Flat Tires, Sketchy Hotels, & Pizza: Day 2 of My Solo Biking Adventure!
After a solid night’s sleep, I woke up in Connellsville, ready to tackle the day ahead. I packed up my gear and made my way to the lobby for breakfast. I was pretty wiped out the night before, so I had to pass on dinner with Paul, Mike, and Matt. But I ran into them again at breakfast!
I was sporting my Grand Canyon Rim 2 Rim t-shirt, which is always a great conversation starter. We chatted and discovered we were all staying in the same town later that night. We made plans to touch base later and maybe meet up for dinner in Meyersdale.
I was pleasantly surprised that the temperatures had warmed up a bit, and I set sail around 10, with my sights set on Ohiopyle—eager to explore the town. It was another gorgeous day, with clear skies and stunning scenery. I was feeling like a master planner, reveling in how smoothly my solo adventure was unfolding.
But about 5 miles into Day 2, I was cruising along when something felt just a bit “off.” I glanced down and, sure enough, my back tire was going flat. Humbled, I pulled over to assess the situation. I’ve changed flat tires before, so I wasn’t panicking—just pondering while flipping my bike upside down. A few passersby offered help and tools, but I confidently waved them off with a “Thanks, but I’ve got this!”
Once I got the wheel off, I used my little tool to remove the tire. I tried removing the little nut around the valve stem and that’s when things got frustrating. I’ve always been able to loosen those with my hands, but I couldn’t budge this one. Got out my tools and searched for the right size thingy to loosen it. Didn’t have one – no matter how many times I tried the same damn gadgets, they still didn’t work. Too big or too small. So, when the next group of explorers came by, I had no choice but to ask for help. They didn’t have one either which made me feel a little less stupid. Finally, another duo came by and had a wrench to loosen the nut. One biker stayed behind to make sure I got moving again. I tried to play it cool and prepared but maybe he sensed my inexperience. Any who, I appreciated his help replacing my tire.
The second little hiccup in my tire repair was my tire pump. It’s a small hand pump that turns into a workout session as the tire gets fuller but not quite to pressure. I felt like Suzanne Summers using the thigh master as a pec machine. I later learned there are CO2 pumps available, which sounded like a sweet upgrade for my future tire adventures.
To add to my stress, my tire seemed to be making a break for it, popping out over the rim near the valve like a cannister of biscuits. We made several attempts to let the air out, shove the tire back into place, and reinflate it, but it just wasn’t playing nice.
I was about 5 miles from Connellsville and 10 from Ohiopyle, so I decided to take my chances and start pedaling toward Ohiopyle, hoping for the best. Not gonna lie, I was a little nervous that I might end up pushing my bike more than riding it. Just like the last few miles of my Rim 2 Rim, I questioned my decisions and thought to myself, “Why do I do this shit?!? Why can’t I just go to the beach or site seeing like a normal person.” The words of my BFF’s mom at the beach – circa 1990 – after my friend and I thought that a good way to get the sand out of our beach towels was to put them in the dryer – were rolling around in my head. “What would possess you to….” I timidly continued riding and with each passing mile, I relaxed a little knowing that if I did end up pushing, I was getting closer to my destination.
About to tackle the Grand Canyon and wondering what I had gotten us into?!?
So there I was, timidly pedaling along, but with each mile that passed, I started to relax a bit. After all, even if I ended up pushing my bike, at least I was getting closer to my destination.
Coming across the bridge into Ohiopyle felt like crossing the finish line of a marathon—except I wasn’t really finished and had about 44 miles to go for the day. I quickly found a bike shop and asked them to take a look at my tire. Wilderness Voyageurs Bike Shop was fantastic! They took my bike right away, reinstalled my tube correctly, and charged me a fair price. Plus, they even suggested some places for lunch—talk about customer service!
I took a spin around town to see what I could find. There was a cute coffee shop, a pizza place, a visitor center, and enough nature to make any tree hugger giddy. I decided on a veggie wrap at the Twisted Spoke Café, which was a solid choice considering I was only 16 miles into my 60-mile trek for the day.
