This part of Pennsylvania is full of the kind of rolling hills that made "rolling hills" a phrase to begin with. The landscape bounces between small historic towns, open airy fields, and cool dark forests, all occasionally crossed by highways, roads, or dirt paths. Colonial farmhouses and barns stand watch over the fields cloaked in crops of corn, soy beans, and wheat that waves in the wind the way you'd expect to see in a movie scene. They're dotted with cows and sheep and strange bikers who like to sit alongside them. I see all this for miles as I crest another hill, pausing at the top to stare, gasp for breath, and smile, occasionally remembering to snap another picture of coco the road goat. Getting to the top of those hills was a grind, and not just on my gears.