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