Bike Paths in Ohio

Day 32 – Richmond to Columbus in Ohio – Bike Paths in Ohio

It’s a low foggy mist as we roll our bikes out of our room at the Knight’s Inn at Richmond in the pre-dawn darkness. Riding east through town along the Old National Road, we stop for calories at a c-store at the intersection with I-70, lamenting the late starts that go with cycling in September.

While traffic is heavier than we’d like, the fog lifts it’s skirts a few miles out of Richmond, and we’re treated to a rich and lustrous sunrise over the fields of western Ohio. The thick air adds a muted quality to the beauty, and the traffic shrivels in my mind as I let myself fall into the unfolding wonder along the horizon. I’m at the top of a rise, with a long, gentle downhill slope in front of me. There’s a farmstead on the right side of the road, a modern silo and grain machinery reaching up through the light mist that lays across the field. The rich reds and oranges of the morning sky pour themselves over this bucolic scene.

A sailor might take warning at this red morning sky. In the back of my mind I know it could foretell the rainy day the forecasters are predicting. In my heart and soul, this unforgettable morning sky is one more reminder of how lucky I am to be out here, in and amongst the universe as it unfolds.

Every day the sun rises, often in the sort of spectacle I’m witness to this morning. If the sunrise isn’t particularly wonderful, then perhaps it’s the sunset. If not the sunset, then maybe some other magical nugget the world is sharing. Soaked in the beauty of the morning, I realize that beauty like this only feels rare to me because my life keeps me focused on the little details in front of me every day. I get up, have my breakfast, commute to work, pour my energy into something there…

If I were out in the world every day, exposing myself to the elements along the road, feeling the chilly moist air, open to the magic of the day, then I’d probably see more of the spectacle of the universe that’s pouring out across the world in front of me each and every day. This isn’t a new revelation, but feeling the warmth and beauty unfolding in front of me as I stand off the side of the road brings stark and singular clarity of the point to me.

To the cars driving past headed east, the sunrise is a nuisance – brightness in front of them that makes them slow down. The cars driving west are oblivious to the beauty exploding behind them. I’m wrapped in a bubble beside the road, feeling like the only guy on this busy road who can really experience this. Well, there’s Dave too – waiting up the road a bit for me.

I ride up to him, expecting that he’ll be feeling a little frustrated that I’m slowing us down so much with pictures so early in the day. I expect Dave to look at the sunrise, and say something like, “Hmm, yea, it’s pretty. Let’s get going.” Not in an impatient or disrespectful way at all – Dave’s not like that. But as I’ve mentioned before, Dave is a numbers guy and a checklist guy. I expect he’ll be wanting to get moving to keep our average speed up, to be headed toward today’s checkmark a hundred and something miles down the road.

To my surprise, Dave is as wrapped up in the sunrise as I am. When I tell him the view I had back up the hill was better, he looks back up that way like he’s about to go check it out. I can see it in his eyes – he’s not just being nice and waiting on me as I smell the roses on the side of the road – he’s smelling some roses…

This is new. It’s always been Dave waiting on Neil lollygagging along the side of the road. This morning, Dave’s lollygagging. It won’t last long, but it’s a neat moment.

Within about 10 miles we’re able to drop down off the busier road onto a secondary road that’s wonderful riding. We have a tiny little tailwind this morning, which makes riding a joy in the early morning. Passing through the little town of Lewisburg, I search for a covered bridge that’s supposed to be here, and find it in a park – safely tethered to dry land all around it.

I make a quick loop around the little city park, and head back to the road to join Dave. Dave is there. Waiting. We’re back to our normal mode now – Dave waiting on Neil as I wander through the roses. As always, he’s nice about it, and makes me feel like it’s no problem at all. But I know better. The bit feels too tight to Dave, and he’s chomping at it. It’s Day One for him, and he wants to get out and stretch his legs – get some miles under us.

As we start riding again, I’m thinking about the bridge in the park. I’m wondering why it cheapens the experience for me that the bridge has been moved over to a dry park. At least they’re preserving it, right? But something about it bothers me – like it’s not really a covered bridge anymore but a replica of what a bridge once was.

I suppose everything has a “true place” in the world. Maybe things can have many “true places”, some better than others. If we move a thing from it’s true place into a museum, is it really the thing any longer? Back in eastern Colorado and western Kansas, I could clearly feel the land I was moving across as it spoke of people who had lived there for long periods in the past – people who were part of that place and the place was part of them. In Alton, I caught myself smiling at the notion of finding “my place” as I explored the nooks and attics of the old Butler’s Quarters.

