significantly. More food and drink as usual and back outside sitting in the sun glad that the wet weather forecast has been largely absent. Another racer is there and looking really rough. Seems that Dean missed the turnpike turnoff and climbed up and over the tunnels but not before sleeping along the side of the road. And I mean side of the road as he said cars were stopping to see if he was ok throughout the night. Also of note were the 70 Powerbars he started off with so as to not need to buy food along the way; he made it thru 20 or so before giving up on the idea.

The route takes you thru Chambersburg and has changed since previous years and now runs you for miles along a nasty stretch of strip mall, commercial district, traffic lights every 50 yards, narrow debris covered shoulder, oblivious jackoffs cutting us off hell. Shorter yes but much less pleasant. The clutter slowly dwindles along Rt 30 the closer you get to Caledonia State Park and the lovely Michaux State Forest. Bottles topped off, we start the long slog up dropping Dean along the way and making the turn onto Rt 234. Why the camera was stowed for this stretch I don't know as we passed countless orchards and fruit fields. Truly lovely countryside with quick descents the direction we were traveling.





Four pages of maps needed to be covered before we reached York where dinner would be eaten. The wind was still in our favor and hills less numerous as the miles passed. I tended to drift off the front but cut the pace knowing I'd need the company for the night section as I'm capable of falling asleep on the bike. A stop at another gas station yielded the first piece of real fruit I purchased the whole trip; a 49 cent banana. None of our normal diets consist of such highly processed corn syrup laden food but the body can be fueled by it relatively cheaply. At least we were pedaling and burning off the calories and fat as opposed to sitting behind the wheel eating the same garbage.







While sitting there, Dean slowly passes barely turning over a huge gear while laying down in the aerobars. We had previously encouraged him to take a break and sleep as his condition wasn't conducive to riding along busy roads but he brushed it off. We set off shortly afterwards and caught up with him a couple miles west of York where we stopped to gorge at Roburritos. $8 gets you a big burrito, chips, salsa, and a can on soda with the Bouncing Souls on the radio in this little punk rawk restaurant. The mass of food settled nicely in my stomach and we rolled on thru the surprisingly 'urban' York where many stoops were already covered. Couple of shouts but nothing notable except for one old timer who yelled to us, "Pedal your ass off! I'll buy you a beer."





With less than a hundred miles to go, we continue on and cross the Susquehanna River a little after 6pm. Dean alternates from dropping way back to rocketing by without saying a word just to blow up once again. This repeats over and over. My frustration grows as he's a safety liability for both us and himself. We up the pace a bit not to be complete assholes, but just to give us all a little more breathing room. We're making fairly good time and hope to get out into Lancaster farm country before nightfall to avoid the Saturday night assholes we encountered two years ago. Lancaster comes and goes as we stick together and take the lane thru downtown. Spotted a couple of homeboys in wheelchairs that are still dressed for the part which I found interesting; thug life.



Turkey Hill at the edge of town allowed for more water and food and marked the transition to Amish farm country. Remarkably, Dean passes by once and we ponder how long till we see him again. A short uphill and left later has us entering into bucolic farmland just as the sun is setting. The favorable wind is still whipping and keeps swarms of gnats at bay but has now started to kick up dust and debris instead. Eyes watering at times, we roll on into the growing darkness. Eventually lights are needed and a near full moon begins to climb up from behind the shroud of low clouds on the horizon. The roads make numerous abrupt 90 degree turns as they follow property lines and segment dairy cows and crops from one another. At a 3 way intersection, we find a lost Dean who latches on for the rest of the ride.







Soon enough we turn onto Rt 23 that we'll follow for miles and once again feel the hearty push of the wind. Tall rollers pass beneath our tires with little effort essentially flattening a rather hilly road. We pass thru Morgantown and over the turnpike before reaching our final Sheetz of the trip. The gusts are hitting even stronger now blowing our sidewalk picnic wrappers out into the parking lot. It's 10pm with 50 miles to go when we set out with the wind strong at our backs. Spun out once again and wishing for that 50t chainring sitting at home as we head due east.

Visibility becomes a serious issue as airborne debris is prevalent. At times I'm riding with my eyes shut feeling the grit within and only opening them to make sure I'm still on the road. A couple of cross gusts hit and pull at the wheels making us realize how powerful of a boost we're getting. Heading in the opposite direction would have been near impossible as the cold front passed thru. The route turns right and follows smaller roads as we quickly approach Valley Forge and our turn off onto the Schuylkill River Trail. The riverside gravel path option is taken and I lead out letting the bike drift thru the turns. The variation in terrain puts some kick in the legs and revives me as I was beginning to drift off out on the road. After covering so many miles, you get a confidence to let things hang out as counter-reactions become intuitive and you find that zen like flow where even at speed, in the dark, along an unknown trail, you feel at ease.

We startled numerous deer along the normally quiet path and soon rejoined Eric who took the quicker but 'official' road route. One last bottle refilling, jersey pocket food fueling, extra layer donning break, we were off to wrap this thing up. Physically feeling fine, my mind really started to wander and drift. Even after a couple of good scares I couldn't keep my eyes open. My conscious state waning, the miles did pass and reaching the cobles at the start of the Manayunk Tow Path was a relief. After a short section of the jarring pave, we returned to gravel and dirt briefly before entering the main strip in Manayunk. The time was 1:45am and the streets were full with drunks and cops dealing with drunks. Cabs lined the curbs and we weaved thru traffic unscathed reaching the sidewalk/bike path we would follow to the Art Museum.



Spirits high with that now ever present tailwind kept the pace steady as we rolled en mass down the Ben Franklin Parkway. A trip around city hall marked the start of the 8 block sprint to the Liberty Bell at 6th and Market. I believe all of us had the legs to give it a shot and after 2 blocks the traffic lights were timed in our favor. Winding out the gear, I temporally sat down to reach my downtube shifter and clicked off two more hoping they would be enough. Back standing, sprinting, passing traffic, jumping green lights, I reached the Liberty Bell first out of our pack. A personal victory after loosing out to Max 2 years ago after the fixed gear legs died on me with a mere block to go.



And just like that the race was unceremoniously over. The others rolled in right behind me with an official ending time of 2:20am and 45 hours total. Security guards eyeballed us as we sat down to gain composure after such a silly display of sprinting with 400 mile old legs. Within 10 minutes Max, Justin, and I were riding towards bed while Eric and the other Justin waited for Eric's wife to pick them up. Manayunk was now dead and the steep hills leading to Max's delivered one last kick to the balls before reaching our beds for the night.