Somebody please turn off the giant fan!

   Although I am used to the cooling breezes that often come off the ocean when we visit the shore, and I have often experienced the struggle to ride through those breezes across the causeway back to the barrier islands, I figured that issue would only influence the last few miles of my 91 mile journey from West Conshohocken to Stone Harbor. Because prevailing winds generally go west to east, I expected to mostly be able to take advantage of those conditions when I left on the morning of June 24th.

   I had been checking the weather and was concerned with some potential thunderstorms later in the week, so Tuesday was definitely the day to go. I’m used to the way the winds swirl in the Schuylkill River Valley because the river meanders so much on its way towards Philadelphia. It is often difficult to tell exactly from which direction the wind is coming as you ride along the rocky ledges that line the eastern end of the rail trail near Manayunk, so I didn’t think too much about the occasional gust that was in my face until I reached the city.

   I was disappointed to find that, because of a malfunctioning railroad crossing gate, the access point from the Schuylkill Trail to Race Street was closed. However, after backtracking to the Art Museum area, I was happy to find an excellent green-painted bike lane all the way down the Ben Franklin Parkway to where Race Street intersected Logan Circle, and I wondered why Google Maps hadn’t suggested this route in first place.

   I suppose some people are intimidated by cycling on city streets, but my crazy wife and I once rode down 2nd Avenue in New York City, where there is no bike lane! Surprisingly, the only thing that really bothered us were the unpredictable pedestrians and whether they would pay attention to the crossing signals or just jump out in front of us whenever they wanted. We even got into a rhythm where we could roll slowly into intersections as the lights changed, keeping our shoes in the clipless pedals, and out-sprint the traffic from block to block.

   I didn’t have that experience in Philadelphia, as Race Street is a secondary street to most of the north-south traffic, and I was caught at several extended red lights as I crossed the city towards the Ben Franklin Bridge. I had a minor panic when I found the gate locked to the pedestrian crossing on the south side of the bridge with some signs about possible weather restrictions and other options to get across, but my attention was drawn to the north walkway by a loud conversation among some men heading to work, and fortunately that side was open!

   To reach the other side I had to duck under the bridge at 4th Street, which unfortunately was one way. I quickly adopted the mind-set of “Hey, I am only going ONE WAY!”, and when I found a long break in traffic upon reaching the intersection, I quickly sprinted against the grain to reach the north side access point. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I had a bit of a bad attitude going at that point. The great views from atop the Ben Franklin Bridge helped to improve my state of mind, and I somehow even managed to ignore the buffeting wind.

   Most of the walkway had adequate width, but it seemed the original intent was for people from Philadelphia to walk out halfway and turn around. Walkway construction on the east end of the bridge seemed like an afterthought, where it tapered down to barely enough room for two people walking shoulder to shoulder. Despite some signs clearly asking cyclists to dismount for pedestrians, I factored in the awkwardness of walking on the narrow surface in my cleats and the difficultly of someone passing when I was standing next to my bike and decided to simply cut down my speed to a walking pace.

   When I happened to encounter a pedestrian, I stopped and moved over as much as I could while holding the fence/railing and let him by. The only other person I met was kind enough to squeeze behind a bridge support and wave me by enthusiastically - brotherly love for cyclists!

   I will state emphatically that Haddon and Mount Ephraim Avenues are two of the worst roads on which I have ever ridden! The long red light at every block was bad enough, but the roads had no shoulder to speak of, they were usually filled with trash and/or cinders, and the MANY sections of broken cement and potholes were poorly filled with sinking asphalt. It felt like an eternity trying to escape Camden’s streets!

   Black Horse Pike was a major improvement, but I still looked forward to getting away from traffic for a while. However, the inconsistent condition of the Blackwood Rail Trail had me looking forward to getting back onto Black Horse Pike! There were sections of the trail that were among the nicest on which I’ve ever ridden – smooth, with nicely maintained plantings and freshly-cut lawns lining the trail. Unfortunately, they were badly outnumbered by atrocious sections with broken pavement caused by tree roots that honestly felt like I was riding over that corrugated aluminum sheathing you see on shed roofs.

   Another section of about 25 yards or so was completely covered by debris from a recent clearing of trailside vegetation. With my eyes having to adjust to going in and out of the shade, I didn’t see a larger branch lying in front of me, and it exploded under my front tire, sending pieces into my legs and up into my chin! Although it did cause a sinking feeling in my stomach, I somehow escaped without any blood or flat tires or bent spokes.

   I was nearing the 30 mile mark, out of the trees and heading into the more rural areas. Now I was really feeling the wind – directly out of the south, which is not conducive to a pleasant ride south-southeast to the shore. The breeze was fairly steady at around 5 mph with the occasional gust to 12-15, leg-sapping conditions I dealt with during most of the ride!

   Routes 655 and 47 were a cyclists dream with a wide shoulder and very few traffic lights. Route 655 had some pleasant scenery with a mix of farm and forest areas, but Route 47 all the way past Millville was just commercial sprawl. In fact it reminded me a lot of Route 1 anywhere near Philadelphia, Baltimore or Washington, with strip malls galore. The difference was that most of the road was single lane and there was the consistent presence of the extra wide shoulder, which was a treat.

  The roadside was always surprisingly clear of cinders and debris, which I attributed to the clearing effect of traffic turning into the shopping areas or cars swerving around those that were making left-hand turns. I saw plenty of the swerving, but the drivers were fairly attentive, and I had no incidents except for a lumber-hauling semi that nearly brushed my left side – YIKES!

   At about 65 miles, although fatigue was starting to set in from the wind battle, I made the planned “long route” split away from Route 347, which is remote and notoriously dangerous. Later during the drive home I was especially glad I had made that decision, despite the extra distance, when I witnessed a near head-on collision from a car attempting to pass with nowhere near enough room to do so. I was imagining riding my bike next to the cars that had to swerve into the shoulder to avoid the idiot, and I know they wouldn’t have been looking for me in that situation!

   There were actually some stretches of Route 47 in this area that turned directly east, out of the wind, which were supremely appreciated. I was nearly toast and seriously considered calling Sue to head out towards Dennisville to pick me up. I fought the temptation to quit, however, and since I was in more familiar segments of the route, I used landmarks as short-term goals to finish off the ride.

   Yes, the causeway had the usual smack-in-the-face conditions, but I tucked aerodynamically as much as my achy shoulders and neck would allow and was thrilled to cross the bridge into downtown Stone Harbor. I still had the better part of thirty blocks out to the Darley beach house on 120th Street, but that part of the adventure was a blur.

   It’s funny - the number of times I said to myself “This is something I never have to do again”, the heavy legs, stiff neck/shoulders and numb hands that had to be consistently shaken out were completely forgotten a few days later, as I considered routes that might be better “next time”. Insanity?