Knee Replacement Anniversary Hike, Hawk Mountain, March 2014

March 8 was the two year anniversary of my bilateral knee replacement surgery. At the time I went under the knife I was in such pain I was taking the maximum dose of Ibuprofen daily, and still hurt so much one day I began to spontaneously vomit at work and had to go home. Aside from one short hike in 2011 and one a month before surgery I'd given up hiking. My last bike ride was New Year's Day, and it was the first in months. I gave up showering on days I didn't have to work as I hurt when I stood in one place. My world was becoming smaller and smaller. 

My procedure lasted over five hours. That's considerably longer than most knee replacements, but much of that time the surgeon spent straightening my severely knocked right leg. As he later described it to me, I was "one of the worst cases he'd seen" in a quarter century of joint replacement, and he shook his head and said, "all that correction."

But corrected I was. Recovery was long and very hard - I didn't stand until four days after surgery; in most cases the patient is up in a day or two. Just before discharge from inpatient physical therapy I developed a blood clot in my lungs and spent three days in another hospital. When I was finally home I worked hard on my recovery, but progress was slow. I'd never heard of post-surgical depression but I found out what that was. My stamina was so bad I'd fall asleep on the way TO a hike or ride. My weight ballooned and I thought I'd never be the eager, if challenged, outdoorsman I'd tried to be. 

My heart wasn't in it, but my heart recovered. I forced myself to do things, and friends helped get me outside and alive - Judy, Sayre, Aaron, and others brought me around. I struggled, but I was out there. 

I still struggle, but now I enjoy it. And I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate two years of recovery than to hike at Hawk Mountain again. The two and a fraction mile hike has some of the best views in Pennsylvania, and the hike would challenge me without defeating me. A friend decided to join me on a "kid friendly" hike on Meetup, and we met before noon at the parking lot. I was eager to see Hawk Mountain dressed in snow, and I was prepared for hiking in it - boots with good traction, microspikes, hiking poles, and determination. We met our guide at the South Overlook, and our small group was off. 

I found the going a lot easier than I expected, at least
at first. The snow was deep enough that the rock
gardens on the trail were covered. I strode carefully but confidently on the hardpack snow. Before we knew it were were at the first set up steps. These took some care on my part, but it was one foot over the other, and our party was at the short stretch of trail known as the Hall of the Mountain King. We walked on level ground for a few hundred feet, and then the tough part - the second set of steps. Melting and refreezing left a thick layer of ice on everything. I used the handrails and worked the microspikes for all they were worth, and soon enough we were at the North Lookout. 

The ice on the stairway combined with my problems descending led our group to chose the Express Trail down to the main trail back to the parking lot. The Express Trail is longer, but there are no stairs to navigate. I had three near falls, two of which I stopped and one of which a nearby tree halted. I had a scraped knuckle and a few tense moments, but I worked through them and joined my friends at the bottom. From there it was back to the South Lookout.

As I stood on the South Lookout, thoughts flooded my mind. My first post to Facebook the morning after my surgery, I wrote "I am experiencing new levels of pain." Two years later, thanks to medicine, friends, and hard work, I am experiencing new levels of pleasure and wonder. My world is getting larger day by day. And while Hawk Mountain was a great way to celebrate an anniversary, I celebrate every day. And I hope to celebrate every day as long as I have days. 

My 5Ks, November/December 2010

I ran three 5K events in November and December of 2010. They were the first time I'd ever run since my weight loss, and they will be the last. Not that I hate running, or think its bad. But just as a person with my severe knocked knee condition should never have attempted these events, so a person with artificial knees shouldn't run. So while I consider myself as able to to anything, there are limitations I'm not going to challenge. Yes, I could walk the entire course, but that's a little not what a run is for. So while A Taste For The Woods celebrates what I can do, this post is going to be a memory of what I'm no longer capable of doing.

The passages between the rows of asterisks were written just prior to my first 5K, held the Saturday after Thanksgiving in Phoenixville, and immediately following the event.

*******************
Last time I ran was in high school. I attended a private school that had no more clue what to do with a bent, bookish, fat kid than anyone else. When I wasn't shunted off to the weight room by myself, unsupervised, because they thought I couldn't handle gym class, they tried to come up with other things for me to do. I ran a couple of times on the school grounds, and one time turned in a 14 minute mile. I was apparently such a wreck afterward the gym coach never had me do that again.

A quarter century later, I ran some short sprints as I lost weight, but nothing serious. First time was by accident - I was late for work and ran to my office. I was so excited I could run I started running in the hallways to show people I could do it. They asked me to stop running in the hallways.

