61: monocacy, manbun, the interaction of trees, stormy evidence, creamery, get that rooster drunk, buying mulch, not a train enthusiast, bugs cross, stopped train and the lucky charm, public spectacle, boiled frog, penny's diner

June 12, 2025

Poolesville to Brunswick

An aqueduct is simply a bridge that carries water over a river. The Monocacy Aqueduct was built with local quartzite and, at 516 feet, is the longest of Benjamin Wright’s (considered the “Father of American Civil Engineering”) eleven aqueducts on the C&O Canal.

It was one of the few spared during the Civil War, and was restored in 2004 after floods and time weakened it. And, wait... what's that on the right?

This appears to be one of those guitars that can only be played by someone with a man bun.

Only occasionally did I see another cyclist, and none of them wanted to stop to talk. About the only sounds I heard today were from birds, insects, and frogs, in that order. Unfortunately, “insects” includes mosquitoes, and they became worse as the day progressed. At one point I stopped for a picture and was almost assassinated. I haven’t seen that many at one time since one of my trips about 30 years ago.

You can't pick up much speed because of sections like this. Shadows make them invisible until you're right on top of them.

There were some places where you could see the evidence of recent storms.

I'm still wondering about what the colors mean.

Every time I come up with a theory, I see something that stumps me.

Although I'm convinced that this is just the result of a sneeze while someone had a paintbrush in hand

You can't see it from this angle, but there's a hole on both sides of the tree so you can see all the way through the oval.

This is 1 of the 31 Hiker Biker campsites on the C&O. Just like the others, there's a picnic table, a fire pit, a PortaPotty, and a well with non-potable water.

I had planned on camping for most of the C&O until I saw the weather report. Now, with the mosquitoes swarming with every stop, I'm glad I didn't.

In Point of Rocks, I detoured off the path for 1.5 miles, adding a total of 3 extra miles in order to stop at the Rocky Point Creamery. There was a bit of a climb, but nothing was going to prevent me from having some ice cream for lunch..... Well, maybe the fact that they were closed. It did look a bit dark, and the parking lot was completely empty.

But you forget how lucky I am. It was 11:25 when I arrived, and they opened at 11:30, so I went inside the supercooled building and had three scoops: sweet cream, chocolate marshmallow, and mango sorbet.

Inside, there was a round man who had some trouble understanding that adding malt to a shake makes it a malt, and costs $2.00 extra. He accepted the proffered milkshake, looked at it, then roared in what was to him a conversational volume, “THAT'S A LARGE??? GLAD I DIDN'T GET A SMALL!!!” (In case you're wondering about the molecular diagram on the shirt in the top right corner, it's coffee)

still shocked and dismayed that this is the large size

I ended up sitting next to him and listened with interest as he complained about no one wanting to work because they all have a million dollars as a result of government hand outs. He was cut off by the woman with him: “Let’s talk about something else.”

When he agreed, she asked, “Can anyone just go out and use a fire hydrant?”

“No,” he assured her. “They got a meter on it. I opened one up when we was kids. Played for about an hour then someone came and shut it off. They was yellin’ at us but we were runnin' by then.”

The man, later: “I came to Point of Rocks way back but it was just on the river. Only thing I remember was that you had to walk up a bunch of stairs to get to the beer store, but I was only six so I couldn’t drink.“

And later, “My father, he grew up on a farm. I didn’t know 'til I was sixteen that...” Here he paused and asked, “What’s that meal where you eat a turkey?”

“Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah. That was ‘butcherin' day,’ cause that’s what my dad did. Had a bunch of pigs, but I never saw older pigs growing up. I remember my dad used to say, ‘Don’t you go in that hog pen.’ Found out later they’da ate me.”

And later: “Some evenings, dad would sit there on the porch and drink with the rooster.” [At first, I thought he was talking about a guy whose nickname is Rooster, like John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn. As it turns out, no.]

