BUSHWHACKING BY BIKE

I was pretty excited about our weekend trip to north central Pennsylvania. I hadn’t been there in two years, and during that time the state had developed a new rail-trail. Abandoned railroads crisscross that part of the state, creating a virtually endless potential for trails. This new one sounded particularly appealing to me though. It follows Clearfield Creek from Madera to Dimeling, which is a few miles southeast of Clearfield. My most notable previous experience with Clearfield Creek was a fantastic canoeing trip several years earlier.

That trip had been quite an adventure. We had put in at Faunce, which is a few miles downstream from Madera. We went all the way to Shawville, on the Susquehana River, without any prior knowledge of what we would find in between. We weren’t even sure about the distance. It turns out it’s well over 20 miles, which is a bit much for a one-day trip. Putting in for that trip was exciting, simply because we didn’t know what to expect. Would there be class IV rapids, or a 100’ waterfall? We had assurance from at least 1 and ½ semi-reliable sources that there almost certainly wasn’t anything like that along the way. But we couldn’t be sure.

Well, we didn’t find anything like that, which is fortunate considering our lack of canoeing skill. What we did find was a surprisingly remote and beautiful mountain stream. If it wasn’t for some of the old coal mines in the surrounding hills, it could almost be described as a wilderness. In fact, it felt more like a wilderness than many of the wilderness areas I’ve been too.

So, I was looking forward to another visit to the area. We brought our mountain bikes with us, along with Christy’s road bike. While we were hauling all those bikes across Pennsylvania, we passed another car with bikes on the back. It was at that point that I made the following observation. Why does it seem that, in America, you see more bikes on the backs of cars than people on bikes?

We headed out to Clearfield Creek on Saturday. It’s only a 10 minute drive from Christy’s parent’s house to the Dimeling trailhead, but we managed to double that by forgetting a wallet and a bike helmet. After two false starts and a wrong-turn or two we finally found the trailhead on the west side of the Dimeling Bridge over Clearfield Creek.

Running suited Christy’s triathlon training schedule better than mountain biking, so she set out for an 8-mile run while I biked solo. I planned to go 12 miles to Madera, where Christy would pick me up in a couple of hours. At the time, the risks of this plan didn’t really occur to me. I was heading out by myself on a brand-new trail, without any sort of map or cell phone reception, through some remote country. What could go wrong?

I got a hint of was in store for me in the first 100 yards. First I had to dismount to cross an old, rickety railroad bridge over Little Clearfield Creek. Then I had to dismount to walk around some huge puddles, courtesy of the recent heavy rains that have caused massive flooding in Pennsylvania.

Fortunately, the entire trail wasn’t flooded. Some parts were just muddy. Others were rocky. And then there were the washouts and fallen trees. Even the best parts of the trail hardly seemed like a rail-trail. On several occasions I had to lift the bike over fallen logs, or crawl under them. Or walk around through the woods. It’s the first time I’ve ever bushwhacked with a bike, and its not an experience I’m in any hurry to repeat.

I’m not sure how much of the trail conditions were due to the rain and flooding. However, I do suspect that the State of Pennsylvania simply declared the old railroad bed a trail, without really improving it. After all, the road bed has been there for years. If that’s the case, hopefully the trail will be improved in the future, because it runs through a beautiful area. The stream cuts through a small but lovely gorge. The area is heavily wooded and full of wildlife, and it offers all kinds of recreational opportunities. During my ride I saw several people camping, as well 3 or 4 people canoeing. What I didn’t see was other mountain bikers. That’s probably because most people have more sense than me.

I reached the road at Faunce, which would’ve been a good place to bail out. The only problem with that strategy is that my wife wouldn’t be looking for me there. Riding out to the main road would require a monster climb out of the gorge that I really wasn’t in the mood for. Plus, I was still enjoying myself, despite the difficulties of the trail. I wanted to see the creek above Faunce, which was virgin territory for me. Plus, it would be impossible for me to get any muddier than I already was.

I continued upstream before reaching a huge deadfall. While I was trying to find a way through, 2 girls approached from the other direction on, of all things, a golf cart. How did they get that thing down this trail? The trail is open to motor vehicles in theory, although current conditions rule out most motorized options. The only thing I could think is that the trail ahead must be in better shape, if it was passable to a golf cart.

The girls made a 3-point turn and headed back. I eventually made it over, under, and through the deadfall and continued my ride. After a mile or so, the trail drifted away from the main creek along a tributary. A few minutes later I intersected a dirt road. There was no sign here (or anywhere else along the trail), but I knew the railroad grade followed the creek all the way to Madera. So, I turned left on the road, crossed the tributary on a bridge, and continued downhill to the remains of a bridge over Clearfield Creek. I knew the railroad grade crossed the creek in this area, but if this was the bridge, I was in trouble. The only thing left of the bridge was part of the frame. Walking across, even without a bike, would’ve been dangerous. Riding across would’ve been a circus act.

I hunted around and found a trail on the same side of the creek continuing upstream. It was unmarked, but it looked like a railroad grade. This part of the trail was drier, but tedious. Most of it was very rocky, and by rocky I don’t mean gravel. I was riding over fist sized rocks that reduced my progress to a snail’s pace. They also beat the hell out of my crotch. Eventually I decided that I could move faster walking the bike. I dismounted and walked the bike as fast as possible. I had already been riding for over 2 hours, and I knew Christy was waiting for me. I knew if I didn’t arrive soon she’d head back to the starting trailhead, just in case I’d decided to bail out.

I alternated riding and walking and finally emerged from the woods along the shoulder of route 453. This was a relief, since I remembered from the map that the last 2 miles or so of railroad grade ran parallel to the highway. I’d had enough rocks though, so I bailed out onto the road.

This was smoother, but hilly. I finally reached the top of a small mountain and was enjoying the rewards of my efforts heading down when Christy drove by. I pulled over and she picked me up, which was great except that I missed out on the fun of the downhill. Mostly I was just relieved to be off my bike. From there we drove to Madera, where I spotted the southern trailhead (on the east side of the creek). Apparently the trail does cross the creek, though it’s upstream from the old bridge I’d seen. We found an ice cream shop in Madera, and we indulged. I had a large cup of chocolate ice cream, and by large, I’m talking 14 ounces or so. With M&Ms. I was pretty sure I’d earned it.

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