End of 2007 Ride; Day in Damascus; Breakfast with Pirate and Lone Wolf

October 30, 2007: Day 11.

We awakened early to heavy frost. I slept the night in the Van in the parking lot of The Place the hostel owned by the Damascus Methodist Church. I didn’t bring my sleeping pad so I couldn’t sleep on the wooden bunk beds in the hostel. Actually the bunk beds are quite good, but a pad is needed. Cimarron the Trail Boss was psyched to sleep in a hostel, which brings back good memories of his days on the Appalachian Trail. He completed the whole trail over two years in 2003 and 2004 when he was 82 and 83 years old and loves reviewing the old memories. He mostly slept in hostels and shelters along the trail, and unlike Millie and me, shunned the tent as much as possible. We on the other hand shunned the shelters and hostels, preferring our own dirt and noise!

The hostel is unheated but he says he was very comfortable in his zero degree sleeping bag and enjoyed the night. Probably it was being away from my snoring that he really enjoyed as he had a room to himself as only Tumbler was in the hostel and a different room. I was very comfortable in the van but had to get out three times for urination. It was below freezing and when I stepped on the grass it crunched. The night was clear and the stars beautiful and the moon near full. The wind almost blew my hat off each time I stepped away from the van. I wore my long johns top and bottom and also slept in my zero degree down sleeping bag. I was real comfortable although my head and shoulders got a little sweaty once. I wore my fleece watch cap most of the night, and not having a pillow I used rolled up clothing in my sleeping bag stuff sack. It worked nicely, but all night I knew I wouldn’t go out riding until the temperature got near fifty.

Last week when we were in the heart of Kentucky hill country the Trail Boss got news that his Grandson will probably need heart valve surgery again in the next several months. This was very disturbing to him and also to me. The little guy is now thriving in Kindergarten and has grown greatly since his first surgery last year. When he was a baby the grandson lived in Cimarron’s home for several months and there is an understandable extra special attachment.

This morning we met Pirate and Lone Wolf for breakfast at Cowboy’s Gas Station and restaurant. But first we took all the towels from the dirty laundry at The Place to the Laundromat. The sign on the wall plainly says, wash your towels, but it’s obvious no one did. The laundry is conveniently located across the road from Cowboy’s so we ate and did laundry simultaneously.

At the restaurant we had a nice visit with our old Trail Cronies. Both said winter had reached the mountains and the nightly temperatures were to be below freezing the next week or so. They advised that the temperatures would not be up into the 40’s or 50’s until eleven Am or so. Then we reviewed the logistics of lodging for the next 100 miles and things don’t look good. The next 20 miles of pedaling out of Damascus is uphill along the Creeper trail so I’ll go slowly and then we’ll need to drive to a room.

So we called it quits for 2007. We made it 266.5 miles in 11 days on the trail (nine days cycling, one day of auto repairs, and this eleventh day of starting home), and had covered some of the toughest 266 miles of the entire Trans-America Bike Trail at an average of 30 miles per day. We had planned to be out 10-14 days. We will be left with a section here in the east from Damascus to Rock Fish Gap, near Afton, VA. Damascus is such a wonderful finishing area that perhaps we’ll do the rest of the section from east to west and end again at Damascus.

Thanks to all of you who followed along again on this trip. I hope you know it has been fun for me, in my own way, and the fact that someone might read about our adventure makes it more worthwhile.

I now have finished 1333.1 miles out of a total of 4267 miles in this cross-country bike ride. We did 6% of the entire trail this time. I am 31% finished in my bike ride across America.

Meeting our first long distance bike riders—Two surly girls; arriving at the Appalachian Trail

October 29, 2007: Day 10.

From Near the top of Hayter’s Gap (elevation 3281) to Damascus, VA
Distance: 23.0 miles: Total Distance 266.5

Today we came to two major landmarks. First was I-81 a major north south route we have followed many times on our travels to our home state of Pennsylvania. Second was arrival in Damascus, VA, one of the more famous towns on the Appalachian Trail that we walked in the year 2000. Millie and I (as Sweet Pea and Bear Bag) walked to Damascus from Springer Mountain, Georgia, a distance of 450 miles in about 30 days. We then walked on to the northern end of the trail over the subsequent 6 months. You can read all about that hike at our Trail Journals Blog: http://www.trailjournals.com/ Once at Trail Journals search for Bear Bag and Sweet Pea the Trail Boss.

