Some of the nice folks at Church of Christ in Scottsville, KY: Sarah, Sandy, Silas, and Shannon Newton, Wayne Berthelot (from LA!), and the pastor, Shelton Peeler.Friday, August 3, 2007
Holy Rollers
2 August 2007
It seems we’ve some catching up to do.
In the past week, two of my older sisters birthed babies: Laurel Elizabeth Roberts and James Patrick Curry. Welcome to the family; you’ve no idea what you’re in for.
Happy Birthday wished to Uncle Steve, my nephew Jackson, and my grandfather, Papa.
Now, to account for my time in the past seven days or so.
On 26 July, we rode out of Berea, KY bound for Springfield, KY. Along the way, I’m not sure of which there were more, rolling hills, strong headwinds, or dry counties. God bless Springfield, which is the very edge of bourbon country as well as where Abe Lincoln’s folks were married. I think they were proudest of the latter; we were most thankful for the former.
Next day, (27 July) we left Springfield headed east, which disturbed us so much we triple-checked our directions before continuing. The cartographers weren’t mixed up; the eastbound section lasted only a few miles before turning onto a circuitous but southwesterly course.
We rode twenty miles or so into Bardstown, and pulled into a driveway to cross-check our cue sheets (which are easy-to-read index cards prepared by Will which have turns, road names, and distances and eliminate the need to continuously refer to an unwieldy map) with our map. As we were clipping in to leave, I decided to see just what this house looked like. I pedaled up the drive a bit, and discovered it was actually a state park housing My Old Kentucky Home, which is as famous to Kentuckians as Houmas House is to folks back home. We rode up the rest of the way to the house, snapped a few pictures, and kept rockin’ down the road.
A few miles later, and we began to smell a fragrance quite familiar to anyone so lucky as to find himself within a few miles of Death Valley on a Saturday in the fall-bourbon.
I was sure I was hallucinating, so I drank my water bottles to empty in order to stave off dehydration.
Then a bright light appeared, and I saw a sign.
The light turned out to be a car speeding towards me, but the sign said “Makers Mark Distillery, This Way”. We stopped for lunch around 30 miles, and agreed that we could take an afternoon off to experience some Kentucky history (the distillery is the oldest in operation and on the National Register of Historic Places) and to replenish our spirits.
The tour was relatively quick, but in the midst of it, a mist rolled in, and it began to rain. None were in favor of continuing, as there was lightning, so we found a campsite at My Old Kentucky Home State Park, supped, and slumbered.
28 July dawned hot but not stiflingly so, and the humidity had settled back down to a comfortable level. We rode an uneventful 72 miles to Cave City, KY. We were pleasantly surprised to see our average cruising speed at the end of the ride much higher than usual, even in Louisiana. Before this tour, I could ride from my house on Nicholson Drive to River Road, covering twenty miles in almost exactly an hour. Any longer and I simply couldn’t sustain such a high speed. Two weeks into the Capitol to Capitol Ride and 65 miles into this day’s ride, we three riders were cruising slightly uphill and into a significant headwind at about 24MPH. The changes we’ve undergone physically are amazing to us, and we can’t wait to get back to River Road after a few days’ rest to really open up.
This night, we camped at Mammoth Cave National Park. Unfortunately, we arrived too late for an evening excursion and the earliest morning tours were booked solid, so we arose early, as usual, but we had to shuttle the bikes to the stopping point of the previous day and got a later than usual start.
We rode until after noon, and decided to stop at the next place which was far enough off the road to offer safety and afforded us enough shade to remain comfortable while we ate and napped. We found the Scottsville Church of Christ parking lot not to hot, not too cold, but just right.
As we rode up the hill to the church, we noticed there were a few cars and several people milling about. As soon as we parked the van and dismounted our bikes, a friendly parishioner, Mrs. Newton, offered to let us partake of their potluck dinner. She didn’t so much have to convince us as much as dodge the stampede into the common hall.
Minister Shelton Peeler and Mr. Wayne Berthalot visited with us and kept us company while we ate, and told us the safest way to get to our next town. This was exceptionally useful information as Minister Peeler runs a great deal and was familiar with the traffic density along the route we needed to take, which was not the one we had chosen, as we could no longer rely on the Adventure Cycling maps which detailed the coast-to-coast TransAmerica Route. Since we left Cave City, those maps were no longer of use to us, and we used the GPS mapping software we’ve brought along to filter out undesirable high-traffic roads. However, a little local knowledge proved even more useful than such a sophisticated tool, and our route was an enjoyable spin down just across the border into Tennessee. We backtracked a few miles in the van to a KOA in Franklin, KY.
30 July brought a 74 mile cruise which wound ‘round the western side of Nashville, avoiding the busier roads in the city and taking us up and down rolling hills, with only a few short (but steep) climbs interspersed throughout the route.