I'm not properly built for sustained running. In addition to the excess weight, my left leg doesn't have a full extension, hence my limp. Both knees are knocked, and the right one has been dislocated twice. Still, I'd like to try this at least once, if only because five years ago I couldn't walk a city block, and my limitations are self-made.

While Sayre Kulp has been the guy pushing me to do this, if only because he wants to hold myself accountable to my words and not sell myself short, my interest was kindled by my friend Dan Lucas, editor of Chess Life, who is training for his first half-marathon. (Not all chess players are sedentary.) Dan's given me advice on running, and I'll see how much of it I can apply Saturday.

My big fear is that I'm going to beat up on myself regardless of the result. I'm expecting I'm going to have to walk much of the course this weekend. I considered taking on the shorter 1 mile "fun walk/run" simply because I thought I could spend a greater percentage of the time running, but I was argued down. "Don't sell yourself short" I was told. I'm still not entirely persuaded, but I'm going to attempt the longer distance.

*************

Well, folks, I did it. I walked most of the course, but I completed the "Burn off The Bird" 5k in Phoenixville on November 27. My official time was 50:13, but that's highly suspect since they didn't have a clock up and no one had a stopwatch out aside from my friend Sayre. His time for me is about 55 minutes, and that's seems right.

Here's my reaction to learning that I finished in under an hour, which was my goal.

***************

My second 5K was in Reading, part of the "Shiver By The River" series of winter running events. In the week between events I was on such a cloud of enthusiasm that I ignored all the danger signals I was experiencing.... the feeling like a stuffy headcold in the kneecap, hamstrings and tendons that were sore in ways I'd never known. Enthusiasm led me on, enthusiasm for both running and my participating in runs with Sayre. It felt good to be treated as a peer by someone I respected; I could never be in his class as a runner, but class wasn't important for either of us.

While we improved our times - if I recall correctly it was Sayre's first sub-30 5K - I was a wreck after. I look happy because I felt happy, but my body was screaming "no more!" Also, I'd lost nearly 20 pounds in the six weeks prior to Shiver By The River, putting me that much nearer to goal weight. So even as my knees ground as I walked and I took Ibuprofen by the handful I was bargaining, hoping that I'd recover enough function to run one more time..... and to avoid the knee replacement surgery I knew was coming.

I don't have any photos from my final 5K, held in Pottstown on a rainy Sunday in December. Sayre wasn't participating, I felt horrible, and I wound up walking the entire course. II was in constant pain by this point. I saw my doctor, and we began the process that put me on an operating table a year later.

I don't regret knee replacement. It gave me my life back. But damn, how I miss running.

Black Rock Sanctuary, Phoenixville, PA

Black Rock Sanctuary is a short walk on the banks of the Schuylkill River at Phoenixville, but it has significance for me as the first place I hiked following my knee replacement in March 2012. The small county park has a circular paved walking trail, less than a mile long, but it's attractive and has interpretive displays along its length. My first attempt at the Interpretive Trail, six weeks after knee replacement and with a cane, required an hour to finish the walk and caused me to fall asleep in my car when I finished. Six months later the walk, including stops for photos, took less than forty minutes.

For more information on Black Rock Sanctuary, visit http://www.chesco.org/index.aspx?NID=1745 . I plan on hiking at Black Rock, on the Interpretive Trail as well as other trails in the park, frequently in 2014.

18 months of progress!

The photograph on the left was taken in French Creek State Park in November 2010. The photo on the right was on the Appalachian Trail in Pine Grove Furnace State Park last weekend. Almost three years separate those photographs. But my disfigured gait in the photo on the left is only a memory for me. I can't remember how I used to walk. I'm not sure I could if I tried. And I don't want to try. 

Some of my friends don't understand why I gush as I do about my bilateral knee replacement. But I can't help gushing. There's not a minute of the day I want to go back to as I was. My world was getting smaller and smaller as I lost the ability to do things - hike, walk, climb stairs .... live. Now my world is only getting larger. How can I keep quiet about that? I want to SHOUT! My eighteen months of recovery from surgery is a struggle, and I'll struggle some more. But I'll win, and have a good time doing it. 