I think of all the “old folks” I know and have known in my life. What is it that makes some of them seem like they’re past the crest of the hill and just coasting to the end, while some of them seem to be flying up toward the crest to the very end? Could it be the same as the bridge in the park – that they get moved out of the place or places where they’re supposed to be in life, and end up feeling like a relic in a park?

Somewhere behind me is the midpoint of my life. I’m not sure how far back there it is, but there’s no doubt there are more years behind me now than in front of me. But I hope I can find ways to stay “in my places” and continue to climb to the very end.

The Waffle House in Brookville is friendlier than most, and this says a lot. Waffle House in general is a chain that seems to make a big deal out of training employees to make customers feel welcome. My brother has a Waffle House close to where he lives in Kansas, where he goes most morning’s for breakfast. While the food is fine, I suspect he goes back there because they all smile and call out “Mornin’ Erik” to him when he walks into the door. I went there not long ago, and they even remembered me.

“Hey, it’s Erik’s brother”, one of the gals called out. Another one looked up, smiled, and said, “Mornin’ Erik’s brother”. To which I smiled back, delighted I was there, feeling like I belonged.

That’s why we like a place, isn’t it? We feel like we belong. We feel like it’s one of our places, and like we’re around our people.

The Waffle House here in Brookville is full of what I assume are Amish folk this morning. There are a couple big vans out in the parking lot, and lots of folks inside dressed like Amish. Just next door to the Waffle House is a little park, and the men from the Amish group are gathered out in the park, engrossed in conversation and investigation of the construction of a structure in the park. They’re gesturing while they talk, perhaps discussing the finer points of how this joint or that corner was constructed. They laugh and nod now and then, enjoying the company.

Here in town, they’ve found their place, and are enjoying it with their people. Inside the Waffle House, the women and children are enjoying their place, with lots of smiles and laughs.

Dave and I finish our breakfast, and go find our place in the saddle. Truly, it feels like my place – in the saddle, turning the pedals, headed down the road with Dave.

I like my place. I like my people. I’m glad to be riding with Dave again.

Instead of staying on the Old National Road through Springfield, Dave and I are angling down through Dayton, then angling up again to Columbus. We’ll ride a little over 120 miles today, most of it on bike paths as a result of angling through Dayton as we are.

Interestingly, when the National Road was laid out, there was apparently a good bit of political wrangling over the route the “pike” would take. The politicians in Dayton were out-wrangled by those slightly to the north, and the route passed just north of Dayton. As the story goes, in the early days, industrious Dayton commerce seekers played a little fast and loose with the markers along the road, creating their own version of the road that went through Dayton. For several years, most travelers apparently followed the Dayton route.

So, while Dave and I are off the official Old National Road for most of today, we could argue that really, we’re following one version of that old road.

From Brookville to Dayton, we follow a rail-trail with a decent surface. We get a bit of mist now and then – almost a light rain but not quite. The rail-trail drops us off west of Dayton, and we pick our way through streets until we finally find some additional cycling trails that run along the rivers of Dayton. In the middle of downtown, we get back up on the streets to continue to pick our way east along roads for several miles. I’m sure there are better routes than the ones I chose, but we eventually make our way to the Creekside Trail on the east side of town, which we follow to Xenia, where we pick up the Ohio-To-Erie Trail.

While Ohio has some great bicycle infrastructure, it’s darned hard to find and understand – at least on the web. Everything seems to be presented by county, or by district, or something. Many of these trails could connect to create a great statewide grid, but the cyclist will have to work hard to put it together in a way that works. What a dream it would be if an organization could maintain the sort of consolidated cycle route mapping that could be used all across the nation. Of all the states I looked at, Kansas did the best job of consolidating the information onto a single map, showing not only bike trails, but also color coding the roads and highways so you knew how much shoulder there was and how much traffic used each road. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there were a nationwide “map” that could help the cyclist plan trips, using the Kansas map as a model?

The Ohio-to-Erie trail is paved and in great shape. Our very light mist has continued off and on through the day, but it’s never become real rain. Today is just like I remember countless days living in Ohio – overcast and gray. The temperature is perfect for riding and we might have just a touch of tailwind as we clock along the smooth trail surface through a mix of deciduous forest and farmland.