We broke for lunch at the Cheatham County Courthouse, where, while we relaxed in the shade, we visited with a local cabinetmaker and woodworker who offered us a place to stay, swim, eat, and do our laundry. We would certainly have taken him up on his offer had we not made previous arrangements to stay with the Edwards clan in Brentwood, just south of Nashville. We visited for a few minutes, and he mentioned that he had some kin from a small town we’d probably never heard of somewhere north of Baton Rouge, and asked if we knew some Youngs and Mills from Zachary and the Plains. I thought for a moment, then blurted, “Betsy Mills?”
“Oh, you know Aunt Betsy!”
Mrs. Betsy is a dear friend of my mother’s; they are in a weaving club together. Mom got a kick out of that, and told me that one of my best friends from childhood was kin to those folks as well. Stephens Young McVea is a cousin somehow, but I needed a road map to see how it all worked out.
We visited for a few more minutes, then the judge asked us to kindly leave his courthouse gazebo.
We weren’t causing any trouble, and they didn’t have any local ordinances against men lounging around in really tight pants (that I know of); there was a wedding to be held at that gazebo just then, so we saddled up and rode the rest of the way around Nashville.
We ended our ride at the terminus of the Natchez Trace, mile marker 444.
We drove towards the Edwards’ house in anticipation of seeing some old friends who’ve since moved away from St. Francisville, and with the relief of knowing there was a rest day in store for us on the morrow.
We’ll fill you in on Nash Vegas just as soon as we can.
Until then,
Michael
It seems we’ve some catching up to do.
In the past week, two of my older sisters birthed babies: Laurel Elizabeth Roberts and James Patrick Curry. Welcome to the family; you’ve no idea what you’re in for.
Happy Birthday wished to Uncle Steve, my nephew Jackson, and my grandfather, Papa.
Now, to account for my time in the past seven days or so.
On 26 July, we rode out of Berea, KY bound for Springfield, KY. Along the way, I’m not sure of which there were more, rolling hills, strong headwinds, or dry counties. God bless Springfield, which is the very edge of bourbon country as well as where Abe Lincoln’s folks were married. I think they were proudest of the latter; we were most thankful for the former.
Next day, (27 July) we left Springfield headed east, which disturbed us so much we triple-checked our directions before continuing. The cartographers weren’t mixed up; the eastbound section lasted only a few miles before turning onto a circuitous but southwesterly course.
We rode twenty miles or so into Bardstown, and pulled into a driveway to cross-check our cue sheets (which are easy-to-read index cards prepared by Will which have turns, road names, and distances and eliminate the need to continuously refer to an unwieldy map) with our map. As we were clipping in to leave, I decided to see just what this house looked like. I pedaled up the drive a bit, and discovered it was actually a state park housing My Old Kentucky Home, which is as famous to Kentuckians as Houmas House is to folks back home. We rode up the rest of the way to the house, snapped a few pictures, and kept rockin’ down the road.
A few miles later, and we began to smell a fragrance quite familiar to anyone so lucky as to find himself within a few miles of Death Valley on a Saturday in the fall-bourbon.
I was sure I was hallucinating, so I drank my water bottles to empty in order to stave off dehydration.
Then a bright light appeared, and I saw a sign.
The light turned out to be a car speeding towards me, but the sign said “Makers Mark Distillery, This Way”. We stopped for lunch around 30 miles, and agreed that we could take an afternoon off to experience some Kentucky history (the distillery is the oldest in operation and on the National Register of Historic Places) and to replenish our spirits.
The tour was relatively quick, but in the midst of it, a mist rolled in, and it began to rain. None were in favor of continuing, as there was lightning, so we found a campsite at My Old Kentucky Home State Park, supped, and slumbered.
28 July dawned hot but not stiflingly so, and the humidity had settled back down to a comfortable level. We rode an uneventful 72 miles to Cave City, KY. We were pleasantly surprised to see our average cruising speed at the end of the ride much higher than usual, even in Louisiana. Before this tour, I could ride from my house on Nicholson Drive to River Road, covering twenty miles in almost exactly an hour. Any longer and I simply couldn’t sustain such a high speed. Two weeks into the Capitol to Capitol Ride and 65 miles into this day’s ride, we three riders were cruising slightly uphill and into a significant headwind at about 24MPH. The changes we’ve undergone physically are amazing to us, and we can’t wait to get back to River Road after a few days’ rest to really open up.
This night, we camped at Mammoth Cave National Park. Unfortunately, we arrived too late for an evening excursion and the earliest morning tours were booked solid, so we arose early, as usual, but we had to shuttle the bikes to the stopping point of the previous day and got a later than usual start.
We rode until after noon, and decided to stop at the next place which was far enough off the road to offer safety and afforded us enough shade to remain comfortable while we ate and napped. We found the Scottsville Church of Christ parking lot not to hot, not too cold, but just right.
