jrtorrisi

[jrtorrisi]

Ryder: Night Three

Blades of grass fell under the soles of Ryder’s calloused feet. Thin streaks of blood ran up his calves; wounds inflicted by a gang of thistles and thorns choking the trail. Three days of running behind him, Ryder could feel his stomach turning on itself, desperate for fuel. Fleeting feelings and emotions tempted Ryder’s thoughts, like shards of a jigsaw puzzle strewn across the kitchen floor. The stars winced, and judging by the position of the moon, no one would pass for hours.

As the sun awoke, Ryder’s eyelids lifted. He had no recollection of falling asleep, but managed to collect a few hours of shuteye. Having crossed nearly 110 miles of the Appalachian Trail, slipping south through New Jersey along the Delaware River, he had not spoken to any friend or family member since before the incident. No newspaper, social media, text or phone call.

Destination unknown, Ryder set out from the elevated stone platform where he’d found rest. After a few tense strides, the tendons in his knees and ankles loosened, and the familiar crunch of leaves, gravel, and dirt mixing beneath his toes returned. Rays of sun twisted through the treetops to warm his exposed skin, and his lips curled slightly.

[jrtorrisi]

28 Miles In…

Exhilaration. Even now, weeks later. I distinctly recall the elated tone of our voices overlapping as our toes touched gravel. Just a few moments after 5am, guided by stars and thirteen dollar amazon headlamps, the 4 of us embarked on our long awaited journey. Green Ridge State Forest covers over 46 thousand acres of western Maryland; a landscape comprised of valleys, steep mountains, and vast stretches of wooded wilderness.

145 miles over 2 days was the goal, resulting in an extra 10 to 15 pounds of camping gear, food, and water strapped to our bicycles. Preparation began weeks back, and I had read the importance of testing out a geared up bike before fully sending an overnight adventure. After a derailleur alignment and a fresh coat of chain grease, the flat barred hybrid bike I had come to love was shifting like a dream. The brisk breeze you find on an early autumn morning cut against my dry tired eyes, yet all I felt was vigor as we knocked out 8 paved miles on the Western Maryland Rail Trail. Morale was simply through the roof.

40 minutes into the planned 2 day long journey we approached an intersection. The finely paved and maintained Rail Trail continued straight, while our course veered right leading to 135 miles of dirt and gravel, along with 18,000 feet of elevation. My gut sent a formal warning to my head, reminding it that my bike was rated for road and gravel; not grassy dirt mountain trails. I had known this ahead of time of course, but I’ve grown use to suppressing logic when it impairs plans for type 2 fun. As far as the 18,000 feet of elevation, not a single one of us could conceptualize what that looked like from behind the handlebars of a 3x7 speed bike.

As we made our way down the off-road dirt trail, my shins began to notice thick grass and weeds growing tall and choking at my cranks as we rode. Soon enough we were no longer cruising on dirt, but grinding through knee high thorns and thistles. Speculations were tossed about on whether the trail would clear, but we pedaled on with positive outlooks nonetheless. We’d all become accustom to turning off the mind while pushing the body forward, and this would be the sort of “Type 2 Fun” that required just that.

We notched 3 or 4 more strenuous miles off the to do list and decided we needed a break to refuel on Uncrustables and water. We had made it to a clearing where the grass was a reasonable height, and we all could use some calories. Eating intermittently on trek rides is a necessity, but the key is to keep these pauses between 5-10 minutes. Any longer and the body begins to settle into rest mode, adrenaline wears off, and when it’s time to move again you may as well be starting cold.

As we gathered our trash and took one final sip of water before mounting our bikes, one friend turned to the rest of us with a slightly sadistic smirk to remind the group that we had 18,000 feet of elevation to climb. Our road so far, though rough, had been mostly flat with just under 1000 feet gradually ascended. I felt my thighs wince at the idea of 17,000 more feet. Within minutes of moving again we laid eyes on the first climb.

