Apologies for that post title. I don't even like the song, and I'm not trying to suggest you MUST go to Pennsylvania. It's just the only punny title I could think of. If you've already thrown your phone or computer out a window, I'm sorry.
I ended up camping just outside York, PA, in order to have easy access to the Rocky Ridge mountain bike trail network. This is a fun town to explore on foot, as it is very old, and therefore lots of old buildings. Having grown up on the west coast, I find anything that's been around longer than 80 years "ancient" and "fascinating." Really though, most of the time I spent walking around east coast cities like Battleboro, Boston, and York consisted of looking upward and using my peripheral to dodge lampposts.
Biking at Rocky Ridge was... fine. The weather was nice and not too warm, with a light drizzle that came and went periodically. Most of the trails went traversed a densely forested hillside, so it was mostly shaded and green. If you're finding this description unremarkable, then that's appropriate for this riding experience. Take that with a grain of salt, as I only rode here once and didn't have a chance to explore every trail, but nothing about any of it struck me as particularly interesting.
Maybe it's a low-effort type of trail network–as in maybe there aren't many people who can or are willing to put in time to maintain or improve it, with the result being "eh, good enough." I just felt like there were too many impassible sections, too many pointlessly rocky areas, and not enough places to pick up any speed or momentum. There were no jumps, rollers, or anything that suggested a sense of joy. Riding this trail was constant work.
I suppose someone who rode here often would become an excellent bike handler, and build some excellent fitness. But even for someone like that, I have a hard time thinking the trails would be any more fun. Which is why after leaving York, I headed for Asheville and rode Bent Creek again.