As we rode up the hill to the church, we noticed there were a few cars and several people milling about. As soon as we parked the van and dismounted our bikes, a friendly parishioner, Mrs. Newton, offered to let us partake of their potluck dinner. She didn’t so much have to convince us as much as dodge the stampede into the common hall.
Minister Shelton Peeler and Mr. Wayne Berthalot visited with us and kept us company while we ate, and told us the safest way to get to our next town. This was exceptionally useful information as Minister Peeler runs a great deal and was familiar with the traffic density along the route we needed to take, which was not the one we had chosen, as we could no longer rely on the Adventure Cycling maps which detailed the coast-to-coast TransAmerica Route. Since we left Cave City, those maps were no longer of use to us, and we used the GPS mapping software we’ve brought along to filter out undesirable high-traffic roads. However, a little local knowledge proved even more useful than such a sophisticated tool, and our route was an enjoyable spin down just across the border into Tennessee. We backtracked a few miles in the van to a KOA in Franklin, KY.
30 July brought a 74 mile cruise which wound ‘round the western side of Nashville, avoiding the busier roads in the city and taking us up and down rolling hills, with only a few short (but steep) climbs interspersed throughout the route.
We broke for lunch at the Cheatham County Courthouse, where, while we relaxed in the shade, we visited with a local cabinetmaker and woodworker who offered us a place to stay, swim, eat, and do our laundry. We would certainly have taken him up on his offer had we not made previous arrangements to stay with the Edwards clan in Brentwood, just south of Nashville. We visited for a few minutes, and he mentioned that he had some kin from a small town we’d probably never heard of somewhere north of Baton Rouge, and asked if we knew some Youngs and Mills from Zachary and the Plains. I thought for a moment, then blurted, “Betsy Mills?”
“Oh, you know Aunt Betsy!”
Mrs. Betsy is a dear friend of my mother’s; they are in a weaving club together. Mom got a kick out of that, and told me that one of my best friends from childhood was kin to those folks as well. Stephens Young McVea is a cousin somehow, but I needed a road map to see how it all worked out.
We visited for a few more minutes, then the judge asked us to kindly leave his courthouse gazebo.
We weren’t causing any trouble, and they didn’t have any local ordinances against men lounging around in really tight pants (that I know of); there was a wedding to be held at that gazebo just then, so we saddled up and rode the rest of the way around Nashville.
We ended our ride at the terminus of the Natchez Trace, mile marker 444.
We drove towards the Edwards’ house in anticipation of seeing some old friends who’ve since moved away from St. Francisville, and with the relief of knowing there was a rest day in store for us on the morrow.
We’ll fill you in on Nash Vegas just as soon as we can.
Until then,
Michael
Sunday, July 29, 2007
More pictures
Waiting out the rain and lightning near Pippa Passes, Kentucky.
Brian, Matt, and Michael coming down Rogers Mt. into Damascus, Virginia.
Matt in what looked like an old rail depot, near Lexington, Virginia.
Michael had all the best intentions.
Brian!
Sorry I haven’t posted anything until now but for some reason the block of time hasn’t come until now. I know some of you may have thought that the guys left me in DC from the lack blogs but, alas, I am here.
The trip has been nothing but interesting and entertaining. There are several occurrences of Benton brother feuding, which has been always been a stalemate despite their relentless attempt to top one another. They keep Matt and me entertained for hours. As Matt had said before, it is truly amazing how well these two have organized and prepared everything for this trip. They have been on top of their game and the Benton family should be very proud of them.
Two days ago, I was reminded that this is a small world. Will, Matt and I stopped for a little afternoon snack in the shade next to a tool shed in rural Kentucky. After our cool off, we noticed a transamerican east-bounder headed our way, only the second cyclist we have seen in Kentucky. This was a rare occurrence as opposed to the plethora of cyclists we met in Virginia. As we do with everyone we meet on the road, we discussed the route ahead and what to expect. After having mentioned that Matt and I went to LSU, our fellow traveler told us that his nieces went to LSU as well; their last name was Keegan. The name shuffled through my head and I remembered Jenny Keegan from Baton Rouge High and LSU. She is a good friend of mine although I haven’t seen her in a long time. John Keegan, our new acquaintance, is her uncle and even tried to convince Jenny’s father, his brother, to join him on his transamerican journey. John was born in New York, currently lived in Atlanta, flew to Oregon to begin his bike trip, had nieces in Baton Rouge and met a friend of his nieces on one of the most abandoned roads in Kentucky; it is a small world.