I must not have made it 20 pedal rotations in the lowest gear available before the bike beneath me physically stopped in its tracks and began to keel over. Momentum was lost and my thighs could no longer will the aluminum frame any further. Cutting through knee high grass and thorns on flat ground was already pushing the bike’s limits, adding in 20% elevation was simply too much. 2 members of the group had specific gears, known as ‘Dinner Plate’ gears, designed and sized for intense climbs. Myself and the 3rd rider weren’t so lucky; in fact it was her 1st day on that specific bike, and if you’ve ever ridden a bike you know there is an adjustment phase when it comes to the gears, saddle, and bar angles.

The 2 of us were forced to begin walking, pushing rather, weighted down bikes through wiry weeds and stickers up a mountain in the wilderness with no end in sight. The other 2 riders weren’t far ahead before they joined in on the sled pushing fun, as even the dinner plate gears couldn’t handle this terrain. After all we had expected much milder trail conditions based on the description, and could only hope it improved ahead. As a group we managed to keep high spirits and share some laughs, but the trail was swiftly evolving into a challenge that none of us expected.

Due to the intense slope and our bikes rendered useless, now acting only as dead weight, the 4 of us were forced to stop every 10-12 minutes to breathe and refuel on water and trail mix. The day was flying past us as sweat streams stung my eyeballs and perspiration flooded my pores. Though in vain, I attempted to ignore the intrusive thought that we may be looking at 135 more miles of this type of terrain. Silently we all agreed, this was not sustainable for much longer. (Well maybe all except one of us, as the organizer of this trip is known to be slightly off his rocker).

As we rounded the next turn, disappointment trickled in as the climb only continued for as far as we could see. At each turn we were begging for the mountain to table off, and reach a point where we could mount our bikes and ride. Just over 4 miles into the ascent we finally reached an oasis; Flat ground along the mountains ridge allowing for vibrant views overlooking miles of forest and farmland. We took advantage of the photo opportunity and hopped back on the bikes, finally able to ride again. Continuing to navigate through brush, brier, and tree roots, the ride was not exactly smooth, but it was flat for now, and compared to what we had just completed, we were absolutely thrilled.

After a mile or so on the flat ridge, the grass grew shorter and we began to descend onto a loose gravel trail. The next 3-4 miles were a downhill descent that I confidently say I’ll never forget. We had managed to push our bikes over 2000 feet uphill, and now received the reward. My average speed for the descent was 28.7 mph and the only word to describe how I felt flying through the fall foliage was ‘infinite’, (Borrowing a page from one of my favorite books as a teen “The Perks of Being A Wallflower”). The ever changing autumn leaves surrounded us as we made our way down the narrow cut path and the speed driven adrenaline provided a thrilling natural high. After the descent leveled off we found ourselves cycling a flat grassy path over the next couple of miles. The sun’s rays cloaked us in a warm blanket against the subtle breeze as we approached our next obstacle; a major unbridged river crossing.

I fully recalled those 4 words ‘Major Unbridged River Crossing’ from the trail’s short description, but had chosen to ignore them for the time being. There was no ignoring it now. We engaged our breaks in unison and slid to a stop. Just about a footballs field length away we could see the continuation of our trail. Standing between us and our desired landing was the running water of the Sideling Hill Creek. After hours of physical exercise the cold water was actually an appreciated blessing. I washed my face and hands as we waded in the water for a few moments rest before beginning the trek across. The water didn’t reach higher than middle thigh height, though the ground underneath was rocky and unsteady. The real challenge we faced was carrying our packed bikes. The approach I chose was holding the bike at shoulder height with my right hand tucked under the frame top tube, almost as a shot putter would stand, and using my left set of fingers to keep the handle bars straight. Everyone had their own methods. I nearly slipped and lost it all more than a few times, but we successfully made it across, leaving Sideling Hill Creek behind us and defeated.

