Friday, May 8: Whew, “be careful what you ask for!” Yea, that was going through my head round about hour number 3 as I did this hike-a-bike bush/swamp/stream/marsh-whack down the Piscataway Creek to the Potomac River today. This was another of the host of foreboding sections that I knew was coming on this really tough go through DE and Eastern MD. And it was all I envisioned it to be. 

Got up at 5 AM to work, and then we were out the door at our motel at about 7:30 AM. What I’ve been doing as of late is on the fly changes for Judy to try to make her life easier for the support, so this morn, rather than just have her drop me off at yesterday’s end point, we went to where I would finish the first section of the bike-a-hike today - just so she was ok with where she was going. Then I had her drive me back to my start point. Now to be honest, this section goes through some rather….”questionable” parts of the Southeastern Greater Washington area. So I also wanted to make sure she was ok at the support point, and I wanted to personally inspect the support point to make sure it was safe. Well, it was, so off we went for the start of the day. Damn, I had butterflies in the belly, very much analogous to the jitters you get before a race. I mean I just KNEW this was going to be a grunt, especially with this big GE Freezer (my fold up bike) on my back for the day. 

The first portion was fairly tame, with plenty of dry, sandy woodland to hike in that paralleled the creek. The woods were not quite the tangle and mess I’d experienced when I did recon up here a year ago. But heck, this was just 15 min into a 10-mile bushwhack! Eventually, once I got past the little ATC tracks and the fisherman trails thing began to get real. I mean the deadfall, the chest high vegetation, and these just horrendous thorn vines were horrible. About 30 min in I noticed that the bike on my back, specifically the fork, was just digging into my back in a big way. And I’d tried just about every loading pattern I could think of prior to the trip to try to get the bike to rest in the pack just right. But there was always some little “bump” in the back section. And over the course of a mile or so that bump became like a thorn in my side. It downright hurt when I’d stride up over something. 

So I began to look for some piece of garbage along the creek that I could put between the back and my back that would negate that bump that was bruising my pelvis. Well, I looked and looked at all this flood garbage that was strewn on both sides of the stream, but found nothing….until I stumbled upon this kiddie football, about half the size of a regulation football. It was wedged between two trees. So I grabbed the thing and put it right in my lumbar area between my bare skin and the pack, and shazam - it worked. Problem solved. And I continued on. Now a year ago I had ordered some very special backpacking pants made by Stoic, just for this very section, which really look nice in addition protect against thorns and prickers. So I had these on brand new. BUT I went short sleeve in an Underarmor - very bad idea. An hour in and I had thorn punctures and scrapes across my hands and arms. I decided then and there to get a jacket at our support stop. 

So I hit the first support stop in about 1:15 hrs, just about 2.5 miles in. Actually I was quite happy with the time considering that I was following this meandering stream that made the Cuyahoga look like a straight line river. If I were to follow the stream just along the banks I swear it would have been half again as long. I’d just go straight line from meander to meander, cutting the tangent as much as possible. So I just slammed a cold coke at the van and kind of briefed Judy on the next support stop - at the end of the bike-hike in the Fort Washington Marina. So I’d have about 7.5-8 miles to finish. Got back in the jungle and that’s when the fun started. No more little fisherman’s trails, game trails and the race piece of ATC track. Nope, this was full on jungle hiking through some of the most tangled, maligning shit I’ve ever hike through. I mean I just love bushwhacking, but this was like self induced abusive flagellation in a big way. Suddenly I was wading across the creek to avoid these massive bogs and marshes that clung to the stream on one side or the other. 

And then the deadfall concealed in the hip high vegetation was a constant threat for tripping, stumbling, and downright doing a face plant right in the muck. I hit some sections where I’d just laugh to myself at how gnarly it was, like I’d have to try to hike through this little hole in the vine thorns and deadfall that was like threading a needle. Several times I got kind of wedged in between junk with that big pack on my back, just pulling, pushing and twisting to get out of the snarl. And by this time Xing the stream was a bit more serious. By this time, as I was getting closer to the mouth of the stream, the water was about hip deep - and I needed to X it much more frequently. I’d come to a marsh or bog on one side of the stream, and absolutely HAVE to X over to avoid it (the much was easily knee deep). So I had to take my fanny pack off with my phone and cameras and fasten it around my neck so as to not get it wet during a Xing. 

Now I knew where I was based on the order of the bridges I went under, so I didn’t even need to pull out the gps. Hell, continue downstream. It was that easy despite a plethora of rather large streams emptying into the Piscataway. So really, no need for the gps today. I kind of knew the area anyway. And then the %^#%@%#@ hit the fan, for between the Rt 201 bridge and the bridge to the east is chest deep muddy brown water and a quagmire of marshes and bogs on each side of the creek. Suddenly I was Xing from the north to the south side and visa versa having to hold my fanny pack up in the air so I wouldn’t get any of my electronic gear wet. It was tenuous for sure, knowing a slip spelled disaster for my cell phone and three cameras. Then I had all these ducks and geese with their young, and the moms and dads were just going crazy with me in there Xing from this side to that. The ducklings and goslings were scattering in every which direction. That’s when I decide to climb this nasty cut bank that was a good 40 feet above the water so as to not goof up all the waterfowl and the youngsters below. My God was it a grunt. There was a place where I felt I was just entrapped by these rose thorn vines on all sides of me - all in the name of wildlife protection????? And I was cussing to myself telling the honkers to shut the &%^##%@ up as I was climbing this damned cut bank, half killing myself so I wouldn’t disturb them. 

That brought me back down to the creek….and face to face with this massive marsh on the north side of the creek, just before the Rt 201 bridge Xing. I tried to “test” the waters of the marsh but 3 steps in and I was knee deep in muck. Not a good choice there. “Hell, I could be buried in freaking swamp mud and no one would ever know where the hell I was,” I muttered to myself. So my only choice was to wade to the other side. So with gear pack held high I waded in, not being able to see the bottom through the murky water. Two steps in and I was hip deep. Another step put me waist deep. Then another and another and I was chest deep. One more step deeper and I would have called it quits, but the next step put me back at waist level. Then back to hip, then I was across. 

After that I stumbled and tripped my way to the bridge. But, I needed to be on the north side where there is a fisherman’s trail. And by that point the water was just way too deep. Plus Rt 201 is kind of like a small interstate, way above the creek and double lane with all kinds of traffic and fencing. Thought I was up the creek! Until I found a log jam Xing. And it was a damn good one at that. So once I got to the other side I just followed the trail, stayed high once the trail died out, and stayed away for the mega swamp that develops at the creek’s mouth into the Potomac. 

Made it back to Judy and the van at the Fort Washington Marina in around 5 hrs. And I’ll tell ya, I was just wiped out. I stunk like swamp mud and creek ooze, walked with a limp, and had a low back that was screaming at me. But I did it damn it! By then I was just way too smoked to jump into the boat and paddle across the Potomac in 86-degree heat. We were done for the day. Judy thankfully drove the beltway back to Fredrick to my cousin Sue’s house. I swear, when I got out of the van I just about toppled over I was so sore and stiff. Time for a beer….or two. Until tomorrow.