Thankfully, we are finally out of the mountains and into the rolling hills of Kentucky. The Appalachians can be described as many different things. Some refer to them as steep, long, gradual; I call them painful. They were a challenge both mentally and physically. I would constantly have to think of happy thoughts and inspirational stories, provided by my pep talk from Ms. Amy B. Physically, it has been a tough two weeks but I have enjoyed every moment of it.
One thing I have enjoyed the most is observing how each of us seems to be growing younger and younger as the days go by. Without the pressures of a daily working routine, we are letting go of many of the stresses that plague each of us in the “regular” world. It seems to be a common occurrence when I take any extended trip. We laugh, joke, cut up, have fun and enjoy ourselves. While we are still on a mission, no one ever said that we couldn’t have fun doing it.
An incident that has stuck out in my mind was in Charlottesville. You will have to get a testimony from each of the Benton brothers to be the judge but I will give you my unbiased, third party observer’s perspective. Michael, Will and I were lost in downtown Charlottesville and trying to get our bearings, although there are about four different streets with the name Monticello. As we sped along to avoid the treacherous Charlottesville traffic, we weave in and out of the debris on the shoulder of the highway. I then see Michael turn his head to speak to Will, who is second in the pace line. As Michael turns back towards the road and resume riding, I see him suddenly swerve. Within the same half second, I hear a sudden whoosh and white smoke exploding in front of Will. At first, I thought that Will had hit a soda can that had exploded. Will then pulls off to the side of the road with an airless tire. Apparently, (I say that with some hesitancy after hearing both sides of the story) Will had said something to Michael, who then turned to hear him better. However upon looking back at the road, Michael saw a large rock split into two halves with a small gap in between them. He then quickly threads his front wheel through the opening. Will, unaware of the impeding obstacle, hits the massive boulder, as Michael describes it, head on. The impact then flats his tire. The course of events is actually quite boring but the playful argument between two siblings is pretty humorous. I imagine two grown men suddenly reduced into two young boys arguing over some trivial matter like who can throw a rock the farthest. These two are trying to put fault onto each other as I simply sit there, giggling to the point of an abs workout. Michael teases with statements such as, “Will, how can you distract me like that? If you had spoken louder, I would not have had to turn my head. I was just trying to be polite and face you while you were speaking to me.” Will then retorts with comments such as, “Michael, how could you be so careless as to not warn your own flesh and blood about a life-threatening obstruction? What kind of responsible older brother are you? If you had been paying attention to the road ahead rather than aimless looking around, we could have all avoided the rock that you failed to point out.” I, as I have said before, am sitting on the wayside simply laughing my heart out at their hysterical back and forth. By the end of it, I was convinced that it was the rock’s fault for just being there. However, it was not enough for Michael to simply argue; he had to have proof. Thus, he tells Will to put the tire around his neck, hold the two rock halves in his hands and pose for a picture. Will obviously refuses. Michael tries to justify the picture with comments like, “We have people following our journey. We must have accurate documentation of our trip and all the events that ensue.” This continues for several minutes and finally culminates in Michael holding both the rock and flat tire in one hand near the camera lens and placing Will in the middle of the tire in the frame of the picture. At this point, I am completely tickled with the whole situation and cannot control my laughter. Neither of the Benton brothers can help but crack a smile either. Their whole situation reminds me of the little pointless arguments that my brother and I had when we were young. They always went nowhere and ended with a humorous story to recount. In that moment, I realized that we were all boys at heart and would get through anything together. We will take a stressful situation like a flat tire in a busy, unknown city and transform it into an experience that we can get through together, laughs included.
That is just some of the happenings that have gone on during the trip. We love and miss our family and friends back home and wish the best. More stories to come soon.
PS: One of the pictures is posted on the website. Check it out.
Brian
The trip has been nothing but interesting and entertaining. There are several occurrences of Benton brother feuding, which has been always been a stalemate despite their relentless attempt to top one another. They keep Matt and me entertained for hours. As Matt had said before, it is truly amazing how well these two have organized and prepared everything for this trip. They have been on top of their game and the Benton family should be very proud of them.
Two days ago, I was reminded that this is a small world. Will, Matt and I stopped for a little afternoon snack in the shade next to a tool shed in rural Kentucky. After our cool off, we noticed a transamerican east-bounder headed our way, only the second cyclist we have seen in Kentucky. This was a rare occurrence as opposed to the plethora of cyclists we met in Virginia. As we do with everyone we meet on the road, we discussed the route ahead and what to expect. After having mentioned that Matt and I went to LSU, our fellow traveler told us that his nieces went to LSU as well; their last name was Keegan. The name shuffled through my head and I remembered Jenny Keegan from Baton Rouge High and LSU. She is a good friend of mine although I haven’t seen her in a long time. John Keegan, our new acquaintance, is her uncle and even tried to convince Jenny’s father, his brother, to join him on his transamerican journey. John was born in New York, currently lived in Atlanta, flew to Oregon to begin his bike trip, had nieces in Baton Rouge and met a friend of his nieces on one of the most abandoned roads in Kentucky; it is a small world.
