Distance 35.4 mi, Climbed: 1,214 ft
Completed: 706.8 mi, 42,641 ft
If the hotel had an elevator, we probably would not have met Brad. To start the day, Rich and I were carrying our bicycles down from our second-floor room when we met him.
Brad is a 16-year military veteran who served in both the Marines and the Army, including three overseas tours—one in Kuwait and two in Iran. He had come to Zanesville to see a friend at the Muskingum County VA, but it was closed that morning for painting. So he decided to go forage for morel mushrooms.
When I asked if he liked cooking with morels, it got him talking about his time in the military and how he learned to cook all types of food. The conversation shifted to the differences in physical training between the Marines and the Army, and how well he performed on Army physical tests because of his Marine training.
That’s when the tone changed.
Brad began talking about what’s known as the Highway of Death in February 1991, when Iraqi troops were retreating from Kuwait. He spoke about how he had seen things in his military career that nobody should ever see.
We thanked Brad for his service, but it felt inadequate. It was clear that his military experience had left him with emotional scars.
Brad had a story to tell, and I’m glad we were there to listen.
Then, it was back to the ride.
For the first seventeen miles leaving Zanesville, we were on a road that was not at all bike-friendly. State Route 146 barely had a shoulder, and the nonstop traffic never let up. Cars and trucks rushed past us, the noise constant, the margin for error thin. It was the kind of riding where you stay focused, hold your line, and keep moving.
Relief came when we connected with the Panhandle Trail—same name, but a different rail trail than the one we rode in West Virginia. The shift was immediate: smooth pavement, no traffic, and the chance to finally exhale and settle into a rhythm.
This stretch carried us to Newark, Ohio, where we went off route to see a piece of Americana at its best: the Longaberger Building. It’s hard to miss—a massive office building shaped like a picnic basket—and it left us wondering what exactly Longaberger was and how this came to be.
Newark also surprised us with vibrant artwork across its buildings. One mural showed a five-person bicycle, depicting a ride to Buffalo, New York, in 1901—a reminder that long-distance cycling has been inspiring people for generations.
To exit the trail, we climbed a tree-lined incline back up to street level, our legs working again after the easy miles on the trail. As we rolled into Granville, the sun finally came out, and the scene felt like classic suburbia. It was a Sunday afternoon—kids playing in their yards, families out walking their dogs, a few people waving as we passed. Spring was in the air.
Joanna and Rich, Your smiles say it all. What an envious experience…You are seeing so much, meeting folks you would never have spoken to, are hearing their stories and fulfilling one of your dreams. All for a good cause as well as your happiness and so many laughs. Thanks for sharing so much with us. I can’t promise to check in every day, but now that you have opened this door, we will try to open it on a regular basis. After all, some of still have all this volunteer stuff to do!( ::)-I know you are keeping up with your volunteer work…Amazing! Miss seeing you here.
To my amazing volunteer boss Neil,
You set the bar high on seeing the world and helping others, so I am just following your lead!! Thank you for all you do and for guiding my efforts along the way.
With much appreciation,
Joanna