The heavy rain never came back but there were showers during the night, and lots of tree drip; my setup held up fine. I heard owls during the night, and there were cardinals in camp for a beautiful morning on the lake.
I made the mistake of trying to cook oatmeal directly in my titanium pot; the bottom burnt almost instantly. For water boiling only.
I hadn’t washed clothes the night before; breaking camp was pretty easy with no drying logistics to deal with, which gave me time to check out one of Codorus’ three epic disc golf courses.
I played the purple course because it had the best views and also the fewest bushes. I only had two disks on me and they wouldn’t have survived throwing in the woods.
Back on the bike, I was back to Appalachian foothill roads, steep ups and downs through the farms. The curviness kept the riding fun.
Once reaching Hanover Junction, I connected back to the Adventure Cycling Association Chicago to NYC route, now on the York County Heritage Rail Trail.
As is typical, the trail was pretty pleasant, but I had an insight into my unease with rail-trail riding. For me, a big part of what I want from bike touring is experience of place. Rail corridors are placeless; they’re a way to get from one place to another. In the former rail towns along the GAP trail, the rail stations are activated by the local communities, which provides some social fabric to make the infrastructure feel more meaningful. But more commonly, a rail-trail feels the same as every other rail-trail; a nice place to walk or ride, but not a destination in itself.
This particular rail-trail ended in York, which felt like a real Rust Belt town struggling to revitalize itself. I found a bike shop to get some lube (my chain was very squeaky after the rain), and saw a wheelie kid on a Big Ripper, so, yay bikes.
The alternative to rail-trails in a lot of places is high-speed roads. Heading through Pennsylvania Dutch country towards Philly, the farm roads start to get busier and faster. I was on BikePA’s state bike route #6, as well as Adventure Cycling Association’s route, so the roads I was on are probably as good as it gets, but they weren’t great.
The Veterans Memorial Bridge in Columbia was cool.
On roads like this I usually make good time; no sense hanging around. I rolled into Lancaster with enough time to stop for a burger and beer.
It was Friday afternoon into evening, and the narrow streets of the city were pretty lively with people on their stoops and kids hanging with friends. It had good energy.
Lancaster County Central Park is adjacent to the city, just across the Conestoga River (for which the wagons are named). It’s an interesting spot, with a pavilion, horse trails, a skate park, an a public pool. It also has primitive camping in a very nice wooded area. I set up at dusk, and the weather was good so I didn’t even bother with the tarp. I was the only one around.
The camp didn’t have a nearby water source, so I skipped laundry again, which meant tomorrow I’d be wearing every piece of clothing I had that wasn’t dirty. Showers were in the forecast, so I expected I’d be springing for a hotel to have a place to clean and dry stuff.