Roark Goes Hollywood!, or, Mr. Historian Goes To Town
It's a 22 mile coming of age story - young man from the country rides to the big city, experiences the evils of urban riding, and heads back home. Call it Mr. Historian Goes To Town, if you like. But please, have Gary Cooper and not Adam Sandler play the leading role.
The Perkiomen Trail's gravel surface was hard and dry yesterday. The young, or perhaps not so young, man headed off on his bike to Schwenksville, and then turned around and rode back to the connecting Skippack Trail. He felt strong on his bike, climbing some rises without a problem, even powering up the Perk's major concession to a property owner - the trail routes up and down a 12 per cent grade to go around someone's home.
The Skippack Trail is paved, and the man made good time climbing up from the creek valley to Skippack Village. He stopped at a small pond to drink.
Soon enough he was in the big city - Skippack. The man rode up and down Rt 73. All he saw were trendy stores and eateries, and the Yuppies who frequent such stores and eateries. And cars passing him at 45 MPH on a rode with next to no shoulder.
He turned to ride back to the trail, and noticed his front tire looked low. He reached over and felt it. FLAT! He had been forced into some broken glass by a passing car a mile before. He walked his bike the short distance back to the trailhead, and began to replace the tube. The going was tough, for his hardcase tires have a very hard bead, and it took 45 minutes to get the tube replaced and the tire reset. Time to leave the corruption of the big city. He turned and looked at the trailhead, and the only covered bridge in Montgomery County:
The bridge was the portal of his escape back to the world of riding he knew. Off he went like the wind - a slow, large wind, but wind nonetheless. He left the evil world behind him as the sun set:
...and pedaled back to a better place, a wiser man for what he had learned, but happy to have left it behind.