Thankfully, we are finally out of the mountains and into the rolling hills of Kentucky. The Appalachians can be described as many different things. Some refer to them as steep, long, gradual; I call them painful. They were a challenge both mentally and physically. I would constantly have to think of happy thoughts and inspirational stories, provided by my pep talk from Ms. Amy B. Physically, it has been a tough two weeks but I have enjoyed every moment of it.
One thing I have enjoyed the most is observing how each of us seems to be growing younger and younger as the days go by. Without the pressures of a daily working routine, we are letting go of many of the stresses that plague each of us in the “regular” world. It seems to be a common occurrence when I take any extended trip. We laugh, joke, cut up, have fun and enjoy ourselves. While we are still on a mission, no one ever said that we couldn’t have fun doing it.
An incident that has stuck out in my mind was in Charlottesville. You will have to get a testimony from each of the Benton brothers to be the judge but I will give you my unbiased, third party observer’s perspective. Michael, Will and I were lost in downtown Charlottesville and trying to get our bearings, although there are about four different streets with the name Monticello. As we sped along to avoid the treacherous Charlottesville traffic, we weave in and out of the debris on the shoulder of the highway. I then see Michael turn his head to speak to Will, who is second in the pace line. As Michael turns back towards the road and resume riding, I see him suddenly swerve. Within the same half second, I hear a sudden whoosh and white smoke exploding in front of Will. At first, I thought that Will had hit a soda can that had exploded. Will then pulls off to the side of the road with an airless tire. Apparently, (I say that with some hesitancy after hearing both sides of the story) Will had said something to Michael, who then turned to hear him better. However upon looking back at the road, Michael saw a large rock split into two halves with a small gap in between them. He then quickly threads his front wheel through the opening. Will, unaware of the impeding obstacle, hits the massive boulder, as Michael describes it, head on. The impact then flats his tire. The course of events is actually quite boring but the playful argument between two siblings is pretty humorous. I imagine two grown men suddenly reduced into two young boys arguing over some trivial matter like who can throw a rock the farthest. These two are trying to put fault onto each other as I simply sit there, giggling to the point of an abs workout. Michael teases with statements such as, “Will, how can you distract me like that? If you had spoken louder, I would not have had to turn my head. I was just trying to be polite and face you while you were speaking to me.” Will then retorts with comments such as, “Michael, how could you be so careless as to not warn your own flesh and blood about a life-threatening obstruction? What kind of responsible older brother are you? If you had been paying attention to the road ahead rather than aimless looking around, we could have all avoided the rock that you failed to point out.” I, as I have said before, am sitting on the wayside simply laughing my heart out at their hysterical back and forth. By the end of it, I was convinced that it was the rock’s fault for just being there. However, it was not enough for Michael to simply argue; he had to have proof. Thus, he tells Will to put the tire around his neck, hold the two rock halves in his hands and pose for a picture. Will obviously refuses. Michael tries to justify the picture with comments like, “We have people following our journey. We must have accurate documentation of our trip and all the events that ensue.” This continues for several minutes and finally culminates in Michael holding both the rock and flat tire in one hand near the camera lens and placing Will in the middle of the tire in the frame of the picture. At this point, I am completely tickled with the whole situation and cannot control my laughter. Neither of the Benton brothers can help but crack a smile either. Their whole situation reminds me of the little pointless arguments that my brother and I had when we were young. They always went nowhere and ended with a humorous story to recount. In that moment, I realized that we were all boys at heart and would get through anything together. We will take a stressful situation like a flat tire in a busy, unknown city and transform it into an experience that we can get through together, laughs included.
That is just some of the happenings that have gone on during the trip. We love and miss our family and friends back home and wish the best. More stories to come soon.
PS: One of the pictures is posted on the website. Check it out.
Brian
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Late, Date.
To clear any confusion, all dates in previous post are July, not June. It was past my bedtime.
Michael
Michael
Hell and High Water
Rest assured, both have come and gone. For the riders, yesterday (24 June) was an exercise in the endurance of misery.
We awoke at 615AM to a cup of coffee and breakfast, provided by a youth group from Tennessee on a mission trip to the Caney Creek Valley in KY; the youth leader’s father is the pastor at the Caney Creek Baptist Church, where we were given shelter from the storm of the previous day, when, having ridden only 39 miles or so, lightning and dangerous road conditions forced us to turn in earlier than anticipated.
As we drove past the church in search of a nearby hostel, Pastor Baldridge flagged us down and informed us that the proprietor of said hostel was ill. Alas, no room at the inn.
He did, however, quite generously invite us to stay in his church and to join his son’s youth group for dinner. We ate heartily and turned in.
