Day 4

I wake up at 8:30.  Ughhh. Time to get up.  I decide to outsmart what is surely a muddy towpath by donning my gore-tex pants.  The towpath one ups me again by not being remotely muddy despite yesterday's deluge and steady rain most of the night.  So, an unnecessary panting, but a nice surprise nonetheless.
I make reasonably good time from Little Orleans and plan to stop for lunch in Old Town, MD.  There is at least one "town" listed on my map prior to this, yet I never see any turn offs.  The canal is covered in green algae and then lily pads and turtles abound.  I stop to take a photo of at least 8 turtles of varying size all lined up on a log, but as soon as I stop my bike, the turtles walk the plank one by one. Plunk! Plunk!  Plunk!  I give up on turtle photography and am barely back on my way when I see a black and green cord slithering across the path under my tires, narrowly escaping my tire.  My first snake encounter.  It catches me completely by surprise and I actually scream, which I don't think I've ever done involuntarily.  I then start laughing at myself for my reaction but also increase the amount of attention devoted to snake surveillance.
As I approach mile 166, where Old Town, MD is supposed to be found, I wonder how a town is possibly going to appear in the middle of the woods.  I get to a small intersection which must be it and see two guys, local Old Towners I assume, sitting on the canal wall.  I ask them if they know which way it is to Old Town.  "This is it," they tell me.  Hmmmm.  "Well actually I'm looking for a place to eat.  On my map it looks like there's a place called School House Kitchen?"  They laugh.  "Yeah, we tried to find that too, but....do you like ramen?"  Oh well, I decide to sit down on the opposite wall and eat another PBH (lighten the load!)  It turns out the guys are from DC as well, stayed in Cumberland last night and hiked to Old Town where someone is coming to pick them up and drive back to DC.  One works at DHS and the other studies at UMD.  I tell him I just graduated from there and ask what he studies and is he in grad school.  He looks uncomfortable and says "government and politics" and that he's "thinking about it".  It seems like I've touched a nerve, so I drop it, but after a lull in the conversation later I (stupidly) press the issue.  "So you're in grad school now deciding whether or not to continue, or you're thinking about applying to grad programs?"  Clearly uncomfortable he admits that he's an undergrad.  "Junior year," he says sheepishly.  I guess he's probably about my age which is why I assumed grad school.  "Oh that's great!" I say, probably a little too enthusiastically.  "You're almost done!"  He doesn't seem to think it's great.
After their ride shows up, I chew on some mango and then get back on the road.  As I bike along, the mountains come closer into view and I start to worry about tomorrow's impending ascent.  I continuously scan the mountain range looking for a gap.  There's supposed to be a gap, right?  As in Cumberland Gap?  That's a thing, right?  Pretty sure we sang a song about it in elementary school.

End of towpath

   I'm excited to get to the end of the towpath and hope there's some sort of official sign.  There isn't.  I go into Cumberland in search of an Italian place where I can stuff my face with pasta.  Unfortunately, it seems that in Cumberland, people don't need to eat on Sundays because everything is closed.  What is this, Switzerland? Luckily, or not, the Crabby Pig, which had been highly recommended by the Old Town pair and immediately dismissed in my mind as a terrible option for a vegetarian, continues to serve food, even on the Lord's day.  I sit outside and order a vegetarian alfredo pasta dish, and in case that isn't heavy enough to make me sick (spoiler alert!  It is.), I feel compelled to get hush puppies too because they're on the menu so I can't not order them.  The owner of a similarly bag-burdened bike parked next to mine recognizes me as a fellow traveler and comes over to ask about my trip.  He's going the other way (like 100% of other people I have met so far) and I ask if the hill I have to climb tomorrow is really steep. At first he starts to say it's ok, but then admits "yeah, it's kind of steep".  Great.
   After a brief pit stop at the wrong YMCA, I go to the right YMCA, the only campsite in Cumberland, only to find that it closes at 6pm on Sundays (I suppose I should be happy it was open at all!)  Probably I could set up my tent for free since there is no one to pay, but it is rather in the middle of town, and not necessarily a very nice part of town from the looks of it, and it seems weird to just camp there.  Plus I was looking forward to a shower and a real toilet.  I decide that I deserve to be pampered for a night and head to the Cuimberland Inn and Spa, where, after the woman gets over the shock of a female traveling alone ("I just wish someone was with you!"  You and me both, lady.), I am shown to a lovely, plush queen sized bed made out of clouds.  Soon after, the effects of the Alfredo are upon me and I thank my lucky stars that I decided to take the majority of the hush puppies to go and to stay somewhere with indoor plumbing. The thought of puking in a porta potty seems like the beginning of an infinite and self-perpetuating cycle of vom.

I go to sleep early in hopes of, for once, getting an early start tomorrow to conquer the mountain.