Challenges - Delaware and Raritan Feeder Canal Towpath, NJ, August 2013

I returned with Chris to the Delaware and Raritan Canal Towpath to make up for the abandoned ride of the week before. Once again we started from Scudder Falls trailhead, but this time we headed south, towards the end of the trail in Trenton. The towpath surface and surroundings remain rural for the first three miles or so, but soon enough the trail becomes narrow and filled with broken glass. Since I like to keep my tires intact and this blog isn't A Taste For The City, we turned around just before the feeder canal towpath meets the towpath running from Trenton to New Brunswick on the Raritan River.

Once we were going back north, Chris informed me he was still having problems with his bike fit. Recumbency, the world's seventh major religion, is sold as the answer to every cyclists' problems, but truth be told they can be difficult to fit. My friend has struggled to find a position that doesn't cause numbing in his feet and his posterior and still gives him a proper leg extension. After a couple of long stops the coin dropped in the slot and the answer came. He took his seat apart, adjusted it to he's back further but he's NOT raised higher, and much of the discomfort went away. 

Meanwhile, my continued fit adjustments on Notung's handlebars were leading to nothing. I was still getting numbness in my hands after a couple of miles of riding. Stopping to let blood back into my hands hurt my speed tremendously. (Waiting for 17 readers to email me about getting a recumbent.....) I'm going to have to take the bike in for a professional fitting so this problem is resolved. My tinkering isn't working. 

Still, stopping isn't so bad if its a pretty trail. And it was a hot day, so stopping to drink was a good idea. I went through four water bottles; Chris consumed nearly two liters of fluid.  That and the improved bike fit seemed to give him new energy. 

The turn around spot on the ride was Bulls Island Recreation Area, a boat launch, picnic spot, campground, and service area for the towpath. The highlight of Bulls Island is the pedestrian bridge over the Delaware River. I crossed over to Lumberville, Pennsylvania and back, walking with Notung since riding is prohibited. My photos can't do justice to the beauty of the Delaware River. At one point a private plane flew low over the bridge, and it traveled down the river like a mechanical bird. 

Chris seemed to have gotten his second wind on the ride back. Even though I am allegedly the faster rider, my increasing discomfort in my hands gave him an advantage. Since he stopped less, he made it back to Scudder Falls twenty minutes before I did. The ride was 44 miles, longest for me post surgery and longest ever for Chris. I was very down by the end, as I had both my numbing hands and swelling in my knees to deal with. Fortunately Chris' good humor and a relaxing meal helped improve my mood. 

While the ride was generally good, there were some disconcerting notes. At one point a bunch of drunker rafters on the river were shouting vulgarities to people on the trail or the riverbank. Chris was trying to photograph a doe and fawn near the water and the rafters shouted "Hey Bambi, your mother's dead!" The deer ran away, probably as offended as we were, And on the way back we came across two young men looking to win a Darwin Award. The water level wasn't deep here, and yet both men were jumping into the stream feeding the canal. Chris observed that their form was a modified belly-flop, since anything else and they'd probably hit bottom during the dive. 

Brandywine Falls, Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Ohio

I'm tagging this as a hike, although I'm not sure its a long enough walk to qualify as one. However, since sets of steps are involved, its work.

I visited Brandywine Falls, one of the largest waterfalls in Ohio, twice during my trip. The first time was on arrival in the state. I met my friend Matty, down for the weekend from Michigan, and we headed out. Despite a road closure we eventually found our way to the new parking area and walked the short trail to the falls. Most of said trail was wooden steps, and we both found them a bit of a challenge. Matty had more of a struggle due to his weight and the fact the surgery to reconstruct his damaged leg was more recent, but we both got up and down OK.


The falls were spectacular, despite the summer water flow and a large log stuck at the base of the cascade. The best views were from the lower viewing platform, but the upper platform at the crest of the falls also provides good shots. Its possible to photograph from other locations on the walkway but I found there to be too much vegetation to get an effective image. Hiking is allowed in the gorge near the falls, and when Matty and I visited we saw a photographer parked near the far side of the base of the cascade.

I returned a week later during a day doing short hikes in the national park, but the photos were not an improvement on the evening shots I'd taken before. So I spent some time walking the new stretch of the Bike and Hike Trail. In 2011 when I rode the trail it switched to a horrible on-road section and I passed the falls without even knowing they were there. Now cyclists can take the Bike and Hike down the hill, over a trail bridge above a highway, and into the parking lot for the falls. Or they can continue past the parking lot, down a corkscrew turn and the trail brings you to the entrance to the upper platform for the falls. The trail continues on a closed road located just above the crest of the falls. When I visited, the trail was closed for resurfacing above the falls, so a rider has to get off the trail at Brandywine Road, as in 2011. Still, this is a big improvement for the Bike and Hike Trail, and probably helps bring more people to the falls.

