Pickled Beet Eggs and Sweet Lebanon Bologna

Once again, my assumptions of a state ended up not being completely true. Maybe that's the beauty of bicycle touring though. It takes us on routes off the beaten highway to places we wouldn't see otherwise. We surely still experience highways in each state, but we also travel the back roads, sometimes gravel or dirt. Experiences which are additions rather than replacements. This time, I was wrong on my assumptions of New Jersey. I thought it would simply be an expansive Jersey City. Big city, old industry, urban roughness and the constant wondering of why anybody lives there. The eastern ~40 miles was indeed exactly that, complete with all the wondering. However, more west is a region which is quite the contrast to Jersey City. Rolling, wooded hills traced by narrow roads seeing very little use. The hills and knolls would top out to a home on a beautiful landscape. Perfectly cut lawns, long driveways lined by trees, and horse pastures separating the homes. Open spaces for farming, surrounded by undisturbed forests. Western New Jersey was absolutely gorgeous. I was baffled by it. Around 25 miles after leaving an insignificant town along our route, I realized I left my debit card on the counter at a convenience store. It was already having trouble swiping. Cancelled it and continued riding on.

On our second evening out of NYC, we camped right on the Delaware river. With Pennsylvania only about 100 feet away, we found ourselves on an old cobble stone path/road, which separated the Delaware River from a man-made canal, dug in the early twentieth century. We savored our rotini alfredo dinner on the cobble path as we watched the sunset over the river. It set directly over the bright white bridge, with a massive American flag hanging from it, we would be crossing in the morning. 

Hello Pennsylvania. The first portion of Pennsylvania seemed much like western New Jersey. Very similar landscape, with very similar roads. The route started us out on a steep gravel road, with people asking us questions in the brief seconds as we passed them while they took out their trash cans. As it turns to a bike path, we find ourselves only lightly pedaling. Nodding and smiling at each other group or individual finding themselves on a bicycle that day. We rode right through Washington's Valley Forge, but didn't stop to read any markers. At this point, I was starting to hurt. First time on the trip in which I could feel the early signs of bonking. None of my gears seemed to be low enough, regardless of incline, and my legs would shake slightly if I released their pressure from the pedals. I wanted to smash my mouth with a sandwich, but I still had to find one first!

Arriving in Pheonixville, I purchased some gloves to replace the pair I left at Brendan's house. Outside the bike shop, a slender man with a beard rides over to us on his Salsa Chili con Crosso. James asks us about our trip, shares an experience with us about his friend touring naked, informs us where the nearest grocery store is, and rides away as I yell to him that he has an awesome bike. The grocery store he pointed us to was clear across town and then some. Probably about two miles of pedaling while daydreaming about a beef teriyaki plate from Teri Cafe, with an extra scoop of potato salad. We spent far too long deciding on what to eat, but ended up in the checkout with a whole rotisserie chicken. Wes goes the route of Nutella and peanut butter on an entire loaf of French bread. Sitting in a corner dining area, I began to gorge myself with chicken lathered in blue cheese dressing. No utensils, no napkins, and no restraint. 

Halfway through my whole chicken, James walks through the doors of the store and, after some confusion as to our whereabouts, approaches us yet again. This time he's carrying a grocery bag. 

"Hey guys! I picked up a few things for you!"

Opening the bag, he handed us maps of the local bike paths and two protein bars each. Later found to be extremely delicious protein bars. James had gone out of his way to attain maps, ride the couple miles to the shopping center, purchase us protein bars at the GNC, and then search us out at the grocery store. Absolutely amazing. I love people, most of the time. This was one of those times. We continued to share bicycle stories, his touring adventures, how he also prefers a hammock when camping, working towards, and desire for, a strong bicycle community. We left the grocery not only satiated, but also feeling much more full in spirit. Thank you James. In case you ever read this, we ended up taking your advice and checked out St. Peter's Village. Neat little town (more of a collection of a few buildings) with its own equally little bakery. Camped right along the river and took a dip in one of the swimming holes. 

It's hard to explain the transition we experienced the next day. Starting the ride on a busier highway, we found ourselves hugging the edge of the shoulder and fighting the sucking force of air created when a semi passes by at high speed. Like many other mornings of poor decisions, we couldn't resist devouring two maple bacon donuts at a gas station. Upset with ourselves, we jumped back on our bikes and began to burn it off. As we rode, the hills became more continual, but less dramatic. There never seemed to be a flat section, yet the hills were usually thwarted without dropping out of our hardest chainring. Momentum carried us nicely that day. With each mile we rode, we noticed more farms and grain silos, as well as Dutch and German farm names. 

