Bicycling in the Pennsylvania Alps

Where my parents live is extremely hilly. Western Pennsylvania in general is pretty hilly. Growing up in Pittsburgh, I never a sense of the North, South, East, and West of things. I asked Dad and he said he never really acquired that sense either. Roads wind willy nilly among the hills - straight roads are something one might find down town, or in some of the more urban neighborhoods, but not in most of Pittsburgh.

I had brought my bicycle, since biking has become such an important part of my life this summer. But I've been training on Michigan "hills", which Dad calls "bumps". He's right! They are nothing compared to what Pittsburgh has to offer. I knew I would not be strong enough to enjoy a ride in Upper St. Clair, so I would have to find somewhere a little flatter for a ride.

When I'd pulled into Bridgeville, the neighboring town, I'd seen some cyclists head towards the way I was coming in, so I figured I'd check it out later. On Sunday, I put the bike in the car and headed down to Bridgeville. The road going out of Bridgeville is a four-lane road, so I cut off to the right as soon as I saw a two lane road. I found a place to park quickly, and geared up for my ride.

I saw several other cyclists while I was preparing. I felt encouraged by this, because it meant both that this area was worth biking in, and that motorists might be accustomed to cyclists on the roads. I took the approach of sticking to the main drag I was on, and visually noting the side roads in case any looked interesting for later in the ride. I continued onto another main drag when the one I was on ended.

I had entered the countryside, which pleased me a great deal. That is where I love best to bike. I saw a few horse farms and some open land. Unlike the countryside in Michigan where I bike, the houses here were rather ugly, or at least not much to look at. There were definitely hills, but they didn't seem as difficult to navigate as the hills around Upper St. Clair.

At some point I became tired and had to stop. I hadn't even gone nine miles yet! This would be very unusual for me in Michigan. I guessed that the hills had taken their toll. I turned around and noticed, on the way back down the same road, that I had just mounted a pretty continuous sequence of hills! I had not realized on the way up just how many there had been.

As I rounded a corner, I noticed a very small shaded country road. I was ready to get off of the main drag and try some side roads. This road turned out to be rougher than I was hoping it would be, but I didn't let that stop me. Then came the hills. There was gravel, and there were hills, and I had skinny tires. Things went well, though, although I had to take most of the hills out of the saddle.

The road was pretty and very countrified. Once I reached the top of the hill and could turn onto another road, I did not even hesitate to fly down the next hill. I knew I'd just have to climb back up, but I didn't care anymore. Hills be damned, I'd climb 'em, and then I'd fly down, until I couldn't go anymore. It would have made great training if I could have done this every week! I think I was beginning to get some kind of high from the achievement of scaling all of these hills.

For some very strange reason, I began to have the completely illogical feeling that I was climbing hills in Italy. I noticed that the name of the road I was on was Profio, which sounded Itallian. I really can't explain why I felt that I was biking in Italy, but I went with this feeling because it felt great!

As I reached a plateau, I noticed some men working on a car next to a trailer. I kept going, and at the next downhill, I spread my arms out like wings and flew down it with pure joy.

I was beginning to think that it might be time to turn around and either head home or explore some different turf. I also wondered where the heck I was. I wasn't lost - all I had to do was retrace my steps. I knew that Cecil was somewhere in the vicinity of where I had begun my ride, but had had gone quite a way from there, and didn't know the names of neighborhoods out this way. I had a feeling that if I had known the area, I could have cut through somewhere to get back to the main drag instead of going back the same way.

When I reached the men working on the car, I stopped and asked what this area was called. The older man was very nice and eager to talk. I was in MacDonald, he told me. The more local area had a name which I now cannot remember. He painted a picture of a community which was pretty tight, where streets were named after the people who lived on them, and local mail came to the house owned by the person after whom a street was named.

He told me a lot more about himself and the area. The area had been settled primarily by Poles and Germans. I asked whether there were any Italians, and he said that there was a house of people after whom Profio street was named.

He was very proud of the fact that none of the houses were very close together. Zoning dictated this sort of thing, but individuals could negotiate otherwise, should they choose to. Ironically, I thought that for the "countryside", these houses were practically on top of one another. The houses in my urban neighborhood were about this close together. I was used to true country houses being acres and acres apart. I didn't want to burst his bubble by telling him about this!

Once I was on my way, back on Profio, and back down the bumpy gravelly hill, I reached the main drag, only to run almost immediately into another intriguing side road called Cecil-Reissing (the road I was on was called Reissing). This road was also pretty countrified, although it had a nicer surface. I turned a corner, and reached a more populated area. The road ended at another main drag.

I knew it was time to be getting back - dinner would be ready before long. When I rounded that same corner from the other direction, I heard some birds keening above me, and when I looked up, I realized that I was probably looking at hawks. This was a thrilling prospect, because Dad had been talking a lot about his interest in hawks. He had hoped to see one on our walk yesterday, but did not.

I stopped to watch these birds of prey. As they changed direction and flew off, I noticed that one had a snake in its talons. I wanted to be sure that these were hawks, so I knocked on the door of the nearest house. The people inside were very friendly and knew all about these hawks. The man said that they were red-tails. He thought that they may have recently hatched some young.

He told a few stories about the hawks. I wanted to make sure that I could explain to Dad how to find this place so I asked the man about the name of this street. On the way down Cecil-Reissing, I was not aware that the street had changed names twice. The part after the corner was not called Cecil-Reissing, and it seemed as if the street right in front of these people's house was called by a third name. He explained that this little "block" was named after his great grandfather.

As I began the journey back to my car, I began to realize that I might have been confused about what time dinner was to be served. I'd thought Mom had said 7:45, in which case I could stay out until about 7:30. Then I began to think that maybe she'd actually said 6:45, but that because of a conversation we had about when the sun goes down around here, I'd gotten confused about the time. So I began to think that I was going to be very late for dinner.

I got back into a more populated area, and noticed some people coming out of a restaurant - Mariani's. I thought I'd better call to say I'd be late and that I was OK. When I opened the door and entered, I was expecting to see an Italian restaurant laid out before me. Instead, what I saw looked like a biker bar. I hesitated for a moment, caught completely off guard, and then I felt a smile spreading across my face at the hilarity of someone like me walking into a biker bar. The people smiled back.

I made my call, and got back to the car pretty quickly. I made it home, expecting everything to be laid out and hungry people to be waiting to eat their dinner, but although the food was ready, nothing else was, so I didn't feel so bad. It had been a completely awesome ride, and I'd realized as I drove back that it may have been one of the best rides I'd had all summer!
^ Pittsburgh - August 2004 < Hiking in an Expanded Version of Childhood Turf Childhood Toys, and Memories of a Loving Grandfather >