Pyamtuning Ride, Pymatuning State Park, OH and PA, August 2010

One day on my 2010 tour of Western Pennsylvania my friend Judy and I headed to Pymatuning, Pennsylvania's largest lake and the only state park that straddles the Ohio border. But it was more than just the lake I was driving towards. I'd planned a ride with another Clydesdale.

The idea for the meeting started on Sunday as I waited in Emlenton, at the end of the Allegheny River Trail,  for Judy to pick me up. As I sat in an Internet cafe reading a bicycle message board I used to frequent I came across this posting discussing the eternal struggle of the fat cyclist with his weight:

"I need to tell you folks about all this so I feel accountable to someone besides myself. I kind of feel like this is kin to quitting smoking. Keep trying and eventually it will stick. I started quitting smoking in 1998 and it finally stuck in 2000. I have a renewed motivation from reading the posts on this forum, and you clydes and athenas are my support system whether you now it or not. I feel good knowing that I am not alone in this struggle. Special thanks to The Historian for his honesty and dedication as well..... if anyone wants to go for a ride with me, give me a shout. Thanks again for letting me get this off my chest."

I was moved when I read this. I'd been called many things on that message board, some of them even complimentary, but I'd never been called "honest" before. Also the author, who went by the name "the stoutdog", sounded like a riot to ride with. I determined to call thestoutdog and see if he'd join me at Pymatuning for a ride. Putting forth the hue and cry brought a telephone number, and we set a time for the ride.

We met about 1:45 at the park's visitor center. Thestoutdog, also known as Aaron, and I hit it off immediately. Soon enough we were rolling down the road, stopping at the Jamestown campground entrance to meet Judy, who had straddled her upright bike to join us. She kept up with us for a couple of miles, but soon enough turned around before we crossed the Ohio border in our trip 'round the lake.




Pymatuning is split north to south by the state border, but its also divided north and south by a road. Its fascinating to observe the change as the roadway crosses this miniature inland sea; once the road crosses into Pennsylvania, it sprouts a shoulder and becomes PA Bike Route Y.  Aaron played along with my childlike sense of fun, as we both posed with signs at the border.

The ride from the campground into Ohio was largely flat, and the roadway across the lake was the proverbial pancake, but once on dry land in Pennsylvania the roads became rollerish. Not genuine hills, but enough work that the tightness in my knees I'd noted the day before became a concern. This second day of knee discomfort was the sign that the Euflexa treatment I'd received a few months before was wearing off, and my diseased joints were continuing to deteriorate. I was much more cautious in my cycling and hiking for the remainder of my trip. We finished with 24.5 miles of riding, which included a wrong turn at one point and backtracking to find the right turnoff. 

After I'd returned home, and finally saw the photos my new friend took on the ride, I was shocked. I knew I was fat, and I knew I was knock-kneed. But SEEING it in the photo to the left was the catalyst for change, at least of the one thing I could change. I dropped 30 pounds until my knees became bad after my second 5k in December, and I had to give up activity while my joints recovered. Aaron helped me get through the stress my condition triggered. Isn't it strange how friendships form? I wanted to help someone who was stressed about his weight, and he winds up helping me? All part of the miracle of friendship. None of this ride had to happen - and it did.

True Grit: My Attempt to Ride Across Pennsylvania, June 2011

The year 2011 started bad and got worse. My long-standing knee problems had deteriorated to the point I was seeking an alternative, any alternative, to replacement. I was sedentary again, unable to ride or hike. And what's more, I was unable to see a light at the end of my troubles. After entering a course of physical therapy and being told I was "wasting my time and money, see a surgeon now" I decided on a course of action. I was going to see the surgeon and set up the probable bilateral knee replacement for the winter, and my summer and fall would be spent being as active as I could physically stand. The physical therapist called it "strengthening", noting that a fit, active person recovers better from the surgery. I called it mental therapy, because I'd go mad spending a summer sitting around waiting for the trip to the operating room. 

I spoke with one of my doctors about my plans. "Activity is a good idea, but in moderation."

"Hmm. Moderation. I don't know what that word means, doctor", I said. 

"What did you do last weekend?"

"I hiked up a mountain at a place called Pole Steeple."

"That's almost as bad as you spending a day grouting a tile floor! What am I going to do with you?"

"Look, I know most people who have knee replacement did it so they could walk up stairs without pain. For me this is about more than climbing stairs."

But I kept my doctor's word "moderation" in mind. My early rides were short. And when it came time to plan my vacation, I kept the cycling plans moderate. 