“And you know what happens when a rooster gets drunk. He gets mean. Run people outta the yard. I wudnafraid of him though. And I think he knew it."

Woman: “Yeah, I’m worried about my rooster.”

Man: “Get him drunk.”

Stupid sign. I had to buy mulch, and it's heavy to carry on a bike.

Lockhouse #28, one of the places you can rent with no electricity or running water

Back on the trail I noticed a guy stopped, so I pulled over and asked if everything's okay. He said fine, then pointed with his chin to the tracks just across the canal. There were two trains running parallel in the same direction, and it was almost like an optical illusion.

"Are you a train enthusiast?" I asked.

"No. I majored in logistics at the University of Maryland."

Then... nothing.... I asked a couple of other questions which received monosyllabic answers without a glance in my direction. He wasn't interested in talking, which was okay, so I rolled on.

Lockkeepers had to be available anytime of the day or night to operate their lock. Consequently, in addition to a lockhouse with a garden plot, they were paid as much as $600 a year. Tending locks was often a family venture and the canal company preferred family men. The last lockkeeper to live here was Lewis H. "Bugs” Cross. He, along with his wife and four children, operated Lock 29 from 1917 until the canal closed in 1924. They continued living in the lockhouse for nearly 40 years after the canal had stopped operating.

The Catoctin Creek Aqueduct allowed barges to be towed over the top of the Catoctin Creek.

The temperature on the trail, regardless of how hot it was elsewhere, remained pleasant. The difference upon leaving the trail, even for a moment, was shocking. Cool and comfortable becomes a post-apocalyptic burn in which, every time, I would think "Did I forget to put on sunscreen? Because I can feel my skin burning."

So, when I arrived in Brunswick, my destination for the day, I was chagrined to see a train blocking the path. A stopped train. Then I happened to look around and noticed that people weren't waiting comfortably in their air-conditioned cars. Instead, they were spread-eagle in their seats, with limbs akimbo and legs sticking out of open windows, their mouths open like dying fish gasping for air on a pier. In the corner of the parking lot I saw a cluster of people huddled in the shade of a tree like vampires avoiding solar exposure.

I rolled over to a guy near the front and asked what's going on. I'd been off the trail for about five minutes and was already drenched, the sweat trickling into my eyes.

"The train's stopped." I had ingeniously figured that out, and nodded encouragingly for him to continue. "We've been here for over two and a half hours."

It's possible that my jaw actually dropped open. Never having lived in a location in which trains could block traffic, I was aghast.

"Did you say two and a half hours??"

"Yeah, it'll move a little, then stop and back up. I keep seeing the same cars. And there's not a good way around."

About that time, the train started moving, inching along. Then it moved a little more. Slowly. Sooo slowly. After a couple of minutes he said, "Well, that's a car I haven't seen before. Maybe it's working now." The train started picking up speed and you could see people in their cars and in the parking lot perk up. Their heads lifted, like a turtle coming out of its shell, and I saw hope spark in their eyes.

Even as the train gathered momentum I didn't want to get my hopes up, because there's no way that these people could've been waiting that long, then I just pop in and it clears up.

But that's what happened. I told Jeff about how the creamery in Point of Rocks opened up five minutes after I arrived, and now after a two and a half hour stoppage the train starts rolling.

"I may not be very smart, but I'm the luckiest son of a gun you'll ever meet."

He smiled and said, "I do believe you're my lucky charm."

Once across the tracks, I started making my way to the hotel on the other side of town. This is the best name for an optometrist I've ever seen.

It wasn't actually 104 degrees, but it sure felt like it. It was all steeply uphill to the hotel.

I don't know if my sunscreen is causing this, or my sweat. If it's the latter, I'll refer you back to Day 12 of my riding.

When I arrived at my hotel I didn't see an office, even after riding all the way to the end of the complex. At the far end, there was a guy sitting outside so I asked him where I needed to go. He told me that check in for the hotel is at the diner.

