Special Report: GOBA 2022 Day 5 Wapakoneta to Troy, Ohio Part 1 of 2

Wednesday, June 22, 2023. Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure.

Goodbye Wapak.

I pushed so hard on yesterday’s ride I wondered what I have left in these old legs that have turned to the consistency of limpy licorice. I also questioned whether the taco salad I had at yesterday’s Mexican restaurant was sufficient to provide the fuel I need to complete today’s 50-mile ride. Nevertheless, I ate my Cliff Bar with water as was my usual breakfast, loaded the bags on the truck, and mounted my trusty bike.

The heat wave showed no signs of abating. From 7 AM to about 9 was the best tolerated time to bike. After that, the heat, sun, wind, and humidity take their toll on one’s body. Start any time later and the weather will be unbearable. I rode mostly by myself trying to establish an even rhythm and without much success. Pedaling for a few minutes and the pain would return then coast for a bit. I had no intention of pushing them today.

The AM stops at St Jacobs Lutheran Church in Anna (Mile Mark 17.9) and Gillespie Family Farm ( Mile Mark 29.5) were short stops just to refill my water bottles.

You made me happy hill.

I found myself back on the road. A short descent led the riders to what I feel was the best bike route so far. Kuther Rd. turned into Miami River Rd. and the most significant change was this portion of the route was in the shade. Most of this year’s GOBA route took us along wide unobstructed fields of corn, soybean, and wheat allowing the sun and the wind to relentlessly bombard us increasing our misery index into the red zone. The drop in temperature alone was a welcome relief. The road surface was smooth and at times undulating with its small rises and falls. The brown water of the Great Miami River would occasionally expose herself through the dense vegetation on my right as she meandered her way south to greet the great Ohio River in Cincinnati. To be here, now, at this moment was worth all the pain and suffering I had endured the previous day. To bike slowly and feel the cool breeze on my sun-parched face, to hear the variety of birds chirping and singing to each other, and yes even the flora was silently singing the praise of being alive in this moment left a lasting impression not soon forgotten. Enjoying the joy of being a solitary cyclist.

Having been a cyclist for many years on many rides, organized and not, these moments of bliss were all too short-lived. The idiom that never grows old enters my consciousness: what goes down, must come up. Soon there will be a physical payment to be extracted.

There, up ahead, on a steep incline, I see a cyclist in heavy exertion as she struggles with each pedal stroke to maintain balance and forward momentum. In my casual observance, she appears in control. I have every reason to believe she will succeed in her personal struggle against the forces of gravity.

For many casual cyclists, hills are horrible intrusions into their lives. They make you sweat, they make you hurt, and they are a source of embarrassment when you feel the need to walk your bike up one. Yet, climbing hills are what makes us human. Let me explain. From the day of our birth, we struggle to survive. We learn to hold a spoon, we learn to tie our shoes, and we memorize the alphabet. As we grow older the struggles get harder. We graduate from high school, some go on to college, and we get jobs and start careers and raise families. Each time we stop to make a decision we are at a bottom of a personal hill. Do we have what it takes to climb it or do we look for another route?

On organized rides like GOBA, I trust the judgment of the Route Meister Dwaine Wheeler. If there was an easier way he would have found it. This path will be the one I take. This hill will be my personal battle. The attitude I take to climb this hill will be the very same attitude I will use to face all my other challenges in life.

I take a long swig of water from my water bottle. My mind prepares for the punishment. I drop my bike gears to its lowest chainring and highest rear cog. It is time: Let’s do this!

I feel the bike slow down as the resistance of the incline increases. My legs are adapting to the power I need to keep the bike steady, always in motion. There is a dull pain in my calf and quads but it feels manageable. I can do this! I stand putting the full weight of my body over the pedal on the down stroke. Feels good to have my butt off the seat. Nice easy pedal strokes, mentally removing all negative distractions. It’s power not speed. The bike lunges forward with each downward push. I feel in control. I take several deep cleansing breaths, and get the CO2 out and O2 into my bloodstream. Don’t grip the handlebars so tight! Relax those arm muscles, relax the shoulders, the only muscles you need are in your legs and thighs and your back muscles for balance. Let those muscles do the work. The resistance is lessening, I look up ahead and…

It’s over. I am at the top. Victory is mine. The sense of accomplishment lasts but for a fleeting moment as my heart rate and respiration return to normal. There is no time for gloating. There are more miles ahead.

Victory comes only to those prepared to make it, and take it. - Tom Clancy

Lunch in Piqua.