By now it was time to get realistic with ourselves. We were about 7 hours into the day and had traversed only 18 miles. For context, the prior weekend a few of us had gone out for a ride on the C&O Canal and rode 67 miles in 7 hours (that includes a lengthy burger and beer break at the Rabbit Hole in Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia). Back to our current trip, to say it plainly; we were nowhere near on pace to reach our goal of completing the 145 mile course. Not to mention that we were also absolutely drained from the difficulty level of the 18 completed miles. We began searching for alternate routes, and additionally for somewhere to grab a meal. Water was also running low, which is not a game I’m willing to play. Getting out of the woods and finding a fill up was the priority. As expected, there was no easy route. We didn’t exactly know this as we decided on one of the options presented, but I’d say we all suspected it by this point. One change made a significant difference in our mental states; we had located a sanctuary, Locus Post Brewery, only 10.1 miles away. It was clear that we would not be completing 145 miles in 2 days, and we no longer intended on camping. The adjusted goal was to simply arrive at the Locust Post in one piece. There wasn’t much doubt about our bodies making it; but I was growing concerned with my bike. The spare tube I packed was already in use as I’d gotten a flat just before the river crossing, and I had no desire to end up stranded and tubeless in the middle of the woods. Fortunately, the remaining miles were all on paved road; On the other hand, they were uphill.

The last 10 miles were rather uneventful, though strenuous. The desolate western Maryland mountain roads were quiet, and if by chance you passed us that morning you’d have heard a saturated mixture of laughter, groans, swears, and song lyrics as we climbed another 1500 feet over 10 sweaty miles. Our final fleeting descent led right to the front door of Locust Post Brewery, and I swear the restored barn sang for us as we cruised one by one into the parking lot. While there was a a slight lingering sense of disappointment in oneself for having to cut the trip short, my attention was now focused on the “Freak of Nature” cherry jalapeño wheat beer I eyed on the menu. I ordered one to accompany the personal pizza coming my way, and I felt the adrenaline began to fade. We had done it; it may not have been the original plan, but our recently-empty adventure mugs were now filled to the brim, and so were the frosted pint glasses on the bar in front of us.

[jrtorrisi]

People Watching 10/6/24

We’ve scratched October here in Northern Virginia and I am accompanied by a cool sun-filled breeze. Various strands of thoughts sneak their way into my mind as I observe the people filling the bar around me; admittedly most thoughts escape faster than they came. I got stuck on the concept that people bring infinitely different perspectives and views to the table stemming from unique life experiences we can’t expect to understand, though we should make our best attempt.

The conversation I’ve heard most today is from a group I’d guess the average age of 70 years; Two men accompanied by two women. It’s unclear to me whether they all arrived together or if some are meeting for the first time; but it is clear there are two established heterosexual couples. One of the men is wearing patterned Dulce & Gabbana pants and spewing words of knowledge he thinks he possesses as his partner fawns over him. Curse words and sexual phrases are commonplace amongst his tongue, and both women in his presence don’t seem to mind. The other man doesn’t seem bothered either, sitting quietly by with a grin while his female partner laughs and validates the 1st man’s actions.

While checking in and out of the American football game currently taking place on the television, I ascertained that these two men are veterans. Veterans that no doubt witnessed terrors my eyes can only imagine behind closed lids. No doubt the whole crowd’s intake of alcohol has been impressive, it makes me think of how differently they must view the world from myself.

These women watched their Father’s and Brother’s drafted into wars they themselves could barely conceptualize. Many of which to never return. These men, accompanied by their friends, brothers, and cousins walked into the personified face of terror straddling a trigger with their index fingers. Now, after 30-40 year careers of coping with the life they were handed, these people have found a peaceful October afternoon to sit in the sun and enjoy an afternoon together over drinks. The fact that they may sound a bit crude or loud isn’t even an after thought.

As a member of the generation too anxious and lost in the search for meaning to express themselves, I wonder if I will ever have the life experience needed to enjoy a Sunday afternoon to the same unbothered extent as this group of Humans. The never ending struggle over purpose must seem insignificant when the barrel of profit and power’s rifle dictated your own; then again that’s only one perspective.