I awoke in the night with a funny feeling, and could hear a strange rushing sound. At first I thought it was the wind, but then I realized it was a front moving quickly and brining some hard rain along with it. So much for the zero-percent chance of rain in my usually-reliable DarkSky weather app!

I jumped out of the tent to cover my leather Brooks saddle, and fiddled for a moment with the rain fly, zipping myself into my nylon fortress just as the rains hit. I listened to the pleasant sound of rain hitting the tent for a few moments and then was back to sleep.

Day five was my first of two shorter days. I could have ridden straight into DC from my camp location as I was only about 80 miles out of DC, but Amtrak had reduced their long-haul train schedule to three days per week, so it was Tuesday or nothing. An extra day on the trail wasn’t much of a hardship, and also allowed me to spend some time in Harper’s Ferry, which I’d last visited just over 20 years prior on a previous adventure we’ll get to in due course.

The morning was foggy and cool, and being in no particular rush I enjoyed my coffee while watching the fog roll off the Chesapeake River, and allowing the sun some extra time to bake off the residual moisture in the air and on my gear. The trail was in great shape in this section, having a GAP-like quality, and I enjoyed my ride while feeling that nagging sensation that the adventure was coming to a close. 

In addition to the locks and lock houses, I’d also pass the occasional industrial-era remnant, although in this case many were older than the railroad-era articles on the GAP. It continued to amaze me that humans could build a 185-mile canal in the 1800’s, and then ply that route for more than 100 years with little more technology than grit, man, and mule-power.

I eventually arrived at the bridge to Harper’s Ferry, which required a climb up a set of stairs. Apparently this was a “pro-mask” town, as people outdoors all had their masks on, a different vibe than most of the previous towns. It took one trip for my bags, and one trip for my bicycle, but I got everything up the stairs just as a train rumbled across the bridge.

I instantly remembered the remnants of several other bridges that crossed the river from my last trip here, as I walked across this same bridge on the start of a planned hike on the northern half of the Appalachian Trail, my “big adventure” after having finished college.

Those bridge supports had bid me adieu as a younger man, in a very different place in life. I was grossly overweight at the time, pushing over 260 lbs. In fact, I remember avoiding weighing myself in the weeks leading up to my hike for fear of what the scale would relay. Somewhere in the trip to Harper’s Ferry, my pack had broke, so I arrived at the train station in town with an unloaded pack, and a beat up cardboard box with all my belongings. I must have been quite a sight, as someone I passed stopped to chat and mentioned something to the effect that the trail was a bit “challenging” for someone in my state, a warning he must have thought appropriate as I likely looked like I wasn’t up to much of a challenge beyond killing a pizza and a six pack.

I was also in a confused place in life, having wrapped up a lifetime of school, and not knowing what was ahead as I entered the working world.

During my hike, in addition to the bad blistering that accompanies asking tender feet that probably did less than 2000 steps per day on average to undertake a loaded hike, I also ended up experiencing increasing pain in my foot. On finally visiting a doctor, they found I’d broken a bone in my foot and recommended abandoning my hike after a couple hundred miles.

I took a rather depressing train ride home, and confirmed the diagnosis with a hometown doctor, who was very kind, but in so many words told me that I was too heavy and unfit to expect my body to go from zero to hiking hero, and this was the price I paid for the attempt.

There’s ultimately a happy ending to this story. After licking my wounds I was able to start my job a few months early. Through a variety of strange circumstances this led me to several lifelong friendships, (one of whom I was meeting in DC), and though an even more convoluted series of twists and turns, allowed me to meet my future wife.

Where a confused and soon-to-be-broken young man once stood was now occupied by a much healthier person, mentally and physically: approximately 60lbs lighter, finisher of a couple dozen half-marathons and various triathlons, and a father to three wonderful children.

In what was becoming a bit of a routine, I had lunch outside on a fantastic roof deck, got my daily brew, and ran into some cyclists who were fresh out of DC and heading north to Pittsburgh. I contemplated where I was and where I’d been, and the feeling of excitement that I was near my goal, and a tinge of lament that an adventure was coming to an end.

I bid my goodbyes to Harper’s Ferry, and carried my bike and gear down the stairs and back to the trail, which I’d trod during my hiking trip as the C&O and AT shared the same trail for a few miles before the white blazes of the AT split off and headed for Maine.

Conditions continued to be good on the trail, although many of the pump handles at the next set of campgrounds were missing. I’d heard rumors of this, and stopped to double-check the NPS website and make sure my planned stop for the evening, Chisel Branch, was water-enabled.

I arrived a couple hours before sunset, joining another person at camp who was walking the C&O from Cumberland. The campsite was large, and had a couple nice areas near the river. However those areas had large trees above them, and I’d heard (and seen) big branches falling off while at other campsites and while riding. I remembered the scouts admonishing campers to beware “widow makers,” branches that fall on tents while occupants are sleeping, triggering their untimely demise. Being close to the end of my journey, avoiding death seemed like a reasonable objective, so I cooked and ate in the nice little clearing by the river, while setting up my tent in the large and tree-free field.

I enjoyed my final round of “potato mush,” and chatted with my family due to the delights of full phone reception versus the tenuous single bar, or complete lack of service I had at most other campsites along the C&O. I also took full advantage of the chance to rig a clothesline and dry my gear, and caught just enough sun to fully dry my tent and mostly dry my clothing before breaking down as much of my gear as possible in preparation for an early morning start.