As the riders entered the town of Piqua we soon turned off the main road and down a back alley to our rest stop for lunch. There were a number of picnic tables and after parking my bike, I picked one to sit down next to Sue from the Silver Wheels. She said her calf felt better today, wish I could say the same about my legs. Trying to make up my mind on what to eat for lunch and I have no idea what is being offered here. I saw an outdoor sign for Salad and walked through the door to find it was an ice cream shop with some 20-grade school kids in line to get their treats. Me getting anything to eat here is not going to happen. Back out in the heat, I see a food truck and riders eating hamburgers and fries nearby. More carnival food. It seems to be my only option at this time. With 6 people in front, I wait patiently for my turn to order.

“Cheeseburger with fries, please”, I said and the young woman writes my order on a piece of paper and sticks it on the edge of a shelf behind her next to the other orders. Looks much like a family affair. Dad in his cooking apron at the grill, mom back at the fryer on the french fries, daughter taking and passing on the orders, and the son making sure everybody has what they need to run a smooth operation. I get my order and sit back at the table to find everyone has left on their way to Troy about 12 miles away. I eat my burger and fries in solitude.

Down tree on the trail.

One of the riders for Silver Wheels who I have known for several years, PJ, approached me and showed me a photo on his cellphone of a downed tree on the trail not far from town with an interesting observation. There are 2 ways to get through, one is the most obvious, go around on the gravel or there is a way to get through in the middle, PJ tells me. Being of the mindset of one who travels the path least taken I poked my head in the center of the downed tree and found little resistance from the small branches. A little left and a little right and thus avoided the gravel reroute.

Welcome to Troy.

It was a short and flat ride to Troy City Park. I pulled in and followed the road to a pavilion where the GOBA team have set up an information table. I see the shower truck has been set up behind the pavilion. But first I need to get my bags, set up my tent, and get out my change of clothes.

Where is the semi? I’m informed it is way out in the parking area at the front of the park near where I entered. There it is! Behind the trees. Yes, Trees! Lots of trees, large maple trees with big maple leaves blocking out the sun. On my way over I run into Suzi and Joshlyn who have carved out a shaded area for their tent. Plenty of room to set up my tent all around them. I parked my bike using a couple of tent stakes and a piece of string. I learned this system of keeping your bike upright on a previous GOBA. Set one stake in the ground, wrap the string around one side of the drop handlebars, and over to the next then another tent stake to secure it.

Now to get my bags and set up the tent. I walk to the truck and easily find my bags among all the others. But they are heavy. I would have to drag them one at a time unless… a young enterprising kid comes by with a wheelbarrow looking to make a few bucks. I quickly snatched him before anybody else caught his attention. He eagerly agreed and we place the black bag in first and the smaller but heavier bag on top. He struggled with the weight and the balance wasn’t quite right. There, I turned the smaller bag perpendicular to the black bag and that stabilized the heavy load. I’ll give him credit for his tenacity as his gangly arms and legs pushed that wheelbarrow over the bumpy grass. I am certain the wheelbarrow and its contents weighed more than he did. I thanked him and compensated him for his effort and he returned to get someone else’s load.

Time to set up the tent and explore my surroundings.

There is a large mound that separates the Great Miami River and the park proper. This dike was built to keep the flood waters from destroying the picnic shelters and other structures on the grounds.

Got the tent up and found my change of clothes, time to hit the showers.

The shower truck is a large semi with shower stalls installed on half the length, a narrow bench, and a hook in front of each stall. Half the truck are for women and the other half for men. There is a shower curtain for privacy and plenty of hot water for a relaxing soak. I had forgotten my bar of soap I store in my plastic camping container but they do provide a liquid soap dispenser in the shower and I use my bandana as a washcloth. On days I ride I rinse out my padded bike shorts and they usually dry by the next day. If you time it just right there will be no line to get in, today I didn’t and the wait was about 20 minutes. It feels so good to put on a fresh shirt except on those really hot and humid days when getting out of the shower no matter how much you towel you never feel dry. My farmer tan is really prominent. I dare not walk out without a shirt on for fear Capt Ahab with a harpoon in hand mistakes me for the great white whale.

Let’s take a walk up these stairs and see what is on the other side.

Across the river are Treasure Island and Float Troy, floating tents anchored in the river for a night's stay managed by the city of Troy.

A view at the Adams Street Bridge. This lone camper has staked his claim.

The Buckeye Trail, a 1440+ mile loop around the state of Ohio makes its way through the park. Troy is a designated Buckeye Trail Town as is Piqua. Later on Saturday, I plan on visiting Wakeman on the North Coast Inland Trail for the dedication of Wakeman being the 17th trail town on the Buckeye Trail.

Next, in part 2 of 2, I’ll explore the city of Troy.