Riding the Northeast Branch Trail

The sun was already high in the sky when my riding partner and I pulled off Paint Branch Road into the parking lot of Ellen Linson Swimming Pool, where the entrance to Northeast Paint Branch Trail is located. Almost immediately, the trails diverge: one path leads around a small bend, quickly disappearing up and out of sight, the other heads toward a dainty looking footbridge with lush greenery on the horizon.

Left or right? The question has plagued lost hikers and Robert Frost alike since the dawn of navigation. The Northeast Branch Trail comprises just one tiny segment of the East Coast Greenway, which provides nearly 3,000 miles of carless paths up and down the Atlantic Coast. One direction heads to Lake Artemisia, and, if we had pressed on, through New Jersey, Connecticut and straight up through Maine. The other leads toward Washington, D.C., and, a cool thousand miles later, would have deposited us near the sandy beaches of Key West, Fla.

Indeed, there were some big choices to make. But the appeal of the footbridge to the right settled the debate.

The trail was well populated despite the oppressive July heat. Nary a minute went by without passing a fellow cyclist, be it a toddler clinging to the handlebars of a tandem, a spandex clad die-hard, or, in a surprising trend, a burly shirtless guy shouting into a Blackberry. If you belong to the latter group, please take note: While the trail is certainly spacious enough to accommodate two passing bikes, it lacks the room to maneuver around someone violently swerving while attempting to text. (Check out these Tips for Safe Cycling for further clarification for how to properly act while riding a bike.)

In spite of such hazards, the road itself is in remarkably stellar condition. The portion in College Park was paved four years ago, according to the Prince George's Department of Parks and Recreation, and the normal cracks and pitfalls that often plague public trails are mercifully absent. Instead, we were able to focus our attention to the various sights and sounds that surrounded us: the high school baseball game at Riverdale Recreation Center, the smell of hot dogs wafting from a nearby barbecue pit and the drone of a thousand insects that fortunately remained in the distance.

Riding along, the scenery continually changes: a dense wood gives way to open fields, and the Anacostia River ducks in and out of sight. There are underpasses and overpasses, a small gazebo and the remains of what once appeared to be a bridge or look-out point.

Of course, no trail ride would be complete without wildlife. The Anacostia River is home to egrets, catfish, deer and geese, all of which I glimpsed as I rode by. 

But by far the most memorable encounter with nature occurred at the foot of one of the trail's many bridges. As I approached, I saw what looked to be a large black trash bag lounging in the shade of tree. I got a bit closer before I saw that the bag was outfitted with pointy ears, a wagging tongue, and piercing yellow eyes.

I came to a dead halt. If this really was a trash bag, someone had put a lot of effort into making it look like a really big dog - which it was. I backed away slowly, then quickly, then tore down the trail with the fury Lance Armstrong back in his fightin' days. I was to be coaxed back to the bridge only after a family -- complete with young children and their elderly grandparents—leisurely passed the dog, eliciting only a bored blink from its mighty head.

With danger now passed, we continued on the trail, pausing frequently for pictures along the way. We stopped when we reached another fork— should we continue on the Anacostia River Trail or diverge to Northwest Branch? We decided to save that choice for another day, and plopped down for lunch instead.

All told, our adventure took two hours, which included multiple stoppages for photos, a picnic and a minor panic attack induced by an otherwise friendly dog. You can carry on for all 3,000 miles of the trail, or turn around after around 6, or even 2, if you want. It's up to you.