Day 3

I wake up to the sound of running on the towpath.  The sun isn't even up.  Crazy jogger.
I fall back asleep to be awoken next by the sound of someone violently pumping for water.  I roll over and ask kindle what time it is, expecting about 6 or 7.  It's 8:15.  What??  I groan and accept the fact that I have to get moving if I want to keep up with the schedule.  (Do I want to?  Not clear...but I've set a goal and I guess I don't want to feel like a failure.)
I go to fetch water from the well, which, of course, requires violent pumping.  Just as I've almost filled my bucket, a runner in a batman shirt stops and offers to help.  I tell him thanks, but I'm almost done, and then am confused why he doesn't leave.  Oh, he's waiting to use the pump too.  I help pump while he splashes water on his face and he takes off.
Just as I finish cooking my oatmeal, an overly exuberant runner comes down by the picnic table and exclaims how surprised he is to see me since he hadn't seen anyone at all at the campsite when he ran by at 5:30 am.  Aha, thanks for the wake up call crazy runner guy.  Overly excited, as one tends to be nearing the end of a 20 mile run, he asks lots of questions, including aren't I afraid to be traveling alone.  No, I tell him, people on the trail are generally other bikers or runners are pretty friendly.  Realizing that he has no evidence to assure me that he himself is not a psychopath, he informs me that he's not, and that I don't have to worry about him.   Funny, that's just what someone I do have to worry about would say.  "Yeah, of course," I smile.  I ask if he's training for a marathon, but no, he's training for a 50 miler.  Geez.  People are crazy.  Just before leaving he tells me about a snake he saw on the trail a little ways back eating a bird and that the bird managed to hop out of the snakes mouth a couple times before the snake swallowed it again.  He seems to think I should be very excited about this and rushing to go observe the miracle of nature for myself.  Gross.  I'm eating breakfast.
I finish eating and almost have to abandon my expertly hoisted bear bag in the tree when I get it caught on a branch, but finally succeed in recapturing it by hanging on the rope with my full body weight.  Having gone through both pair of bike shorts by now, I decide to rewear the day one pair that I had "washed", which turn out to have gotten even dirtier as a result of the "drying" process on the bike than they had been before the washing.  My shoes are also quite a bit damper than ideal, and I regret the decision not to bring a second pair.  Seriously, a multipound bundle of peanut butter sandwiches make the cut, but not a pair of dry shoes??  Ridiculous.

   I head out, bracing myself mentally for a potential snakebird encounter.  Luckily, I don't see any snakes, feasting or otherwise, and I excitedly wave when I see the batman runner coming, the first familiar face in a while!  Unfortunately, I realize that not having been dressed in bike gear when I met him at the water pump, he has no idea who I am and he ignores the crazy, partially mud covered, waving girl on the bike. Oh well. The ride is relatively pleasant for about an hour, after which is begins to rain.  Unlike the previous two days, this rain means business.  Giant drops plummet from the sky and cause me, for the first time, to consider donning not just the goretex jacket, but the pants as well.  I decide against it, and less than a minute later change my mind when the rain makes it clear he's not going anywhere.  Wishing I had brought pants that zip all the way up the side, I decide to pretend I did and just force the pants on over my shoes.  Bad idea.  After getting one leg on, I realize it was the wrong leg, but the shoe obstacle has already been overcome so I have no choice but to wear the pants backwards, so I do.  As soon as I start pedaling, I feel all the mud and grit that wiped off my shoes and into the pant legs grating against my knees.  Considering that my legs, my shorts, my everything were already sufficiently drenched prior to gore-texing up, it is not clear what purpose this rainproof layer is serving, but somehow it makes me feel better.  I'm wet and a little chilly, but at least I'm inside.  Something.  I have a moment of genius where I think of putting on my swimming goggles to help me see through the rain.  For the first half-second it works brilliantly, but then they fog up so much that I can't see anything so I move them to my forehead.
