"His Truth Comes Marching Home" Chambersburg and Tuscarora Mountain, Pennsylvania Day 5-6 - Friday and Saturday - June 7 and 8, 2002  Back   |   Next

Gettysburg College   I hang out in Gettysburg. The head librarian at the public library allows me to spend several hours on his computer so I can update everybody on my journey. I don't get out too much. Truth is there is so much to see here, yet I feel a need to leave and head out west. So I ride around town and ride along the northwestern battlefield. This place, I tell myself is a place I need to visit during the off season. Gettysburg College on the other hand offers me solace from the bustling RV nomads that scour the streets. I rest in sequestered campus grounds, munching on a grilled chicken sandwich, and scribbling notes down in my book. The red sandstone clock tower in the middle campus rings the hour. I sit at a table on a patio outside the campus library. And all is well in Mattville. Elvis sings, "His truth comes marching home..."         The Chambersburg Carshow On Saturday I head west again along the Lincoln Highway. In in Old Town, Chambersburg I stumble upon a car show and an Elvis impersonator singing, "Glory, glory, halleluiah/ His truth comes marching home." After Chambersburg I hit two major hills including Tuscarora Mountain. Normally I can low gear through a hill, but this eight-percent grade slope kept going on and on, winding to and fro, switch backing left then right. This was a battle I could not win peddling. I pushed my bike up the hill and I still had to take breaks. When I got to the summit a sign said the elevation was about 2100 feet. All I saw was more road and another mountain. At Tuscarora Mountain I notice that I am on stretch of Route 30 that is quite deserted. All I pass by are farms, houses and Mennonite and Brethren churches. No gas stations, which is bad news for me because I'm nearly out of water. I pass by one country grocer that is closed for the day, but I take advantage of the vending machine oasis and have a root beer. It is nearly sundown and I am exhausted. I finally make it to Saluvia only to find that there is no station or bivouac area. No trespassing sign discourage me from throwing up my tent. Desperate for a place to rest and water, I knock on somebody's front door. The couple that answers are a little weirded out but they grant me permission to pitch a tent in their backyard and refill my water bottles. I go to sleep sticky from sweat and grime, and I even muster up enough energy to read a chapter from The Horse Whisperer. An eastern view from one of the many switchbacks of Tuscarora Mountain.