I’d set an alarm for 6:20 before going to bed, and packed up everything that I wasn’t going to immediately need in the morning in an attempt to break camp in record time. The reason for my haste was that I had a 6:30pm train, and a plan to meet a good friend who I hadn’t seen in a couple years. Each moment I could accelerate my packing meant more time to hang out with my buddy.

I woke up in the dark, and in a fortuitous bit of timing, took care of my morning “business” a mere 5 minutes before the “poop truck” rolled in to clean the port-a-john, the only motorized vehicle I’d seen on the trail during my trip. I skipped my coffee routine, and was packed up and on the trail in record time just as the sun was beginning to burn off the morning fog.

I rode in the cool and quiet fog, gradually encountering more and more people as I neared civilization.

Outside dog man on my first day, I’d had nothing but universally positive interactions with my fellow humans to this point on my adventure, and had made it a “policy” of my trip to say “hello” to everyone I passed and offer a smile and a bell ring if I could get my finger to the dinger in time. I approached a man and three small boys walking towards me, the man carrying what appeared to be an axe and the three boys with what looked like pieces of bark or kindling.

Assuming another forgettable interaction, I gave my ding and hearty “hello,” and rather than stepping to the side, the boys arranged themselves across the trail in a semi circle. I assumed they were interested in the bike and slowed down a bit, when the oldest, appearing to be around 7, said “I’ve seen you before… can I push you into the lake?”

I assumed this was some kind of joke, but he said it in a rather strange manner. I responded “I’d prefer that you did not, and I hope you have a great day!” as I swerved between the boys and accelerated as he hopped a couple steps after me and shouted “NEXT TIME I’M GONNA PUSH YOU INTO THE LAKE! I AM A HEBREW! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”

I indeed have no idea what he meant, or what the deal with that crew was, but I didn’t stay long to find out, or debate their thoughts on the people of Israel. I don’t claim to be an authority on any religion, but unless I slept through part of my religion classes during catholic school I don’t recall any old testament passages that covered pushing cyclists into lakes.

With my strange trail compatriots behind me, I cycled through Great Falls, gawking at the aptly named and sufficiently great falls.

I also passed another canal barge that was closed to visitors, so I was unsure if it was a replica like the barge I’d passed what seemed like months ago in Cumberland, or it had actually plied the canal at some point before it shut down in the 1920’s.

Interestingly, as I approached DC the conditions of the trail seemed to deteriorate, as did the condition of the canal locks. I imagined that this was intentional, to try and keep the “secret” of the 330 miles of wonder that lay in their backyard out of the purview of the average DC resident.

The miles ticked by quickly. I’d started the day only 30 miles outside DC, but mileage has a funny way of slipping by sometimes, while at other times what seemed like an endless effort results in barely a mile travelled. Before I knew it, I was into single digits, and found myself at the 9 mile marker.

The final miles of the trail are interesting. I could hear automotive traffic as the trail ran next to a major road, yet the trees shielded the cars from view, save for an occasional glimpse. There was more pedestrian and bicycle traffic, but the trail still seemed to be fairly remote, to the point that I was wondering if the trail ended before hitting Georgetown proper, which occurred just as the spires of the city came into view.

There trail meanders into Georgetown, passing some of the famous row houses which open right onto the canal. With mere tenths of a mile left, I thought I was blocked from reaching the official start/end of the trail by construction, but ultimately found my way around and found the sign denoting then end of the line.

I grabbed a selfie and noticed two young ladies roaming around with loaded bikes. They looked too clean to be finishing their ride, so I assumed perhaps they were commuters, but when they grew excited to find the C&O sign I struck up a conversation and discovered they were heading north to Pittsburgh. I shared my excitement of finishing an incredibly journey, and shared that I was just a little bit jealous they were embarking on their own adventure.

After taking their picture and reflecting for a moment, I got in touch with my friend who generously shared his shower before we went out for some food and drink. As generally happens when I spend time with this gentleman, I lost all track of time, and in what seemed like a flash glanced at my watch to see it was 5:05PM and I had a 6:30PM train to catch.

We paid our tab, hustled back to his apartment, and I quickly threw my bags on my bike and made record time on the 3’ish miles to Union Station. My planned leisurely ride through our nation’s capital, stopping for photos along the way turned into a sprint between traffic lights, with only an occasional glace at a monument while interpreting directions from my GPS and avoiding cars.

I arrived about 15 minutes before my train, and there was some minor confusion on what to do with my bike, but all the Amtrak personnel were wonderfully friendly and helpful, and ultimately the conductor hoisted my steed onto the baggage car, I found my seat, and binge watched some garbage TV on my iPad for the multi-hour trip homeward.

My wife had kindly positioned my car at the train station, with my bike rack hidden in the trunk. The train arrived about 30 minutes early, and my bike survived the entire journey unscathed save for a broken water bottle cage, and some scuffed grip tape where someone had knocked my bike over in Cumberland.

I couldn’t have asked for a better adventure, and it was salve for my soul during this time of COVID, political antics, and other general strangeness. There’s something healing about the certaintly of a bicycle adventure, where everything is within your control as long as you can keep the pedals turning. There are certainly challenges along the way, but they’re generally within one’s own ability to solve, versus living in a perpetual state of stasis until an unknown entity resolves unseen complexities in the hopes the world returns to some sense of normalcy.

I’ve captured some post-trip thoughts, but I’m definitely taking my family on some combination of the GAP and/or C&O, and wouldn’t change a thing (except perhaps brining some warmer clothing) on this adventure. If you’ve come this far, if nothing else, I hope you’ll consider your own adventure, whether around the block, or around the world.