By this time, it was 2 PM, and I had some serious catching up to do. Still on a slight climb, my average speed was hovering around 11.5—just fast enough to make me feel like I was moving but slow enough that I didn’t want to be pedaling in the dark like a lost raccoon. But still, the scenery was amazing, and I soaked it in. My bike speaker pushed out the sounds of Tom Petty, Meat Loaf and Bob Seger. I was finally in my Saturday groove. I jumped off the trail in Confluence to find a coffee continued and I grabbed some Doritos and Reese’s cups at the Dollar General in Rockwood but generally kept moving.
Making it to Meyersdale for the night around 5:30, I headed down a steep hill toward my hotel—and this is where things took a weird turn. I was staying at the Morguen Toole Hotel, which online looked like a hip and happenin’ boutique spot with exposed brick walls.
I found the building and followed (and followed) the signs directing me down an alley to the entrance. I had received directions about accessing the building with a lock code, so I opened the door and stepped into the “lobby.” It was clear the owners had put a lot of effort into the decor, but the vibe was a bit more “mysterious dungeon” than “cozy boutique.”
It was quiet with dim lighting, and I couldn’t find another human. I cautiously tip toed around looking for life. I preceded deeper into the vast building, up the stairs and peeking into rooms like an actor in a horror film – the audience watching and pleading “Don’t go in there.” “Get out of there!” “Are you stupid?!?”
As a side note, my love for the show “Electric Company” has instilled in me the belief that every letter must be pronounced. So when I was searching online for lodging, and stumbled upon "Morguen Toole Hotel," I was determined to pronounce each letter with due respect—something like “Mor-gu-en.”
But then I passed a piece of art that was basically a drawing of a foot with a toe tag on it, and it hit me like a ton of bricks: Morgue-n! Suddenly, everything clicked. I can’t say for sure, but I heard later that the hotel was indeed a former morgue. So there I was, ready to spend the night in what could be described as a “sleepover with the dearly departed.”
Considering I’m sharing my multi-day solo bike trip with you, it might surprise you to learn that I’m actually a total “scaredy cat.” Always have been! No one hears more imaginary noises in the dark than I do. As a teen, I slept with a machete under my bed. When I’d go out with friends, I’d make them wait until I was safely inside my house before they left.
When Justin is out of town, all doors are locked and reinforced with chairs, like I’m preparing for a zombie apocalypse. And when I show houses, I won’t step inside until a client is with me—and I always let them go first to the basement. So, the thought of bunking in a former morgue was a little unsettling. I took one look around and decided that maybe a hotel with a slightly less “haunting” vibe was in order. So, I left.
I started walking around town and calling places looking for other lodging options which were slim at this point. Then I decided to just call the Morguen Toole Hotel’s phone number. Quit being a wuss and give them a chance. The owner was super nice when I shared my concerns. He reassured me there was a full-time attendant on site, other guests would be around, and that I was indeed safe. Feeling slightly more at ease, I decided to head back. When I arrived, there were four guys checking in—familiar faces from the trail, so at least they weren’t total strangers, right?
They looked just as puzzled as I felt, but apparently terror loves company because we all tucked our bikes into the storage room and headed to our rooms. Kudos to them for checking on me and asking if I felt comfortable staying there. I was still a little disenchanted, but these guys seemed like they were on the up and up. So, I locked my door and settled in—hoping the only thing haunting me would be my overactive imagination!
A little while later, Paul, Mike and Matt sent me a message that they would be rolling into town around 7:30 and planning on going to dinner at 8. I was relieved to have somewhere to go instead of sitting in the dark room. We met up at Take 6 Pizza. It was fun to meet these guys who had traveled all the way from Los Angeles to bike the GAP. It always amazing me how some topics are so universal. We talked about our families, our work and the usual stuff. They told me about the other adventures they had taken together. These guys were legit – many biking, hiking and other adventures all over the country and abroad. Something to aspire to! We parted ways as I pointed them in the direction of a Sheetz, and I headed back to the morgue.
Now, disclaimer time—I don’t want to scare anyone away from the Morguen Toole Hotel. It was totally fine—clean, spacious, and surprisingly quiet. The bed was very comfortable and the shower was stocked with soaps and hair products. The owners were immediately available when I called. I would absolutely stay there again. Give it a try.
More to come on my third and final day so check back for the grand finale!