I decided to ride across Pennsylvania. Well, not the whole state. Just most of it. Doing the whole Commonwealth would be a bit excessive. But to make up for the short gap between the Delaware River and my home I chose to begin in Ohio. 

My Buckeye buddy Aaron signed on to ride with me to the border. This would be his first bike tour, and so I planned two days, with camping at Mosquito Creek State Park in Ohio and Pymatuning in the Quaker State.  From Pymatuning I'd continue solo across the northern part of the state, turning south on the flattest route possible in my hilly home. The sole concession to my physical condition was that I'd keep mileages short and stay inside where I could. 

Months of planning were put in motion a sunny morning outside of Akron. Aaron and I were off. The photo shows my buddy pulling out of his driveway. However, we didn't get very far. I thought my tires still had enough wear in the for the trip. But I was wrong, and in the second mile from the start I got a flat on the rear. Aaron rode off to the local bike shop while I sat on the curb.

Once I had a working tire again, we headed off. At this point we realized our directions weren't the best route I'd ever plotted. And it would have helped if I'd not left them back in Pennsylvania. But soon enough we figured out where we were going. 

And then the second revelation. Ohio has hills. Or perhaps I should call them rises. But anyway the state has them. And I found myself have to work harder than I anticipated on some roads. 

We found a respite on a rail trail from Stowe to Kent. Or we did for a minute until the heavens opened. We ducked under a trail shelter to wait out the passing rain. And the rain did pass. But it left a messy, ponded trail for our riding. 

This was the first band of rain. The second held off until we reached Kent, the end of the trail. This time we ducked into a market, propping our bikes at the ice machine while we waited inside. 

The second band came and went, and so did we. Directions didn't improve, and we had to reroute a couple of times. Aaron's GPS didn't get a very good signal, and it was a while until we found a sure path to Mosquito Creek. Meanwhile I realized how spoiled I am riding in Pennsylvania, where motorists are used to seeing cyclists on roads, and the roads have shoulders. We both had uncomfortable moments and close calls. Aaron is one of those folks who rarely has a bad day, so his good cheer helped me endure a rough first day of touring. 

And then the rains came again. And again. Band after band, and sometimes the rain was hard. Our progress was painfully slow. At one point we ducked onto the porch of a warehouse, and Aaron had to urinate. We both looked at each other, laughed that a little more water wouldn't hurt anything, and I turned my head as I walked a few feet away. Then it was back to the bikes and seeing the road through raindrops. 

The ride was catching up to us. I stopped counting bands of rain when I reached eleven. Aaron had to stop and walk up one rise. "I have to catch my breath" he said, and I should have caught his reason. Finally by seven PM we'd ridden 40 some miles, and had less than five to the park. We stopped for food and water at the first store we'd seen in hours. For all the rain, we didn't have fluids in our bottles. Aaron appeared a broken shell of a man, sprawled on the step guzzling water and shoving pastry down his throat.  We pushed on, although I found the going a little difficult. My saddle seemed to be getting higher. I figured it was just fatigue playing tricks on me, and we continued on. 

We reached the campsite, set up our tents as the light faded, and I started the camp stove.  Aaron was looking very defeated, and I figured something hot and salty would help his mood and prevent cramps. He grimaced when I served him my tuna and noodle mixture, but he ate his plate clean. And since the rain began again, he didn't need to wash it. 

The tent sites at Mosquito Creek are small, and our site was partly flooded. I gave Aaron the pine needle area and chose to camp on the concrete parking slab. I crawled into my tent, listening to the patter on the roof and thinking of the day past and the day to come. I wondered what I'd dragged my friend into. And when the first cramp hit me, I wondered why I'd dragged myself into it. I was soon enough distracted by the coughing coming from Aaron's tent, and it was to the cough and the rain that I fell to sleep. 

I rose early the next morning. The rain had stopped. After I got back from the bathroom I found Aaron sitting on the picnic bench.  He didn't look good.

"How was your night?"

"I was coughing all night. I'm coughing up blood. My wife is coming to pick me up."

After assuring me that he'd be OK, we talked about the day before. Aaron was disappointed to not continue on with me. Meanwhile I realized I could have killed him. He'd pushed on past all his danger signs so he could ride with me and so he could consider himself a bike tourist. 

As we waited for his better half, we talked about the tour. 

"Look, buddy, bike touring can be riding your bike somewhere and camping. You've earned the title. And you worked harder for it than many. You rode through all that rain, over those roads, nearly got killed by that truck -"

"The black one?"