After breakfast (24 July), we returned the endpoint of our ride of 23 July and kitted up (that’s cyclist lingo for getting dressed and readying one’s bike/gear). As we clipped in to our pedals, we were baptized by storm clouds which Noah would have surely envied.
We huddled just outside the convenience store on the corner until the lightning and thunder subsided and the rain let up a bit, then set off to cover what miles we could before we could again be halted by precipitation of Biblical proportions.
We spun for a few miles through a valley, gaining only a few feet of elevation per mile. After a couple of turns, we found ourselves cranking up a pothole-strewn, switchback-laden, lane-and-a-quarter excuse for a road with no deliverance in sight.
After an eternity of cranking to our hearts’ redline (and malcontent), we crested the climb and cautiously navigated another treacherous descent, winding through the switchbacks and, at one point, stopping for a road crew to clear a landslide so we might continue.
We pressed on until our midday meal, which we ate roadside. We hid our bikes in a small cave and took in hot soup and sandwiches Matt prepared for us. Again as we tried to leave, rain began to fall.
Onward for miles, until, as we rode on a terribly busy stretch of road, we pedaled into the clouds and another part of the same storm which had plagued our progress for the past two days.
The rain came suddenly and the lightning and thunder followed soon after. We zipped off an exit ramp to an animal shelter, where we, against a backdrop of pouring, bone-chilling rain, asked the keeper, “Do you shelter people, too?”
“No.”
We weren’t expecting five-star accommodations, like a fancy cage or anything, but we wouldn’t have minded sitting in the foyer. To his credit, the guy offered us the ‘porch’.
‘Porch’-small area on front of animal shelter building in rural Kentucky, often not larger than this: []. Just enough ‘shelter’ to ease the conscience of keeper while providing zero protection from the elements.
The wind was blowing the rain directly onto the ‘porch’, so Will, Brian, and I ran ‘round the side of the building to stand underneath the eaves, where at least the water was coming straight down. Fortunately, I had a poncho which we split down the sides to cover us and hold in what body heat we had left. We shivered there until a lull in the storm, then mounted our bikes and rode a few more hills to the Wal-Mart, where we rendezvoused with Matt, bought some chemical hand-warmers, some emergency blankets for our packs, and some hot food.
Sidebar: It’s midsummer (24 June), I’ve double-layered jerseys, stashed hand-warmers into my shorts, tied a bandana on under my helmet, and I’ve been exercising for four hours, yet still my teeth are chattering at the bottom of any downslope more than a few yards long.
Global warming=tomfoolery.
There were more than a few strange looks cast our way while we shopped, the reasons obvious: we were 1) wearing Spandex 2) not wearing shoes 3) soaking wet 4) spattered completely with mud, grease, grit, and road grime 5) in rural KY.
We rode out of Wal-Mart with sixty miles behind us and maybe 2.5 hours daylight remaining. Despite the rain and nasty conditions, we made decent time as the terrain flattened out into a valley and we left the high-traffic area through which we’d been riding.
With about 8 miles to go, the pavement rose steeply before us, and we soon found ourselves cranking hard, getting up out of the saddle for extra leverage on our pedals.
We stopped for just a minute or so to snap a photo, and Dad called. I answered Will’s phone, and Dad told me that he had double-checked, and that we had, for sure, raised over $20,000!
That news provided the extra boost we needed to polish off our ride.
After a particularly brutal climb, and another, and yet another (good news can only do so much after that many miles), we topped out and cruised into Buckhorn State Park, near Buckhorn City, KY, a little over six hours in the saddle (only time spent pedaling, does not include lounging at the animal shelter) and 84.9 miles on the odometer.
A hot shower, lots of Gold Bond, a hot dinner, and off to bed.
More to come.
Still at large,
Michael
Berea, KY
We awoke at 615AM to a cup of coffee and breakfast, provided by a youth group from Tennessee on a mission trip to the Caney Creek Valley in KY; the youth leader’s father is the pastor at the Caney Creek Baptist Church, where we were given shelter from the storm of the previous day, when, having ridden only 39 miles or so, lightning and dangerous road conditions forced us to turn in earlier than anticipated.
As we drove past the church in search of a nearby hostel, Pastor Baldridge flagged us down and informed us that the proprietor of said hostel was ill. Alas, no room at the inn.
He did, however, quite generously invite us to stay in his church and to join his son’s youth group for dinner. We ate heartily and turned in.
After breakfast (24 July), we returned the endpoint of our ride of 23 July and kitted up (that’s cyclist lingo for getting dressed and readying one’s bike/gear). As we clipped in to our pedals, we were baptized by storm clouds which Noah would have surely envied.
We huddled just outside the convenience store on the corner until the lightning and thunder subsided and the rain let up a bit, then set off to cover what miles we could before we could again be halted by precipitation of Biblical proportions.