I make my way through the downpour, sloshing through the deep troughs in the towpath, getting better and more confident as I get a feel for how the tires handle in the water.  I scoff at yesterday Lauren and her timid approach to the tiniest of puddles - today Lauren would sail right through those!
Getting hungry, and coming upon the ruins of a stone archway, I pull over and hunker down under the arch for a while, and devour one of my five remaining PBHs.  Four, I think.  Four would have been the right number to bring.  I shall never be free of the peanut butter scented bag that's weighing me down.  Pretty sure I could double my pace if I weren't carrying all this peanut butter.
  Eventually the rain lets up and it feels like everything will be ok again.  I stop at the first restaurant I see in Hancock, MD, a big building with the word "RESTAURANT" painted on the side.  Excellent.  I worry that they may not let me in, given how completely drenched and covered in mud I am.  I wouldn't let me in.  The friendly hostess just smiles as I apologize for my disgustingness and assures me that being right next to the towpath they expect nothing less.  That's nice of her to say, considering I don't see anyone else in the place in anything but clean, dry clothes, but I feel welcome all the same.  Perhaps not surprisingly, "Bud and Lou's Food, Drink & Antiques" doesn't offer much in the way of vegetarian fare.  I briefly contemplate getting a salad and some fries, but I'm pretty sure that I will die, so I apologize to my crustacean friends and order a crabcake sandwich (minus the pork rinds.  Everything at Bud and Lou's comes with pork rinds.)  I go to the restroom to wash my hands and make a brief effort to wipe some mud off my legs with paper towels.  It doesn't take long to realize that there aren't enough paper towels in Bud and Lou's, possibly in all of Maryland, to rid my legs of mud and I give up, heading back to my table now with streaks of attempted mud removal running up my legs.
The food is delicious and all of a sudden it's time to get back on the bike.  Seriously?  I have to bike more?  I'm kind of over this.  Luckily I get a bit of a second wind and the last 16 miles on the path aren't too bad.  When I get to mile marker 141 I know I've missed the turnoff for my campsite.  I call for directions and then call again when the directions seem to be in direct contradiction with google maps.  The lady on the phone is very nice and assures me that it's left at the white house, over the bridge, to the right and then I'll see signs.  Sounds great.  What she fails to mention is the GIANT HILL that must be ascended after the little bridge.  When I finally arrive, huffing and puffing from walking my bike up the hill, I mention this and she smiles and admits that she "usually leaves that part out".  Smart lady.  I almost definitely would have given up and just stayed by the river had I known about the hill, despite the lack of shower facilities and the 2 days of mud and grime in which I am encased.  She expresses amazement at yet another lone female cyclist and tells me that I am the third one this week, though the others were going the other way. The campsite, Little Orleans Campsite, is $25 a night.  A bit steep, it seems to me, but I'm not about to go back down the hill, and once I find out they have not only showers but a laundry room with washers and dryers, I'm ready to pay anything.  I take my bike to the spigot and spend a good 10 minutes spraying off all my bags and the bike itself.  It's shiny and new(ish) again!  Next up is me.  I shower, and it is absolutely the best shower anyone has ever had, despite sharing the stall with a spider.  On my way back to my campsite I am stopped by a man, the husband of the woman who checked me in I think, who expresses his astonishment at the flood of unaccompanied female bikers this week and demands to know if there is some sort of convention.  Not that I am aware of.
I haul my pile of dirty, wet clothes to the laundry room and contemplate throwing my very wet shoes in for the drying cycle.  Can you put sneakers in the dryer?  Only one way to find out!  By googling "can you put sneakers in the dryer?" obviously.  Alas, my signal is too weak to obtain such data from the interwebs, so I throw caution to the wind and the sneakers in with the dryer load.  It works reasonably well, though I'm pretty sure the shoes are responsible for the fact that none of the clothes are completely dry.  I change another dollar for quarters and run the clothes by themselves.  They come out deliciously warm and dry, just like real laundry!
I make myself a dehydrated meal, and am in bed by the time the sun sets.