"Was there a black one? I meant the delivery truck going up that hill at the intersection."

"Oh, that one."

"Anyway, you did great."

"Yeah, and I've not seen so much water since I left the Navy."

Aaron's wife arrived, they packed up, wished me well, and then headed to an emergency room to be checked out. I began to break camp, only to notice I couldn't straighten up. I tried to mount my bike, and I couldn't reach the pedals. It seems that odd sensation that my saddle was raised was a warning sign. My hamstrings were overstretched during the ride, had contracted overnight, and now were pulling my lower back out of shape. I called my next stop, my friend Troy, and he picked me up that afternoon. I spent two days recovering at Troy's farm while I pondered my next move. I eventually returned to Ohio, and shelved my trans-PA ride for another year. 

Was I wrong to have attempted such a ride in the shape I was? I don't think so. I needed something to get me through the time before surgery, and I'd not be who I am if I didn't push myself hard. I had discomfort, but I tried. This isn't about being able to walk up stairs. As I told Aaron, a thousand men wouldn't have even attempted to do what we did knowing we had bad joints and bad lungs. As for Aaron, he fully recovered, and a week later we were turning out 40 mile rides. We had good weather, but after what we went through nothing could rain on our parade. 

The Fat Ride: Bartram Trail, August 2012

The John Bartram Trail is a segment of the unfinished Schuylkill River Trail. The six mile pea-gravel trail runs from just outside the borough of Hamburg to a dead end at the Schuylkill River. One day the falling and failing railroad bridge will be refurbished and the trail will push on, but until then riders and hikers have a gorgeous path cut into the side of the mountain. 

"Cut" is the right word. The Bartram uses an old rail line and much of the trail is cut out of the rock. The path has the usual markers for miles, interpretative panels with the history of the railroad, and an abundance of green. After it passes the last trailhead before the dead end the forest gives way to field, and you ride in sunlight instead of shade. At the dead end are a couple of picnic tables if you decide to have lunch overlooking the drop to the river on the other side of the fence. 

I consider the Bartram the best segment of the Schuylkill River Trail. Its long enough to be a ride - 16 miles if you ride the two mile connecting trail into Hamburg and back, or 18 if you take the potholed access road down to the Kernsville Dam. But its short and easy enough for the novice rider, or for the family. Aside from the access road and the parking area at the Kernsville Dam it has no road crossings between the dead end and downtown Hamburg. And its scenic, as I've mentioned. With the railroad cuts, the forest, the river, and the old trestle a mile into the ride, the Bartram reminds me of the best parts of the Great Allegheny Passage. Its just fun to ride. 

Its also fun to hike, and if you want a challenge one connects with it. As the Bartram passes Port Clinton it intersects the Appalachian Trail. The AT descends a set of stone steps from the trail to the Reading, Blue Mountain, and Northern train station. Port Clinton Station is also the corporate headquarters of the short line, and the station is designed as an imitation of a Reading Railroad stop of a century before. The ride I'm writing about took place in August, but I've reproduced a photo from October 2010 to show the station. The photo was taken from the trail, so you have an idea how many steps there are to get to down there. 

Back to August 2012. I met my friend Sayre, his wife, child, and another friend for a ride on the Bartram. This was Sayre's last ride with me before he moved his family to Florida. I'd just returned from Western PA a few days before, and I was trying to increase my riding and hiking. However, my stamina was still very low despite my surgery having been five months before. I completed the dozen miles but I was very slow and very weak. Physical therapy got me walking again, but I still had the "Frankenstein gait" and sometimes I'd put down my right foot and be surprised where it landed. I struggled to swing my leg over the saddle when dismounting the bike. 

But the stiffness, clumsiness, and lack of stamina weren't the worst problem. Being sedentary and frustrated for being sedentary left me little to do aside from eat. Combine that with nausea from a drug I was taking, nausea that I treated with masses of starches in my belly, and the expected happened. I didn't weight myself at this time but based on my photos and weigh ins of a few months later I estimate I was tipping 350 pounds. I cringe when I see this photo. That's not the real me; I'm the active man trapped in the balloon next to Sayre. That's why I'll always remember this day. This was the Fat Ride. 

Fast forward a half-year to my next meeting with Sayre. Its now 2013, I'm off all drugs, I'm getting active, and I've gotten my diet back in better control. And I'm 40 pounds lighter, with promise of being lighter still.  While I'll ride the Bartram Trail again and again, I'll never go back to the Fat Ride. Just as my friend Sayre will never go back to being a 400 some pound man, I'll never be back to where I was. 

