An Unfortunate Announcement

Hello, all. This is a post that I was hoping I wouldn’t have to write, especially before I even made it out of the Eastern time zone.

I think I need to call off the tour, at least for now. I might complete it in one or more sections in some future summer, but I will be wrapping it up for now. More than the physical challenge, I think I underestimated how isolated I would feel.

West Virginia has been tough. If you look at the most common ways to cross the country on bike, they all either go north, from Maryland into Pennsylvania, or south, through the Virginia panhandle. That’s because the geography of the Appalachians here forces you to take a very aggressive approach to climbing, which I can attest to with my route. Additionally, the routes I’ve been following have been designed for gravel and mountain biking, which my bike can handle (mostly) but adds another layer of difficulty.

A big part of why I wanted to take this route, in spite of the difficulty, is because I wanted to see the mountains and forest here. On that front, I have not been disappointed. If you are inclined towards the outdoors, I can highly recommend visiting. The Mon Forest Towns initiative has lots of resources aimed at promoting travel in the area, and they’re definitely onto something. The hiking and camping around here is excellent, and I’ve never seen anywhere so strong when it comes to mountain biking. You don’t need to be climbing up every mountain to enjoy the trails and loops on offer here. The towns have also been a lovely surprise. They’re small, and you can tell that some of them have seen better days, but they’re really embracing the forest, and the outdoor recreation it brings. Also, the people I’ve talked to here have been, as a rule, helpful and kind towards me. I very much appreciate the interactions I’ve had here, with both locals and other travelers.

That ties into the main reason why I’m coming back home. While I’ve definitely been physically pushing myself, and there’s been stress around making it to camp some nights, something that all this wilderness has really highlighted is how lonely I feel out here. My ride into the Cranberry Wilderness solidified this for me. I was just coming off of a rest day, and had spent the night at the Old Clark Inn in Marlinton (which I recommend). I had a solid breakfast, but was slow to actually go through the motions of packing up and heading out. Once I did, though, the day’s riding was beautiful. There were climbs, to be sure, but they were all in the first half of the day, on good surfaces, and with manageable grades, so I never felt like I was struggling to continue. I rode on a brief segment of the Scenic Highway that runs through there, and it lives up to its title. I stopped at a visitors center and picked up a map of the area and a pamphlet of local trees and wildflowers. There’s a road through the Cranberry Glades area that’s closed to motor vehicle traffic, which I was taking, so I had to worry about traffic even less than usual. I stopped more often to admire the forest than to catch my breath. It was about as good as I could have hoped for. I got to a camping shelter right next to the Cranberry River, and I felt worse than I had at any other point in the trip. It felt very much like my lowest points of depression. I felt like I’d lost sight of why I even wanted to do any of this in the first place, or what the point of me being out here alone in the woods was.

A couple days later, and I’m feeling better, less despairing. But I think I’ve lost the willpower I need to make it through the months ahead. I miss my friends, miss my family, miss my boyfriend. Because I’m doing this trip solo, I don’t have anyone here to experience the moments with me, or give me the motivation to carry on. It’s not like I’ve been off the grid — I’ve been in touch with these people, and I’ve been (trying to) update this website. But it’s not the same, and when I look at the trip ahead I don’t see this issue going away.

To be clear, there’s a lot of factors that made this leg of the trip in particular very lonely. Monongahela National Forest is one of the largest areas of protected land until you get further west, and my route through here had lots of twists and turns. I have also been traveling within the National Radio Quiet Zone around Green Bank Observatory, severely limiting my cell service and ability to pick up radio stations when not in a town.

But in a lot of ways, this kind of sparseness is the norm. Bike routes like this have a hard time going through suburbs, so population centers end up getting completely avoided. The last time I was in a town with a population of more than 10,000 was in Cumberland, over a week ago, and the next one on the route isn’t until Berea, Kentucky. Between DC and Sacramento the only city with more than 100,000 people is Pueblo, Colorado.

My route, which I modified to take me out of the mountains faster, goes right next to the Amtrak station in Prince, WV, about 80 miles away. From there, I can catch a train to Chicago, and then back to the Twin Cities. I know this feels like an abrupt end; it does to me too. I would kind of prefer to make it just a little further before turning back. My sense of pride would definitely rather I reached some kind of ‘milestone’, and I think that could sustain me quite a distance. However, after Prince there are very few easy ways to get back home. The next train station isn’t until Illinois, and small regional airports introduce their own logistical challenges (especially with the bike).

I’ll be working on adding the rest of my log entries to this website, so that I can share what all I’ve seen here in West Virginia (it’s been a lot!) and I will also be uploading a more complete set of photos to older entries.

I’d like to thank everyone who helped me make it as far as I did. Even the smallest interactions have meant a lot to me.

I’m also not finished riding my bike. I’m not sure what the next adventure will look like, but I’m already looking forward to it.

Take care

— Rory