“The Bros” as Sue had dubbed them, leap-frogged us several times on day 2 as we headed west from Confluence to West Newton. We had just arrived at the Trailside restaurant when The Bros rolled in to purchase some craft beer. After the obligatory conversation openers (Where’d you start from? Where ya headed?), the conversation revealed that Sue, I, and the three bearded, hip young things all hailed from the same suburb of Worthington, in Columbus, Ohio. We had all left the comfort of our homes and traveled hundreds of miles to bike the same trail, on the same day, at about the same pace, knowing that temps overnight would dip into the low 30s. The Bros had opted to take the train from Pittsburgh to Cumberland, Maryland and bike 150 miles one way. In COVID times, Sue, Attila and I had opted for an out-and back.

The Bros told us about a biker-only campsite “only about 1,000 yards up the trail” and we believed them, because who wants to carry the extra weight of a six-pack any further than 1,000 yards? We finished our meal and set out to find this campsite, eager to set up our gear before dark. Although we didn’t know the name of what we were looking for, and had to negotiate down a slight decline of grass and gravel to a rural roadway, we soon found the Gap Trail Bikers Campground.

We were greeted by a friendly attendant who seemed to know exactly what made a cyclist smile. Warm, open-air individual shower rooms? Yup. Coffee in the morning? Yup. Moveable fire rings? Yup. A large tent to camp under to ward off the “camping-in-a-cloud” effect? Yup. Thanks to The Bros, we had found our first class ticket for campsites. Attila and I gathered wood from the brush and while I took my turn in a shower, Attila started a campfire that drew in the social cyclists.

The rail yard campsite we stayed at the night before our tires hit the pavement in Cumberland didn’t seem so bad after listening to one cyclist’s description of a Cumberland hotel full of meth addicts. Ear plugs sufficed to muffle the sounds of rail cars switching lines, but how do you block out a gathering of face-tatoo’ed meth addicts smoking on the elevator? As I pondered what one might call a gathering of meth addicts, (a pantera, perhaps?), I offered an empathic, “People forget” with some undue seriousness when the no smoking in elevators violation was being discussed.

Sue and Attila pointed out the humor in my response and the phrase “People forget,” became one of our many catch phrases for the remainder of the trip, offered up whenever we spoke about something either we, or someone else had done that was completely dumb.

As I drifted off to sleep that evening, I listened for the screech owl Attila had drawn my attention to earlier as we had gathered firewood. Waiting for the owl’s spooky neigh, my breathing settled into an easy rhythm of deep gratitude. Gratitude for having the opportunity to take this trip and re-learn how to push myself beyond my comfort zone. Gratitude for the sunshine and shade, for the “cool breezes” of early autumn, and most of all – for new friends and kindred spirits.

People forget, but I’m determined to be one who remembers every magical moment.