Mount Misery, January 1

Someone originated the good idea of hiking to celebrate the New Year. In Pennsylvania or regions that have a winter that's not always easy to do. But this January 1 the weather was cold but clear, and I was full of energy. And to make the trip more fun, I invited my new friend Chris to join me. Since I had limited knowledge of his hiking experience I chose a short excursion. And since I had limited confidence in my abilities at this point in my recovery I stuck with something I'd hiked before.

Our destination was Mount Misery in Valley Forge National Historical Park. The grandly and ominously named hill is across Route 23 from General Washington's Headquarters. We decided to start our hike at noon. Since parking was limited at the trailhead Chris parked at the Visitor's Center and we drove over in my car.

We started at the far side of Mount Misery, near the Knox Covered Bridge. Despite having done the climb a half-dozen times before, I found the effort tiring, but not as tiring as Chris did. Lugging 430 pounds up a hillside is work, and we had to stop twice to let the big guy rest. That gave us a chance to wish "Good afternoon" and "Happy New Year" to the stream of people climbing the hill. It was encouraging to see so many people out enjoying the day, and enjoying it with their children and dogs.


The trails on Mount Misery are typical 'Rocksylvania' - I struggled at times on them. Chris, who was a Boy Scout as a youth, regressed to childhood and didn't let the rocks bother him. Once he was done with the climbing portion he was a chatterbox, talking about anything and everything. When we reached the abandoned spring house he explored it, squeezing into narrow spaces like a ten year old.








It was just past the spring house I came to grief. I had trouble getting down one stretch of trail with a steep grade and I turned my right ankle. Once we got to the benches at the bottom of the hill I sat down and took off my shoe. There was no swelling, but enough pain that I limped through the rest of the hike. Fortunately, we were now on the flat Valley Creek Trail, and what started as a hike ended as a walk. We took breaks often, this time for my comfort rather than Chris'. But as always, stopping is a reason to use a camera.



Before we realized it we were at the Knox Covered Bridge and our hike was at an end. We were cold, tired, and in my case limping, but we had a great time. It was over dinner after the hike that Chris and I realized we hit it off when we hike and ride together. And so a friendship was formed, with a three mile hike on Misery.

Indian Creek Valley Trail, July 2012

In July 2012 I visited Western Pennsylvania on vacation. Although I was four months into my recovery from surgery, I was still weak and taking a drug that made me weaker. My grand plans for a rapid return to the old me were not happening. I would fall asleep BEFORE going for a ride or hike, I had so little stamina. However, I had nature deprivation, and I had to fill the emptiness even if I had limited ability to do so. 

Accordingly, I planned short hikes and rides. Nothing big, but pushing my capabilities still. My first bike ride was a mile on the Montour Trail, as I've written about in another post, and my second was eight miles on the Indian Creek Valley Trail. The ICVT is one of many rails to trails projects in Western Pennsylvania, all progressing at different paces in different places. The goal of the ICVT is for a 22 mile trail ending in a connection to the Great Allegheny Passage, the 150 mile trail between Pittsburgh and Cumberland. That grand vision, which includes building a bridge of the Youghiogheny River for the connection to the GAP, is many years away. The day Judy and I visited there were eight miles finished, and we rode four of them out and back. 

We started from the small trailhead in the town of Indian Head, and headed north. The first stretch of trail led through farmland, but soon enough the gravel trail was shaded by trees, and we were in the woods. The trail was beautiful, lush with green, and Indian Creek splashed in the gorge below us. The day was warm, but not hot, and bugs were few. 

When we reached Melcroft we were surprised to see an old railroad trestle spanning the creek. The trestle connects a parking and picnic area on the far side of Indian Creek. The ICVT website, http://www.indiancreekvalleytrail.com/, had little to say about the trestle, which struck me as odd, since bridges are a selling point for a trail. I enjoyed crossing the creek both ways, and Judy borrowed my camera and took photos of my crossing. You can clearly see my incisions from the knee replacement, and that my bike is now too small for me. I already knew in my heart I'd have to sell Roark, the bike I'd been riding for years and thousands of miles. 

We turned around at the four mile mark, not because I was tired, but because I was afraid I would become tired and not be able to ride back. That was probably excessive caution on my part. I should have pushed my limits. But I didn't want Judy to have to come fetch me, especially after she'd been carting me around all week. I should, God willing, be in Western Pennsylvania next month and will be riding the Indian Creek Valley Trail again, this time the whole completed section and on a bike that fits me.  I look forward to crossing the Melcroft trestle again, and whatever else appears in my path. 