Riding as we are along bike paths, we’ve had nothing but level terrain, even as we’ve passed hills around us. As I ride, I dream about how nice it would be to be able to plan a route across the country that would include mostly bike trails like this. How pleasant it is to ride all day without fear of cars and without dealing with hills.

At about 66 miles for the day, we stop for lunch in Cedarville, home of Cedarville University. We eat at a little sandwich dive downtown, and watch outside as a few raindrops fall. It’s just a little bit of rain, but it was awfully nice for it to wait until we’re eating lunch before falling.

In London, Ohio we stop to fill water bottles and take in a few calories. And we meet Bicycle Bob.

The first time we see Bicycle Bob, we’re sitting outside the c-store, munchin’ down some calories, and Bob is riding his bike south on the main road through town. He’s a scraggly lookin’ old fella, big bushy beard and wild hair. Now, when I say old, I need to qualify that. It could be that Bicycle Bob is younger than me, but his wild hair and beard, as well as the, hmm, how to say this delicately… Let’s just say Bob appears to be a high mileage, low maintenance model.

So Bob might by technically younger than me, I really can’t tell, and I realize that as I see him riding up to us from the south there at the c-store. The guy looks like he might just be a sandwich or two shy of a picnic, but as we start to chat, he appears to be as “normal” as Dave and I. (Now I realize, that’s not a particularly high bar to clear, but I’m just tryin’ to make a point here.)

We chat it up with Bob for a while, and I find myself liking the guy. Whether I learn here in our chats, or later when I will google around looking for the guy, I learn that he may have been busted a time or two for marijuana use or purchase or sale. I find it easy to believe the guy could be what we referred to back in “the day” as a pot-head.

As I type these words from my home in Colorado, where it is legal to own and use pot recreationally, it’s hard for me not to view Bob as a casualty of long-misguided cultural nonsense. There aren’t that many of us who grew up in the 60’s who didn’t try a little pot along whatever path we took through the 60’s and 70’s. We’ve all known for a long time that taking a toke now and then on a joint was certainly no more dangerous to society than downing a couple brewskies at the end of the day. In fact, most folks would argue that pot impairs our judgement and ability far less than alcohol does.

And yet, look how long it remained illegal. How many folks through those decades were convicted of pot-related crime, resulting in lives shaped by the stigma of conviction? How many jobs were they turned down for because they had that past?

Not to make excuses for every pot-head’s behavior, any more than I’d make excuses for every alcoholic’s behavior as they drink their way further and further from being a productive and positive member of society. But seeing Bob, talking to him, riding through town with him, I can’t help but wonder whether his life has been shaped by draconian poor judgement on the part of our culture.

I was going to get on roads from here to our destination for the day on the east side of Columbus, but Bob assures us that he can drop us off at a trailhead for another rail-trail that will take us most of the way on trail. He leads us through town toward the next trailhead, and I marvel that all along the way, folks wave to Bob and ask him how he is. It is a small town after all, but the degree of respect Bob has from folks in town surprises me.

At first glance, I’d judged Bob to be the town homeless guy. When he first approached us at the c-store, I expected him to be asking me for a handout. After talking to him, I came to see him as a pretty normal guy. Now, riding through town, I get the feeling he might be viewed by some of the folks in town as a wise elder or something.

We can’t avoid our need to process information quickly based on limited information. It’s what makes us such effective thinkers. We’re always going to judge books by their covers. Spending just a little time with Bob today has reminded me how much I need to always challenge and question my first impressions – especially when it comes to people.

Bob drops us at the trailhead, and we make our way a few more miles on nice rail-trail. When the trail ends on the west side of Columbus, we pick our way through the roads across the south side of town, before finally reaching our destination on the southeast side of Columbus. We’ve ridden 100 miles so far today, most of it on beautiful bicycle paths, and it’s a shame that the last miles of the day treat us to rude drivers and busy streets. I’m sure that our experience isn’t indicative of the folks in Columbus, but we endure some pretty rude behavior that makes us happy to be safe in our hotel at the end of the day. There must be a way to cross Columbus without encountering the folks in this part of town…

At a little over 120 miles, it’s been a good day for us. Aside from the days crossing Missouri on the Katy Trail, today will be the “bike trail day” of this trip – nearly half the state of Ohio, most of it on bike trails. I can’t help but dream of how great it would be if we could put together a coast to coast network of trails using rail-trails, canal trails, and well-shouldered roads. Ohio has half the job done already.