Near Harper’s Ferry
By
Jim Yanosko
The tree branches themselves had confusing edges. They were covered in some kind of fluffy looking vine that crept up the trees on the one side of the road and then probably crept back down to the ground on the other. They formed a sort of cathedral like structure above my head with their large fingers touching and intertwining. The sky, even though it was filled with dark clouds was still bright behind the black branches. I looked back down to the road in front of me and quickened my cadence.
As was typical of most of my last minute packing jobs, I managed to forget some key components of my usual bicycling kit. The backpack with pump, tools and patch kit was left at home along with water bottles, my helmet and my gloves. But I did have my trusty 20 plus year old Panasonic and my cycling shoes and my official work day ended early so some exploration in an unfamiliar territory was in order. I’d never visited this part of the C & O Canal Path and I was anxious to give it a try.
The helmet thing bothered me. Since I started recreational cycling back during my college years I have always made it a point to wear a helmet, but I figured the C & O would be as good a place as any to not have something protecting my head. The multi-use path was used by old ladies and little kids in addition to your garden variety exercise buffs. There were no cars and there was no serious off-road riding involved. All the same, the wind blowing through the thin material of my baseball cap set the stage for things somehow not being right.
The bike felt good. My legs felt good. I hadn’t ridden much lately but the cranks spun smoothly as I pushed a tall gear. I crossed back and forth across the path picking and choosing a new line it seemed every 30 or 40 yards. This wasn’t like a typical rail trail. Things were a bit bumpier than I was used to. My breathing settled into a steady rhythm but I noticed my knuckles were cold. I figured the missus had by now discovered my cycling gloves that I accidently left on the washing machine as I walked out the door.
I slowed down as I approached an upcoming stone structure. This would be the aqueduct that the map referenced at the trail head. The canal systems that stretched out across several eastern states became obsolete before they were even finished in many cases, but the remnants left behind were a constant reminder of progress.
Once I got past the aqueduct the trail got worse. A few ill-placed rocks on the path made certain of my attention. It grew darker and I noticed I hadn’t seen even a single other rider going in either direction. What the hell was I thinking? Out here on this trail, with the approaching storm and with no way of fixing a flat why the hell was I launching my bike off of these mini ramps? I leaned hard on the brakes for some reason and came to an abrupt stop, right in the middle of the trail.
As I stood there I noticed for the first time the sounds of the area. It wasn’t just the cicadias. It wasn’t just the wind blowing through the trees. It was the sound of many things past. I snapped my head to the left and looked back down the trail behind me. What was that?
I shivered. My watch said that I’d been riding for an hour. I always figured that give or take I rode at a clip of 12 miles per hour. This took into consideration stops for pictures or bicycle adjustments. So if I turned back around right now this ride would work out to 24 miles give or take. All things considered the mileage was perfect.
I pointed the old bicycle down the trail I just came on but in this light and in this direction it looked totally foreign to me. A sudden gust of wind blew right into my jacket and chilled me. My pace was good. I was uncomfortable and that made me motivated. Some rides are more work than others. I could hide no secrets behind the grim look on my face.
But it was something else.
The air was heavy. And there was a foul smell that made no sense to me. I looked to my left because I saw movement out of the corner of my eye but by the time I was looking in that direction something told me to look to the right. There was movement there, just out of sight…but I knew it was there. What kind of things are running around these parts? A deer, maybe a turkey or a chipmunk…or maybe even an old runaway slave. I felt something darting in and around the trees. I looked side to side. It was broad daylight, even though a storm was rapidly approaching and I had no reason to feel nervous or worried. Those facts comforted me little.
What kind of history had indeed visited this place? It was now a heavily used multi-use recreation trail, but at one point the C & O was a gateway. It was used in both directions by multiple parties, all seeking the same yet different goals. Slaves, men of commerce, soldiers, etc. Wasn’t the Blair Witch Project filmed around here? The overgrown shacks hadn’t been used in generations, but there they remained.
-33-