We spun for a few miles through a valley, gaining only a few feet of elevation per mile. After a couple of turns, we found ourselves cranking up a pothole-strewn, switchback-laden, lane-and-a-quarter excuse for a road with no deliverance in sight.
After an eternity of cranking to our hearts’ redline (and malcontent), we crested the climb and cautiously navigated another treacherous descent, winding through the switchbacks and, at one point, stopping for a road crew to clear a landslide so we might continue.
We pressed on until our midday meal, which we ate roadside. We hid our bikes in a small cave and took in hot soup and sandwiches Matt prepared for us. Again as we tried to leave, rain began to fall.
Onward for miles, until, as we rode on a terribly busy stretch of road, we pedaled into the clouds and another part of the same storm which had plagued our progress for the past two days.
The rain came suddenly and the lightning and thunder followed soon after. We zipped off an exit ramp to an animal shelter, where we, against a backdrop of pouring, bone-chilling rain, asked the keeper, “Do you shelter people, too?”
“No.”
We weren’t expecting five-star accommodations, like a fancy cage or anything, but we wouldn’t have minded sitting in the foyer. To his credit, the guy offered us the ‘porch’.
‘Porch’-small area on front of animal shelter building in rural Kentucky, often not larger than this: []. Just enough ‘shelter’ to ease the conscience of keeper while providing zero protection from the elements.
The wind was blowing the rain directly onto the ‘porch’, so Will, Brian, and I ran ‘round the side of the building to stand underneath the eaves, where at least the water was coming straight down. Fortunately, I had a poncho which we split down the sides to cover us and hold in what body heat we had left. We shivered there until a lull in the storm, then mounted our bikes and rode a few more hills to the Wal-Mart, where we rendezvoused with Matt, bought some chemical hand-warmers, some emergency blankets for our packs, and some hot food.
Sidebar: It’s midsummer (24 June), I’ve double-layered jerseys, stashed hand-warmers into my shorts, tied a bandana on under my helmet, and I’ve been exercising for four hours, yet still my teeth are chattering at the bottom of any downslope more than a few yards long.
Global warming=tomfoolery.
There were more than a few strange looks cast our way while we shopped, the reasons obvious: we were 1) wearing Spandex 2) not wearing shoes 3) soaking wet 4) spattered completely with mud, grease, grit, and road grime 5) in rural KY.
We rode out of Wal-Mart with sixty miles behind us and maybe 2.5 hours daylight remaining. Despite the rain and nasty conditions, we made decent time as the terrain flattened out into a valley and we left the high-traffic area through which we’d been riding.
With about 8 miles to go, the pavement rose steeply before us, and we soon found ourselves cranking hard, getting up out of the saddle for extra leverage on our pedals.
We stopped for just a minute or so to snap a photo, and Dad called. I answered Will’s phone, and Dad told me that he had double-checked, and that we had, for sure, raised over $20,000!
That news provided the extra boost we needed to polish off our ride.
After a particularly brutal climb, and another, and yet another (good news can only do so much after that many miles), we topped out and cruised into Buckhorn State Park, near Buckhorn City, KY, a little over six hours in the saddle (only time spent pedaling, does not include lounging at the animal shelter) and 84.9 miles on the odometer.
A hot shower, lots of Gold Bond, a hot dinner, and off to bed.
More to come.
Still at large,
Michael
Berea, KY
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Ride faster--I hear banjo music!
Hey, y'all, it's Matt again. I hope y'all read this because Will is always getting on me about updating the blog. I'll try to make this interesting.
In case it hasn't been mentioned, a cold front passed through and it has been in the 60's or coller at night and in the mornings. The others brought jackets, and I did not. I though to myself while packing, "It's July, what will I need a jacket for? I'll just save some space in my bag. It's been a little chilly. Another mistake I made was to pass up a shower a few days ago. I was tired and ready for bed thinking I'd catch one the next day. Well, the chance hasn't come around for a few days now. My beard is long and my hair spikes itself. I'm not completely alone in my absence of shower, but I do believe I have the record for now.
Two nights before last we stayed in a hostel. This was a new experience for me. We were in Damascus, Virginia, population: ~900. Their whole economy is based around cyclists and the Appalachian Trail. It's a trail town, very cool. BUT--no cell phone reception, which is OK if you live there, because you can yell to anyone anywhere in town.
At the hostel, we met a man named Ken who lived in Boston, but was born in Georgia--this being a useful background to relate to both Yankees and Southerners. Ken was hiking half of the AT, having through-hiked the entire trail last year. He provided us with knowledge of the town and some good conversation. We also met a fellow named Bong, from Japan. He informed us that he was riding from coast to coast (west to east), and gave us a few tips.