I should've known there was something wrong with him by the fact that he was outside in the furnace-like heat, but maybe he was like the allegory of the boiled frog: he came out in the morning and didn't realize that at this point in the day I could fry an egg on my helmet. Or my scalp. I'm leaning towards "something wrong with him" because of his chattering.

Not wanting to just ride away, I used a number of nonverbal cues to hint that I was ready to go, such as peeing in my pants on purpose and ignoring the blossoming stain, then a bit later pretending to cough up blood. When those didn't work, I went with a full complement of other tactics such as, "Which way did you say I needed to go? Yeah? Okay, thanks," then turning away. Toward the end, he wanted to know more about my bike, and even asked how much it cost. When I answered with, "It was a gift from my wife," he said "It looks expensive."

Penny's Diner is adjacent to the hotel, and a decent place to eat with excellent service, but if you're not staying at the hotel you'll end up burning every single calorie you ate there by climbing to it.

That was my second shake. I had the first one as soon as I arrived, then showered and came back for dinner.

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This evening I realized a made a slight scheduling error, although to call it a "slight error" is similar to Hitler calling the Eastern Front a minor miscalculation. This is my third straight day of riding, and I won't be getting a rest day until I complete nine additional days... twelve straight days in the saddle. How did that happen?

Heather will be joining me in Cumberland for the remainder of the GAP. Her original plan was to do the entire C&O/GAP, but after doing some reading she determined that the C&O is “too underdeveloped.” Her research took her to posts with pictures of people covered head-to-toe in mud, with captions like “I’ve never seen so much mud! What a blast!” Since that, to her, is more of an anti-vacation she decided to hang out in Pittsburgh with Cherpumple Jen and Cherpumple Mike.

I calculated seven days to get from Alexandria to Cumberland, then five days from Cumberland to Pittsburgh. Somehow, I forgot to add a rest day. Fortunately, they're all relatively short days.

We'll see how it goes. Wish me luck.

Today's ride: 29 miles (47 km)
Total: 1,607 miles (2,586 km)

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Jeff Lee1. A classic "overhead conversation while bike touring" moment with the Disappointed Milkshake Man!

2. Penny's Diner is a restaurant chain whose locations are apparently always located adjacent to Oak Tree Inns. At one time, the hotels and diners were owned by a railroad company, and were primarily for the use of the company's train crews. At least that is what I was told when I stayed at an Oak Tree Inn, and at the diner next door, in Yampa, Colorado on a bike tour once. I did a little Googling just now, and it appears that the hotels have been sold to a regular hotel company now.
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1 month ago

Mark M.I'm confident you'll manage twelve days of cycling. It's whether you'll also manage twelve days of blogging that worries me.

Happy trails...
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1 month ago

Mark BinghamTo Jeff Lee1. I think the Disappointed Milkshake Man will remain disappointed regardless of his circumstances.
2. This Penny’s Diner is attached to the “Travelodge by Wyndham.” I didn’t see an Oak Tree Inn anywhere so I think you’re right.
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1 month ago

Mark BinghamTo Mark M.My blogging will most likely be the same as my cycling: plodding.
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1 month ago

George (Buddy) HallTo Jeff LeeDitto on the Oaktree Inn/Penny's Diner connection in Milford, UT - at least, so it was in 2017. The diner was under contract with the railroad and had to stay open 24 hrs/day in case a hungry RR crew came in - I know that cause I was the only person in the diner at 4 am for breakfast and couldn't believe they would be open at that time, and so I inquired. Very convenient for a touring cyclist.
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1 month ago

Laura SeiditaTo Mark BinghamYour blogging in great! I love to read your observations and recounting of overheard conversations. Eavesdropping and people watching can provide lots of "material" :-)
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1 month ago

Mark BinghamTo Laura SeiditaPeople are super interesting! Thanks for reading, Laura!
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1 month ago