On a nice summer weekend, Harpers Ferry is overrun with tourists, visitors overrunning the town’s few steep streets, poking into the various historic sites related to John Brown’s failed slave uprising and his subsequent execution, and forming long lines for the few restaurants in town. It is no doubt a brisk trade for business owners at this time, and I was glad we’d reserved our hotel months before. The small town is very different in early morning, a pre-dawn glow permeating the sky and telling of the sun, still hidden behind the green hills. We rolled our bikes down the hill to the bridge, the streets entirely ours, and back across the Potomac to the C&O Trail. A faint drizzle fell, helping me to wake up but also a worry that worse weather was on the way. And not without reason: the afternoon forecast called for thunderstorms. Our early start on this last day was an attempt to stay ahead of it.

The morning trail was quiet, even beyond the typical quiet we’d grown used to. This was a stillness, the birdsong only starting up, and the deer crowding the edge of the path seemed slower than usual to perceive us and disappear into the underbrush. For all the natural pleasures of the trail, the early start also meant that spiders had taken advantage of the night to reset their webs, and we would criss-cross the trail to duck their creations when we could. Nevertheless, each morning stopover involved pulling their threads off of our helmets and arms, a bit inconvenient but never actually a problem. As the day warmed up, the trail filled with other cyclists and walkers, and we were back to the usual routine.

This last day was also an abundance of old canal infrastructure and the various locks, canal houses and aqueducts came fast and furious at us. We were even so fortunate as to pass one of the few turning basins while riding through Williamsport. These basins live up to their name, and underscore the need for absolute certainty about one’s destination if traveling by barge, though with only two directions to choose from, that is hopefully not a big problem. At one canal house and lock pairing, we stopped to snack, chatting with a fellow cyclist, by our estimation a recent retiree, who had begun his trip in Oregon’s own Astoria and was on day 120 of his ride. It put our five day trip into perspective and also got me excited about doing my own version of a long trip, someday, when time and money were aligned.

As we drew near Washington, the trail crowded in with bodies, groups of people beckoned out of doors by the Labour Day holiday and, so far, by good weather. The parking lot at Great Falls Park, visible as we rode past on the trail, was full, and for the next 10 miles we diligently rang our bells while weaving past oblivious people through a shifting obstacle course. There was then added relief when the skyline of Arlington came into view around the bend, followed shortly by the unmistakable outline of the Washington Monument. Not long after, the C&O ended and we traded in shady forest paths for bike lanes under an elevated highway. We had made it to DC.

We wound down the trail to the National Mall, periodically consulting my phone to be sure we took the right turns, desperately trying to avoid any unnecessary distance after five days in the saddle. The sky was full of clouds, white and cottony, but without a trace of the promised rain. The space between the Lincoln Memorial and the reflecting pool was swarmed with people, and one was kind enough to take our picture at the end of the trail. There was no rush of euphoria for me at finishing this ride, I think I was too tired at that point and a bit preoccupied with the process of returning our bikes. In truth too, I was a bit sad for the ride to end. There was something to the rhythm of the days on the trail, the simplicity of going from place to place, and the satisfaction of doing it yourself that I really loved. I could’ve kept going, but we had run out of both trail and time.

Shortly after we turned our bikes in, taking on the status of pedestrians for our time in DC. The American capital is a somewhat funny city, a bit inscrutable and at times it doesn’t feel quite real. It was built to Pierre L’Enfant’s plan of a gridded street system bisected by grand diagonals, and today the wide streets feel oversized, at least for the traffic that we saw. It too is marked by low buildings, a European-type scale of 10-12 storey buildings which fill the city’s core neighbourhoods and a total absence of skyscrapers. It is at heart a company town, albeit for the federal government, and bears these hallmarks in its monumental architecture, amazing collection of museums, and a somewhat aloof attitude to people. I don’t know if I’d like living here, but it is always an interesting place to visit.

The airline industry continued to mistreat Buddy, shifting his flight home from early afternoon to early morning. As a result, we only got to the Smithsonian’s American History Museum, where highlights included Lincoln’s hat, one of Washington’s uniforms, and a compass from the Lewis and Clark expedition. In the morning I groggily wished Buddy safe travels. The promised thunderstorm arrived after my continental breakfast experience, and I waited it out in the hotel room watching TV, feeling like it was an unimaginable indulgence after the ride. When it cleared, I walked to some Dupont Circle bookstores before taking in the Museum of the American Indian and a quick journey through the National Portrait Gallery.

My single bag in hand, I headed to Reagan airport on the DC Metro. I’ve loved this beleaguered but grandiose subway since I saw it at 16, the first real subway I’d ever seen. I slow clapped then in excitement, and still feel that today. On my way home, I was able to reflect a bit, and feel proud of us for the trip, for setting out a plan, working towards it, and making it happen. I was thankful this time to see America not from the interstate but a backwoods trail, to take on a physical challenge, to spend time with an old friend, and just the good fortune to do it at all.