Two days ago, we crossed from rural Virginia to very rural Kentucky. Bong told us that Kentucky is flat--either he was lying or we need to go a lot farther. The hills here in Kentucky are shorter than in Virginia, but they are very steep. On top of that we have gotten rained on the past two days. Honestly, my first impressions of Kentucky haven't been very good. It's rural here and the only industry in coal mining. The people here drive fast and litter a lot. It's beautiful country, though, if you can get past the constant trash in the ditches.
Two evenings ago, we were looking for a hostel after getting rained out a little earlier in the day. We came across a group of people standing in front of a church. They informed us that the man who ran the hostel, which was right up the road, had had a heart attack and was in the hospital. They then promptly invited us to stay in their church and have dinner with a youth group that was in town to do some service work. This was great news--we had no place to stay and were cold and wet. So we graciously accepted. They fed us hot dogs and chips, and we learned about the different religions of the mountain people and how those religions have influenced each other over the years. The church where we were was the Caney Baptist Church, of the "Ole Regular" Baptist beliefs. Absolutely wonderful people, and the youth group's church offered to put us up in their home church when we passed by there. They also fed us breakfast yesterday morning. It was nice to meet those people, because my view of this area was starting to become gloomy, and they definitely brought big smiles.
To the Benton family:
Than you so much for the use of your van and all your support (especially in the form of cookies). Michael and Will are masters at the art of argument and love to show this off to Brian and me. They provide us with hours of entertainment while they try to decide which one if better at whatever. Just kidding around, they are awesome and have done a fantastic job orchestrating this trip.
If you haven't heard from us lately, it's because Cingular doesn't have cell phone coverage out here. We're hoping to find it soon. Sometimes the internet works, sometimes it doesn't--please be patient with us. We're all safe and we miss you back home. Yesterday morning Will said to me, "You don't know how good home is until you're in another place." So true.
In case it hasn't been mentioned, a cold front passed through and it has been in the 60's or coller at night and in the mornings. The others brought jackets, and I did not. I though to myself while packing, "It's July, what will I need a jacket for? I'll just save some space in my bag. It's been a little chilly. Another mistake I made was to pass up a shower a few days ago. I was tired and ready for bed thinking I'd catch one the next day. Well, the chance hasn't come around for a few days now. My beard is long and my hair spikes itself. I'm not completely alone in my absence of shower, but I do believe I have the record for now.
Two nights before last we stayed in a hostel. This was a new experience for me. We were in Damascus, Virginia, population: ~900. Their whole economy is based around cyclists and the Appalachian Trail. It's a trail town, very cool. BUT--no cell phone reception, which is OK if you live there, because you can yell to anyone anywhere in town.
At the hostel, we met a man named Ken who lived in Boston, but was born in Georgia--this being a useful background to relate to both Yankees and Southerners. Ken was hiking half of the AT, having through-hiked the entire trail last year. He provided us with knowledge of the town and some good conversation. We also met a fellow named Bong, from Japan. He informed us that he was riding from coast to coast (west to east), and gave us a few tips.
Two days ago, we crossed from rural Virginia to very rural Kentucky. Bong told us that Kentucky is flat--either he was lying or we need to go a lot farther. The hills here in Kentucky are shorter than in Virginia, but they are very steep. On top of that we have gotten rained on the past two days. Honestly, my first impressions of Kentucky haven't been very good. It's rural here and the only industry in coal mining. The people here drive fast and litter a lot. It's beautiful country, though, if you can get past the constant trash in the ditches.
Two evenings ago, we were looking for a hostel after getting rained out a little earlier in the day. We came across a group of people standing in front of a church. They informed us that the man who ran the hostel, which was right up the road, had had a heart attack and was in the hospital. They then promptly invited us to stay in their church and have dinner with a youth group that was in town to do some service work. This was great news--we had no place to stay and were cold and wet. So we graciously accepted. They fed us hot dogs and chips, and we learned about the different religions of the mountain people and how those religions have influenced each other over the years. The church where we were was the Caney Baptist Church, of the "Ole Regular" Baptist beliefs. Absolutely wonderful people, and the youth group's church offered to put us up in their home church when we passed by there. They also fed us breakfast yesterday morning. It was nice to meet those people, because my view of this area was starting to become gloomy, and they definitely brought big smiles.
To the Benton family:
Than you so much for the use of your van and all your support (especially in the form of cookies). Michael and Will are masters at the art of argument and love to show this off to Brian and me. They provide us with hours of entertainment while they try to decide which one if better at whatever. Just kidding around, they are awesome and have done a fantastic job orchestrating this trip.
If you haven't heard from us lately, it's because Cingular doesn't have cell phone coverage out here. We're hoping to find it soon. Sometimes the internet works, sometimes it doesn't--please be patient with us. We're all safe and we miss you back home. Yesterday morning Will said to me, "You don't know how good home is until you're in another place." So true.
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