Nolde Forest Environmental Education Center

In September and October I focused on hiking as my primary exercise. I did this not only because I was in one of my periodic bicycle funks, but also because hiking would help me smooth my gait. I still had the stiff-legged look, best described by W. S. Gilbert in Patience: "To cultivate the trim/ rigidity of limb/ its best to get/a marionette/ and form your style on him." Walking on uneven ground would be fun and would pay off in my everyday life more than spinning on a bike would.

In looking for places to hike, I stumbled upon an oddly named state park, Nolde Forest, south of Reading. Since the Pennsylvania state forests and state parks are separate administrative structures, I wondered why "Forest" was in the name of the park. As usual, there's a fascinating story behind it.

Jacob Nolde was one of many Germans who settled in Berks county during the second half of the 19th century. His life is the quintessential American success story. A weaver, he found work at a factory, rose to the top, and eventually started his own company knitting hosiery. By 1900 he was one of the leading citizens of Reading, employing hundreds of workers.

Just because you work in Reading doesn't mean you want to live there, and so Nolde purchased land in the hills south of the city for his estate. Much of Penn's Woodlands has been stripped bare by a century of lumbering, and two centuries of charcoal, iron, and steel forges, and Nolde wound up with barren hillsides. On one tract of land he found a single pine growing amid the meadow that sprang up when the trees were cut. Seeing that one tree, combined with his memories of Germany's Black Forest, led Nolde to decide to replant his land with pines.

In 1910 Nolde realized that his enthusiasm and money were achieving results, but that continuing and caring for his new forest required a professional forester. He hired an Austrian, William Kohout, to manage his forest holdings and increase the size of his personal Black Forest. When Jacob Nolde died in 1916 the project was continued by his son Hans. In 1926 the Nolde mansion was constructed. Three years later William Kohout passed away, still employed managing the Nolde family forest. By the late 1960s the land and mansion was purchased by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and added to the state park system as Nolde Forest Environmental Education Center.

This October day was warm, and I set out in early afternoon. First up was a walk around the exterior of the Nolde mansion.  The building, which now houses the park offices and rooms used for educational and public events, is an odd mishmash of styles. One could imagine the parties the Nolde family would host, and cars pulling up outside the building dropping off people who could have stepped out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

The Pennsylvania Department of Conservation and Natural Resources hasn't devoted much to keeping the exterior of the mansion in shape. Its a pity, as restoring the garden would take work, but give tribute to the Nolde family and add pleasure for the visitor. The Italian tile in the garden is chipping, the fountain doesn't work, the ponds are full of stagnant water, and there's a big hole in the ground where another fountain or a birdbath is missing. The hole isn't barricaded and its a matter of time until someone steps in it and get hurt.

I've included photos of the tile at the fountain. The center of the panel is a tribute to the Nolde family heritage. German-American folk art, or Fraktur, often incorporates birds in the design, and the bluebirds in the panel are a stylized version. Note also the flowers, another common element in Fraktur.

Having spent time at the mansion, I drove to the trailhead at the mill on the property. I hiked about two miles along Angelica Creek, using the flat Watershed Trail, the slightly hillier Kohout Trail, and a couple of others. Whenever you hike at Nolde, bring a map - there are trails all over the park, and they intersect frequently. While trails are generally well marked, its easy to miss a turn, as I was soon to find out.

After my hike and extensive photography of Angelica Creek and the small cascade at the former mill, I drove to the far side of the park. I'd heard about an overlook, and I wanted to try to find it I headed down a muddy and spring-laden trail, only to find it wasn't what I wanted. Having reached three miles, I turned onto what I expected to be a connecting trail that would lead me back to my car. Instead I was traveling further from the parking lot, further into the northern part of the park. I realized something was wrong when I looked down the cut in the photo below and didn't see the road I'd traveled on to get here. I immediately turned on my heels and walked back the way I'd come.

While it wasn't very dark, the sun was setting, and I began to have panicky thoughts. My walking was improved but I was far from sure-footed. If I fell no one would find me until morning, if then. I had no jacket if the night was cold. I had no flashlight either. And no food or water. Cell phone reception was very poor.

Fortunately I found the right turn once I backtracked, and I was soon at my car. As the sun set I even walked a short stretch of the Coffeepot Trail, simply because I liked the name. I finished the day with a bit more than four miles and a desire to hike at Nolde again.