We knew we were in Amish country once the first boy in suspenders, a small round hat, and a white button up shirt passed us on a homemade scooter. The boys all seemed to wear such an outfit, while the girls wore the traditional garb of, usually blue, dresses which covered their arms and extended down to their feet. Their heads were additionally covered by a bonnet of usually, but not always, matching color. They seemed to be moving around the area on homemade scooters made by the same person or design. As if there was a specific person in town chosen to be the scooter builder. The kids and young adults would slowly push the scooters uphill, then put one foot up on the rear fender and tuck into an aerodynamic position to rip down the hills. We only passed them when we would put our bikes in top gear. I didn't see a single helmet being worn. 

The views and beliefs of the Amish seem to be quite varied, as with every other belief system. The most commonly known position of the Amish is their distrust for and lack of using technology. Even this seemed to be interpreted differently by all in the community. Upon reading about it, I learned it's more of a distrust for anything which can disrupt the strongest connection of all, family. It's not the untrustworthy wires and circuit boards that justify the traditional lifestyle for all of them. It's the television taking away from family discussion, the computer providing the extraneous input of the Internet, the automobile getting away from the hard-working traits associated with having horses, the superstore getting rid of the ingenuity of designing and creating something. We passed one man, dressed in traditional garb, mowing his lawn with a homemade lawnmower while his horses, buggy, clothesline, and scooter lay up against his barn filled with items of another century. Buggies would pass us carrying three individuals that I had only seen in movies. Another house we passed had two girls, in their full dresses, laying on a Walmart trampoline. Behind them, a homemade scooter leaned up against a lifted Dodge Ram 3500. Others seemed to fully embrace technology while being a part of the traditional community. Some didn't utilize the technology, but would recognize the need to safely coexist with it. Those individuals relied on buggies for transportation, but would put the triangle for a slow moving vehicle on the back. 

With all that being said, every Amish individual goes through a few-year period in life where they're able to indulge in all the world has to offer. Starting between ages 14-16, they go through Rumspringa. These can be the sex, drugs and rock n' roll days for the Amish. During this period, they're allowed and encouraged to go out and see what the rest of the world has to offer. They can endure it in their community or even move to the big city, often Philly, for it. Once the period ends, they must then decide if they want to join the Amish community or leave it behind. While it's said to be a completely individual decision, I'm sure family ties and the fear of banishment plays a significant factor. If a boy decides to stay, it is at this point they're considered a man and begin growing their beard. 

Rolling down a road lined with corn, grain and alfalfa, we passed an old man with a long beard, suspenders and top hat, sitting on a brand new John Deere lawnmower. This was the man I was interested in talking to. He seemed to live in the center portion of a Venn diagram, living in both circles of technology and tradition. Paul Stoltzfus was in his 70s. We wanted to hear about every aspect of his life, but he was more interested in the two crazy kids riding their bicycles across the country. We let him go first, explaining our days and reasons. Our turn. Paul's family arrived in Pennsylvania eight generations ago. His family had been working the same bit of land for hundreds of years. Asking him where he grew up, he points at a few buildings no more than a few hundred yards away. "I grew up in that house, went to that church, and went to this school room we're standing in...seventy years ago." he states. 

Walking into the school room, he shows us around and tells us a bit more about the Amish heartland. As if it were the basis of how our friendship would continue, he asked Hueso his religious denomination. He explains he is Catholic and we can both tell Paul isn't satisfied with the answer. Paul asks my denomination almost in a sense of hoping for our redemption. Needless to say, explaining to him that I'm Agnostic was not what he was looking for. "You know you'll eventually spend an eternity in hell, right?" he questioned without any restrain. Presented as a question, but delivered as a statement. Up until this point, he had looked in my general area while talking to me, but this specific topic held direct contact between our eyes. "You can't ride your bike down there!" he adds as a hopefully persuading point. At this point, he's lost interest in me and turns to Wes for conversation about the bicycles. The small school room ambiance is suddenly disturbed by a cellphone ring. It surely isn't mine or Wes'. Paul whips out his phone and, caught unprepared, I interpret his first few words as mumbling. As I focus in, I realize it's simply a language I had never heard before. It sounded like he was humming it and it didn't contain versions of some of our English words, such a bicycle or solar. I would randomly hear both English words mixed into his conversation. After the call, we inquire about the language and he explains it as Pennsylvania Dutch. Turns out it's nothing more than a butchering of German. He points at me and states that he wishes he could take me to church, but service is also delivered in German. I purchase a few post cards from a stand and he does all the math with pencil and paper. The man has a phone with a calculator on it, but won't use an actual calculator or register. These are the contradictions I spoke of earlier. Oh Paul Stoltzfus, you're an interesting man. 

