ROAD DETOURS, WILD TURKEYS, A NEW FRIEND AND A MONSTER THUNDER STORM.
Early in the morning I brought my bike downstairs and leaned it against the trunk of my car. I then loaded it up and pulled on my small hiking backpack. My brother was there to see me off and snapped a picture of me with my camera. I waved goodbye and rode off into the sunrise. 
I was going to ride the Great Alleghany Passage. A series of bike paths built on old rail beds to form a continuous 150 mile trail between Pittsburgh and Cumberland. Sections were not completed yet, but enough of it was done that I could get to Cumberland. I had a guidebook for this trip called Linking Up. It gave detailed detour instructions for making my way there. The trail was made up of three former railroads. My journey would take me over the Montour Railroad, The Pittsburgh & Lake Erie Railroad and The Western Maryland Railway. The WM was my main reason for this trip. Over the last several years I became obsessed with the WM and had become excited on the idea of following it through the mountains. In fact when I had free time at college, I would trace the railroad on topographical maps along the entire route from Pittsburgh to Cumberland. I also spent plenty of time online on the ATA website. I learned that the trail all as one was called The Great Alleghany Passage, but was actually six different trails, at least for my route. The GAP consisted of The Montour Trail, The Steel Valley Trail, Youghiogheny River Trail North, Youghiogheny River Trail South, The Alleghany Highlands Trail Pennsylvania and The Alleghany Highlands Trail Maryland. My planned trip was going to take about a week and run from South Park to Clairton on the Montour, Clairton to McKeesport on the Steel Valley, McKeesport to Connellsville on the Yough North, Connellsville to Confluence on the Yough South, and Confluence to Meyersdale on the AHTPA. From Meyersdale to Cumberland I would be following road detours due to two factors. One, Big Savage Tunnel was closed and under construction and two, even if I could get through Big Savage, I would only have trail until I got to Frostburg where I would be met by the tracks of the Western Maryland Scenic Railroad. One hundred and fifty miles from South Park to Cumberland and almost fifty of those miles are along unfinished trail or public roads.
So here I stand next to my bike, Route 88 with morning traffic in front of me. A trolley moves along the tracks in the distance, wheels squealing as it makes its way around the bend. The Library Trestle sits rusting above me to my left. I look at it and think that it would have been cool to ride across this valley on that. There is a gap in traffic and I move my bike swiftly across the road and start walking along the shoulder on the opposite side. I follow Brownsville road which parallels what is left of the Montour’s former right of way. I turn down a side road and pass under what was once a bridge on the Montour and I turn right following a gentle incline up to the grade. The trail shortly after that crosses over Brownsville Road on a bridge. And so I am now on the official trail. As it meanders along I begin to think that I am the only person on the trail at this early hour. And as if reading my mind a morning jogger runs past. Then once again I am alone. I would be off with just my thoughts for most of this trek. I tried to recruit friends to join me but had no such luck.
Before I knew it I was on my first detour of the trip since I got on the trail. I had to climb out of a filled in cut on a paved driveway. After that I was on public roads. I would classify them as back roads for there were almost no cars using them. It was a windy road that was taking me down a steep hill. Occasionally I could see the former railroad through the trees and around one bend there was a spot where the tracks had at onetime crossed the road. Looking right while crossing it, you could see a deep cut in the rocks and someone was using the right of way as a driveway, for a car was sitting in the cut. The roadbed was now on my left and the public road I was riding on dropped a bit lower than it. The rail grade was easy to follow for it paralleled the road all the way to where the trail started again. There was a small creek on the right and at a tunnel the creek and road passed under the former B&O tracks. To the left of the road tunnel you could see the former rail grade going through a tunnel as well. I rode my bike gingerly through the tunnel ringing my bell the whole time because it had a blind curve at both ends and was a single lane. On the other side of the tunnel I was greeted with the sight of the trail again. It was fairly level and still paralleled the road. My favorite thing to see along this part of the ride was two massive steel trestles. Both belonged to the Wheeling and Lake Erie Railroad, the former Pittsburgh and West Virginia. But alas the trail ride ended soon and I was on yet another road detour. This time because a road was built right on the former right of way. The road followed a creek through the woods, where several fisherman were already casting reels, their pickup trucks parked in packed dirt sidings. There was hardly any traffic along this road and the forest seemed to be peaceful and serene and occasionally I would see water trickling down the steep rocks on my left. There was another railroad following the creek on the opposite bank; this was the former P&WV’s line to Clairton. When we arrived in the town of Large the road curved to the left. Directly in front of me, hiding in the weeds was the rails of the railroad. They were still in place going under a fence and into private property. So I had to continue following the road until it met with 51. Route 51 was a busy four lane road, and so I took advantage of a traffic signal to get me across. While waiting I noticed the Large Hotel. The funny thing about this hotel is that it is quite small by the way hotels go. Of course I know that it was called Large because it was located in Large, Pennsylvania. But it was still a funny sight. My light turned green and I walked my bike to the other side of the highway.
