Gallipolis, Ohio

For sixty miles as I bicycled along the Ohio River Scenic Byway between Ripley and Portsmouth I had glimpses of the Ohio River through the trees, though never long enough to notice any of the barges that ply its waters flowing into the Mississippi. There were campgrounds here and there along the river to my right and inland in Shawnee State Park to my left. But there were even more dilapidated, abandoned barns that were more enticing as a place to pitch my tent, offering the genuine camping experience of peace and solitude plus little threat of the deadly virus.

Not that I have much concern of the virus here.  It’s not much of an issue in these parts.  Rarely does any one tell me of more than a handful of cases in a county or of any deaths.  When I told one young man who was curious about my travels that my Carnegie quest had taken me to South America this past winter, the first time I had mentioned it to anyone during these travels, he stuck out his hand and said, “Congratulations, it sounds like you’ve led an interesting life.”

I hesitated and said, “Is it safe to shake hands around here?”  

“Sure.  I don’t know of anyone who‘s contracted the virus except my aunt and she lives one hundred miles from here.  She thought she had the flu and got tested.  It was the virus, but she was fine in a few days.”

As I repaired a flat tire, my second of the trip just after writing of how I’d been free of flats since Day One, outside a bar in the late afternoon, locals were flocking in convivially greeting each other with no concerns of social distancing.  A few asked if I needed any help with my repair.  One guy told me he had two sisters who were librarians who would be fascinated by my Carnegie odyssey.  Not a one questioned my sanity for wandering the country in these times, nor has anyone else. Nor has anyone expressed alarm at me being an outsider and a possible transmitter.

Unfortunately the Carnegie in Portsmouth wasn’t without concerns and hadn’t  reopened, just providing pickup service.  I had been hoping to be dazzled by its dome as I had been when I visited it in April of 2011.  Instead I had to be content with a mere peek of its interior through the door of this glorious temple of a building. 

I was hoping to ask a librarian how much of an event TOSRV is in Portsmouth.  A pair of murals at the entry to the city celebrated this annual bike ride, the Tour of the Scioto River Valley, that has been going on since 1962.  It is one of the premier cycling events in the country along with the Hilly Hundred in Indiana and the Apple Cider Century in Michigan. 

Portsmouth is the mid-point and overnight spot for this 210-mile ride that starts and ends outside of Columbus.  It was established by Charlie Siple and his son Greg.  Greg went on to be one of the co-founders of Bikecentennial, devising the coast-to-coast trail across the US for the country’s Bicentennial in 1976 that thousands have followed.  The Bikecentennial organization lives on as Adventure Cycling, headquartered in Missoula, Montana.

Father and son are acknowledged on a panel between the the murals at the top of a map of the TOSRV route.  Greg recently retired from Adventure Cycling.  I met him when I ventured to Missoula to visit its Carnegie library and had my photo taken by him for his vast gallery of touring cyclists.  I spent the afternoon at Adventure Cycling reading a rare copy of Ian Hibbel’s book “Into the Remote Places” from 1984.  The bike that Hibbel rode across the Sahara resides at the offices. Siple and his wife June met Hibbel in 1972 in Central America when all three were engaged in rides of the hemisphere.

I left the Ohio River just beyond the sprawl of Portsmouth after a several mile stretch of the most franchises I had been subjected to in days, including a Walmart and the first Aldi’s in over a week, whose dumpster provided a handful of bananas.  I cut inland for the fifty-mile stretch to Gallipolis where I was reunited with the Ohio River.  I camped along a stream infested with mosquitoes.  It was my first chance to test the patching job Janina had done of my tent covering the many quarter-size holes created by the Leaf-Cutter/Scissor ants of Brazil.  She couldn’t cover all the holes, as some were too tiny to deal with, but the mosquitoes didn't find them and the rest of her patching job was a great success.

The Carnegie in Gallipolis resided a block from a large park that overlooks the Ohio River.  The park was dotted with historic signs tracing the history of this prominent river town originally settled by French fleeing their Revolution.  It’s location also made it a pivotal spot during the Civil War.  The stature of the city earned it a little larger than normal grant from Carnegie, funds enough to include a large domed rotunda.   It opened in 1905 and served as the city library until 1978.  It now houses the administrative offices for the school system.  

The new library was open, just the fourth I’ve come upon and the first to require facial covering.  There were signs everywhere warning people to stay six feet from others.  Reunited with the Ohio River I will follow it for twenty miles to Middleport and Pomeroy for their Carnegies and then turn inland to Athens and eventually Columbus.