He points us towards the next town of interest and we set off. The rest of the Amish towns, the main ones, were not nearly as excited and actually felt ruined by tourism. Signs for buggy rides, Amish quilts, and old world antiques seem to be everywhere. Some Amish are capitalizing on it while others seem to be getting in and out of town as quickly as possible in order to avoid the effects tourism is having on their culture. For me personally, the towns offer amazing Amish apple licorice and ridiculous names. The heartland town of the Amish is called Intercourse. Yes, Intercourse. The towns following were Bird-in-Hand and Blue Ball. Seriously, what town committee ever allowed this to happen? Of course riding through the afternoon, our immature sides showed their face. "Things didn't work out in Intercourse, so I tried Bird-in-Hand, but ended up in Blue Ball!" would be yelled as we took turns drafting. 

I was still covered in poison ivy rashes and therefore a constant lathering of calamine lotion. Hygiene reboot sounded absolutely wonderful and therefore we checked out Warm Showers in the Lancaster (pronounced Lane-cus-ter) area. Katie Chaffinch toured from Boston to Baltimore in 2012. She completed her trip solo and simply out of the desire to do something new. Her bio stated she loved vegetables, so we stopped at the grocery store on the way to make a veggie pasta dinner in exchange for her hospitality. We talked about education, travel, friendship dynamics and faith. Katie grew up in a Mennonite family, has kept her faith within it, and therefore had insights into faith and tradition which were unknown to me. It still amazes me how much people love to do good for others when given the opportunity to. She set up her room for Wes and I to have our own beds while she slept on a blow-up mattress in her roommate's room. We told her we needed nothing more than some space on a floor, but she insisted. It ended up being the best night of sleep on our trip. Thank you Katie. 

Heading for the Maryland border, a local cyclist stopped to ask if we needed anything as I swapped out a pitched tube. Asking if we needed a place to stay, we told him we were good, but he still wanted to give us some valuable local knowledge. Therefore, he told us of the two local products we had to eat. They were pickled beet eggs and sweet Lebanon bologna (he pronounced it ball-oh-nuh). I've never had anything pickled I didn't love and therefore was stoked. Before dinner we stopped at a store to get both. The pickled beet eggs were amazing. Bright red in color, they had the vinegar taste of anything pickled, but were complimented by the earthy dirt taste of beets. Quite the appetizer for our dinner. We planned on adding the bologna to our rice and beans, but realized it was too savory to muddle with anything else. We split the package in half, nibbling on portions of it as we cooked the rest of our meal. I don't know where the Lebanon fits into the name, but it surely was sweet. Meat which covered both sweet and tangy in each individual bite. It was soon to be a part of every meal for the following days. On sandwiches with provolone or even just eaten on its own again. I miss it already. 

The next few days consisted of crossing through Maryland as we headed for Washington DC. I have nothing to really say about Maryland, other than it took us two days to get through and is now behind us. The people of Maryland seem to be confused of an identity or heritage. To the north of them is Pennsylvania, with its rich traditions and farmland. To the south and west, are the Virginias, with their southern pride, wine and Appalachians. To the east, is the Atlantic Ocean, which provides little in the means of comfort and identity. Maryland signified the crossing of the Mason-Dixon Line and a rough entry into DC. Far more difficult than entering NYC. Bike paths which seemed inviting, but then were horribly maintained and took us straight through communities of only houses, churches, and private schools for a solid 40 miles. Schools seemed to be getting out for four hours straight. Lastly, ten miles outside of DC, my phone fell off my handlebar bag and tumbled down the road until it stopped after about fifteen feet. Wes arrived at it first and yelled "Lifeproof!" as he raised his fist in the air in triumph. I smiled in relief. As I pedal closer he pushes a button and says "Oh nevermind...shattered."  I put it in my bag, out of sight, and pedaled fast to our destination in Arlington, Virginia. Arriving, we had finally made our way to the DC metro area. As is common with every city we arrive in, one of us looks at the other and reminds them, "We rode our bikes here...from Maine."