ECG Day 1: New Castle, DE to Bensalem, PA

There will come a day when I learn, at long last, not to tempt the fates. Today was not that day.

It started out well enough, for sure. A glorious sunrise over the Delaware river greeted us as we geared up in New Castle.  The tall ship  “Kalmar Nyckel” was docked right there beside us. A bald eagle sat majestically just off-bank on a small rock isle.  Doesn’t get any better.

We cruised into Wilmington effortlessly.  There before we knew it. “This is gonna be cake,” I thought, “ I may not have anything to write about.”  I know, I KNOW... but it’s not like I said it out loud or anything.  Didn’t matter.  They were listening.

You know, I’ve been around Wilmington for 25 years now. Even worked downtown. I never really thought of it as a “hilly” place. The fact that it hosts entities like ROCKford Park, ROCKwood Park, the Wilmington Blue ROCKS, and a fairly substantial ROCK face for climbing aficionados... Ya, didn’t register. Well, it registered today.  By the time we hit, oh, mile twenty or so, and had completed the mountain stage of the tour du Wilmington, I was shot. “I’m glad I didn’t know about this ahead of time,” mused Bill as he patiently waited for me to resume pulmonary function, “it would have been so much worse.”

North from Wilmington you enter the industrial world of Marcus Hook, Pennsylvania. “Hold your breath,” Bill forewarned , but I chose to experience it all.  These are not aromas found in nature, let’s put that way.  The stunning thing is that there are homes here - not dilapidated, poverty-stricken hovels, but places that look like the GI owner just came back from WWII, got a job at the plant across the street, and is fixin to raise a family, complete with sittin’ chairs on front porches to enjoy the view of their workplace. The idea was to race through this section as quickly as possible, before lung cancer set in, but no.  I heard Bill yell from a hundred yards back. “Flat tire!”, he hollers.  Just like that. One minute fine, dead flat the next.  Not scratch on it, I might add.  So we got to enjoy an additional twenty minutes or so of luxuriating in this weird combination of sulfuric acid/diesel/sewer/marijuana fumes, next to a hippo-sized mound of trash heaped on the sidewalk, while we repaired the tire. 

A block later, my bike permanently and autonomously shifted itself into its highest gear.  Rear derailleur wouldn’t do anything. I could shift it, but it would drop right back. Bill and I studied the problem, and eventually concluded that neither of us has a promising future in bicycle repair.  By sheer dumb luck, I happened to notice that the shift lever itself was barely “attached” (presumably due to the hydrofluoric acid fumes now wafting our way).  Tightening did the trick... For a block or so.  “Do you think locktite would work?”, Bill wondered.  “Might. Would I ever be able to shift again?, I asked.  “I dunno, “ he said.  You get the level we’re operating at.  In the spirit of, “well it’s not working anyway,” I used the tried and true brute force method of tightening.  Because the fates may be listening, I refuse to say whether this worked or not, but the astute reader may note that I’m currently lounging in a hotel room.

Fast forward through relatively normal miles as we cruised past Harrahs Resort And Casino- oddly situated right next to the Chester “correctional facility”, by the way - and into greater Philly.  The Schuykill River trail was thankfully open, after being under six feet of Hurricane Ida floodwaters less than a week ago. It was fascinating to see the mud that had been scraped away from the trail, and the big trees that had floated in and stranded. Props to the city workers for getting it all sorted so quickly.  By this time we were at forty miles or so, tired, thirsty, and a good hour and a half behind our expected arrival at Yards Brewery for lunch, but we got there eventually,  and the chipper hostess gladly let us sit outdoors in the non-showering section (the lunch did not disappoint, BTW).

From there, we had a mere 14 miles to the hotel. “We’ll be there by 4:00”, I announced - out loud this time - giving us two full hours to go a measly 14 miles. Uh huh.

The ride through NE Philly was hectic. Serious traffic, and stop lights seemingly every block.  We crawled our way through, one eye on the rear view mirror the entire time.  Just two miles from the hotel, my rear tire went flat.  “Maybe it has a slow leak,” I announced, “It’s just two miles, I’ll put some air in it and we’ll make a run for it.”  Nope, not a slow leak.  “Do you think that wire has something to do with it?” Bill asked.  “What wire?  “The one sticking out of the tire,” he said.  “Ah... well fortunately I have a spare tube,” I said, yanking out a four-inch steel wire.  My tire/rim combination is notoriously difficult to work with (the tire fits very tight), and in the process of changing the tube, I didn’t get the tire seated properly.  I knew it, I even showed it to Bill.  “It’s only two miles to the hotel, I’ll redo it there,” I announced, “it should be okay.” One mile and 5270 feet from the hotel, that tire blew out with the sound of a gunshot, shredding the sidewall and tube.  Thankfully, the nearest bike shop was a mere 2.8 miles and $12 Uber ride away.  Bill waited patiently with the bikes, and when all was said and done, we were back on the road in less than an hour, and soon at the hotel, where the first order of business was to do our laundry by jumping in the pool fully clothed.  

I’ve rambled on long enough. There’s more to tell, but it’s late, so here’s to you, Tomorrow, I’m looking forward to meeting you.

Shout out to the school mascot-of-the-day: The “St. Hubert Bambies,” of Philadelphia.  Hey, don’t kid yourself, these girls are tough... they’d have to be.

Also a shout out to Liberty Bell Cycle in Philly for dropping work in-progress to get me squared away with a new rear tire and back on the road in a matter of minutes. I didn’t catch their names, but thanks again, fellas!

Oh, and there’s a mouse in our hotel room.