Several people I'd met suggested I get on the 63-mile Pine Creek Rail Trail, but I was skeptical. Flat is nice, don't get me wrong, but flat can also quickly turn into dull—and one nice advantage of hills is you get to coast down them sometimes too. I was also concerned that perhaps I would not have access to certain helpful amenities such as food and water. But I thought I'd give it a try—I figured I could always get back on the roads if I wanted or needed to.

And I'm SO glad I did. This trail is an absolutely spectacular ride through what is known as The Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania, which is probably almost as deep as its namesake and at least as long, but covered with deciduous forest. The trail, which runs along the gorgeous Pine Creek, is beautifully maintained and there are outhouses, water pumps, a few villages with general stores and restaurants, and well-hidden but incredibly beautiful and FREE campgrounds along the way. I wholeheartedly recommend an excursion through this area if you enjoy biking, hiking, or kayaking, particularly during fall foliage season. As it was, a few trees were just starting to change color and I'm sure in a few weeks the colors will be amazing.

The one problem with Pine Creek is that it created a constant source of distraction as I attempted to scope out a good swimming spot without running my bike off the trail. Most of the time it's only a couple of feet deep, but I did finally find one nice spot with some big boulders where it got deep enough to swim. Having yet to find a replacement bathing suit, I decided to take my chances skinny dipping since I'd seen maybe 3 people in 20 miles. Of course, just as I stripped down and jump in the water I spotted an elderly couple coming down the trail, so was forced to stay in the water for a good half hour or so until they passed by. I didn't mind one bit though: swimming always seems to magically erase whatever tension has built up in my shoulders and hips from riding the bike, so I take every opportunity I can get.

Eventually I got back on the bike refreshed, but not entirely dry since my towel fell into the water. An older guy with a big pair of binoculars around his neck stopped to ask if I'd seen any wildlife. I had in fact seen several deer, osprey, great blue herons, and some bright orange fungus—not sure if that counts as wildlife, but I thought it was cool. The guy, Bob, mentioned that there are rattlesnakes in this area, which surprised me. He said he knew where one lived, and invited me to follow him up around the bend in the trail to see if he was around.

Maybe I've lived in the city too long, but the idea of someone knowing where a rattlesnake lives sounded absolutely ludicrous. Still, I decided to humor old Bob and take a look. While on the surface I was chatting amiably about wildlife, in my head I was running through self-defense and escape scenarios in case it was all some kind of demented trick: I've got pepper spray, a mean roundhouse kick, and a bike. He's got binoculars. I can take him.

After walking probably a mile or so and hearing Bob's stories about feeding cheese curls to a bear on his back porch, I decided he was a bit eccentric but generally harmless. I also became convinced that there was no way I was going to see a rattlesnake, so I started thinking up polite ways to excuse myself and get back on my bike. Just them we came to a pile of rocks on the side of the trail, and sure enough, there was a big black rattlesnake coiled up behind them! I got closer to try to take a picture and the snake tensed up his body and started rattling. Apparently the snake had decided I was close enough, and I agreed. Bob informed me that rattlesnakes are not aggressive, so if I ever see one I don't have to worry about it coming after me. I think it's actually quite considerate of a snake to warn you well in advance before it sees the need to attack you.

But that was only one of several exciting wildlife encounters that day. The next was when I was biking along looking out at the creek, and suddenly saw a small furry mammal of some kind running for dear life into the woods. When I looked up, I saw why: a bald eagle was circling overhead! The bald eagle didn't get him, at least not that time, and returned to his perch on a tree. I snapped an absolutely terrible picture of him on the iPhone, so terrible that you wouldn't know there was an eagle in the picture unless I told you.

My one complaint about the Pine Creek Rail Trail is the huge disparity between their fancy-looking signage and the complete lack of information on them. The most glaring omission on their signs and maps is the location of the campgrounds. When I first got on the trail, I'd seen some fine print saying that camping requires a permit unless you are backpacking our biking through and just staying one night, but thereafter saw no mention of any campgrounds whatsover. Earlier in the day I'd discovered one by accident when I stopped to the outhouse, and out of curiosity followed a little trail down to an absolutely gorgeous campground that had never, to my knowledge, been mentioned on any of the signs. It was too early to stop for the day, but I assumed that other campground like this must exist further down the trail.

Well, when it came time to start scoping out a place to camp, I saw signs for an "Access Area" 4 miles away and a "Comfort Station" 8 miles away. "Comfort Station" sounded more campground-ish so I decided to book it and try to make it there before dark. I arrived at the Access Area first, which, as it turns out, means "boat launch." No pretty campground. But after I'd biked another quarter mile or so, I happened to see the tops of outhouse buildings deeper in the woods, and a little path down to them, which led to. . . a campground! Again, no signs whatsoever. I felt very lucky to have noticed it, even luckier to have the "Comfort Station" ahead where there would surely be delicious breakfast items available the next morning, and luckier still to have the whole campground to myself and plenty of leftover firewood to scavenge. I set up my tent inside a circle of tall pines, built a fire, and cooked some dinner.

All this happiness wore off quite quickly later when I was dozing off in my tent and suddenly heard a strange growling and barking that definitely did NOT come from a dog, and definitely was VERY close by. This, I decided, was the sound of a coyote. I could not remember if coyotes ever attack humans. Petrified, I got out the pepper spray and shone my headlamp out the tent to see if I could see anything. Nothing. But while I had wild animals on the brain, and remembering Bob's story about the bear, I decided it might be a good idea to rid my tent of the giant bag of trail mix. Too scared to actually get out of the tent, I hurled the trail mix into the night.