On the other side of route 51 was the continuation of trail. It was nice to be back on the crushed limestone again. I was once again following Peters Creek through the woods; and as I rounded a bend I saw a flock of wild turkeys. As my bike came close to them they started hollering, or should I say gobbling, and ran in several different directions, flapping their wings. For fun I rang my bell several times as I passed them. I paused for a moment and picked up one of the feathers that the turkeys left behind and stuck it in the hat I had attached to my bikes basket. By the time I pulled out my camera, they had all disappeared into the woods. I stashed my camera back in its plastic bag and stuck it back into the basket.
The trail emerged from the woods again in Clairton Pennsylvania. Ahead I could see coal hoppers with Norfolk Southern logos painted on the side across the street from where the trail ends. I had reached the end of the Montour Trail. 
I snapped a few photos, sat down for a bit and ate some trail mix and drank some water. After a bit I checked my directions, stood up and pushed my bike across the street. I then crossed the Monongahela on a bridge and entered into Glassport. In Glassport, the trail was designated by signs, but was on city streets. While riding through town I saw an old boarded up train station. 
After spending some time checking it out, I then continued on my way. I was getting close to McKeesport. While pushing my bike up a hill a man called from the opposite side of the street to me.
“Where are you headed?” he asked. I looked up and saw a guy in his late twenties wearing a bandana, khaki t-shirt and cammo pants. He had a backpack and a mountain bike.
“Cumberland,” I proudly responded.
“Cool, I am going the same way. Would you mind if I joined you?”
“Sure,” I said after some hesitation. After all I wasn’t sure if he was a murdering psycho or not. But I am a trusting person, and I could use the companionship.
“The name is Craig,” he said shaking my hand.
“Vinnie,” I replied.
So we continued along, he was in the lead. We crossed the Yough into McKeesport across a highway bridge paralleling the old P&LE bridge; a CSX freight roaring across it heading east. We found Point Park and the start of the Youghiogheny River Trail. 
We took some pictures and started out. The trail didn’t last too long before we were detoured onto city streets again. We were supposed to cross the river and continue on a trail through Dead Mans Hollow, but a sewer pipe broke and whipped out the trail. So our alternative was to follow the city streets to Boston Bridge. We stopped for lunch at a Seven Eleven and got some hot dogs and Coke; then once again hit the road. Boston Pennsylvania wasn’t far away and before we knew we were crossing the Youghiogheny once again to rejoin the Yough River Trail. It wasn’t long until we were at Dravo Cemetery, our first stop for the night. 
Dravo Cemetery is a primitive campground along the trail. At one time there was a church located there, but all that is left is the old cemetery. The trail council had installed a picnic pavilion with several tables, a SST or sweet smelling toilet, a water pump and fire rings for a campground over the hill by the river bank. On the hot day, the ice cold water was a relief; especially after the water in our bottles had turned tepid from the sunshine. I took off my pack, and realized how much easier it was to move around. I chained up the bike and headed off to the restroom to get out of my bike shorts while Craig went down to check out the river. After my Elkins to Parsons Trip in 2002, I made it a point to purchase a pair of bike shorts. The padding helped a lot and prevented my bum from going numb with pain. However since spandex is not the most comfortable material on earth, it was nice to get them off. As I exited the restroom I noticed that Craig was talking to another biker. This guy was on his return trip from Ohiopyle. He headed out from McKeesport this morning to Ohiopyle and was now on his way home. I was amazed because Ohiopyle was tomorrow’s destination for us, and it seemed so far away. The guy shot the breeze with us for a while and then got back on his old cruiser with a milk crate strapped to the back and headed westward on the trail.
Craig and I started preparing a dinner. I pulled out my camp stove, a Boy Scout mess kit and some rammen. Craig added to the noodles some beef jerky and dehydrated veggies. Craig told me then that he used to be a chef and that before heading out he dehydrated a ton of food.
“Wow,” I said, “you are definitely prepared for this. Where did you start out from?”
“Kittanning,” he replied, “I started out yesterday and made it to West Mifflin. That’s where I spent the night in someone’s back yard. Then headed downhill to McKeesport and I was clueless with finding the trail until I saw you.”
“So how far are you going, Cumberland, D.C.?”
“San Diego.”
“California?”
“Yes.”
“Do you realize that this trail goes east?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I am going to take it as far as Harpers Ferry. There I will take the Appalachian Trail to Tennessee. In Tennessee I have family. Where I will rest and replenish my dried foods and then travel west. When I get to San Diego I will ride that bike off the edge of a pier into the Pacific Ocean and then swim to shore.”
“Wow,” was all I could say to that. We finished eating and cleaned up the cook wear and our pocket knives (we didn’t have forks or spoons, so we ate with our pocket knives). I then was going to set up my bed under the stars. I no sooner grabbed my stuff off the back of my bike than it started to rain. And so I set up camp in the picnic shelter and watched what ended up being one of the most violent storms of the summer. I would later find out that this same storm system that night wiped out the Kinzua Bridge in the northern part of the state. I made sure that my mother and fiancé knew I was safe before turning in. 
STATISTICS:
MILES TODAY: 27.21
AVG SPEED: 6.0mph
TRIP MILES: 27.21