But to get started today we had to drive back to our stopping point on the upside of Hayter’s Gap in the Clinch Mountains. We had stopped last night at a particularly steep switchback a half mile or so from the peak, and I was concerned about the Trail Boss turning the van at that point. So I suggested he leave me off at the top of the mountain and I would ride the bike down to the switchback and then walk back up. But he wanted to take me to the start for the day. So I insisted we stop where there was room at the top of the mountain and prepare for my days ride.

The preparation included getting out of my breakfast clothes of blue jeans and fleece sweat shirt and into the following: riding shorts, orange over shorts, long sleeve under shirt, neon yellow t-shirt, nylon vest, safety vest and yellow windbreaker, thin balaclava, helmet, fleece bike riding gloves with leather palms, biking sock anklets, and riding shoes with cleat for clipping into the pedals. It was about 40 degrees and at the very peak of the gap the wind was at least 25 mph. Then I mounted the portable pump (which has never been used), the cycle computer, the rear trunk bag (with rain pants, toilet paper, extra tube, and snacks) the small handle bar bag (with cell phone, locking chain, and medical gloves), the MP-3 Player and external speaker, and two bottles of water. When we were prepared, we then drove the mile down the western side of Clinch Mountain to the starting point.

At the starting point there was barely enough room to turn the van so as to be pointing in the easterly direction. I wish I had gotten out, because the Trail Boss wasn’t able to stay off the road and we were maneuvering broadside in the middle of the road at the blind switchback for a considerable period. If a vehicle came in any direction I don’t think they could have avoided us. Especially if a laden coal truck came down the hill we would have been broadsided and pushed many yards down the road or off the hillside. But it didn’t happen and we finally got off the road and turned. I quickly grabbed the bike off the back bike rack and started my mile walk up the mountain. It took about an hour and I reached the top waving to the Trail Boss as I went by. He had wanted to move on off the mountain but I didn’t want to be far out of touch what with the colder weather and my lack of survival camping gear. I didn’t want a small accident, which prevented riding the bike to be able to cause my death from hypothermia. For instance a sprained ankle in a hiker without proper shelter could cause death from hypothermia if the hiker can’t make physical progress and keep warm.

So, as I left the top of Clinch Mountain and started down I came to a cottage sitting with a gorgeous view out over the mountains. I stopped and got the picture of beautiful mountains and valleys for at least 30 miles. As I got on the bike and was coming up to downhill speed my right shoestring caught in the chain! This is a certain crash if not managed properly with a lot of luck. I immediately stopped pedal rotation, braked and slowed and then had to carefully plan a stop so I would lean to the left (my free foot) and put down my foot. If I leaned right the caught shoestring would prevent using my right foot and I would fall over onto the right side possibly cracking my head and for sure bruising my right leg and shoulder. But I pulled it off beautifully when I stopped I fell left and just put my left foot down for support. However, all was not yet saved as I was on a 25-degree downhill slope on my left leg with my right leg stuck over the bike in the chain. I kept the brakes applied so the bike wouldn’t roll, hoped out to the left side to make room to lay the bike on the road, and was now standing left foot on road and right foot on chain rings of the bike. But at least I was balanced although leaning down hill. I reached down and got hold of the pedal, which I now needed to turn by hand to turn loose the offending string. Turning the pedal meant the wheel must turn so could not drag on the road surface. I got it done, and I didn’t fall or twist a knee. Amazing. If the shoestring had caught while I was in full speed down the hill I could have had a catastrophic fall. I was thankful I had asked the Trail Boss to remain behind me today. If I had been injured, there was little or no traffic, so no one would have found me for a considerable time.

I sat and double-checked that all laces were tucked in and then did the free five downhill miles in just about 15 minutes with speeds up to 35 mph. I made good progress to one of the forks of the Holston River and again to a branch of the Clinch River. These rivers are contributories of the Tennessee River, which flows south through parts of Kentucky, into Tennessee, into Alabama and then turns back north through Tennessee and off to the Ohio. So, here in Appalachia we are west of the Eastern Continental Divide.

Finally we got to Meadowview and I-81. We felt like we were home again as we’ve both traveled on I-81 significantly. Soon we crossed (under) I-81 and came to Route 11 the old North South Route through Virginia. There was a nice deli and family food store/gas station at the corner of Route 11 and Route 80/803. They advertised roasted chicken and it was excellent, although the Trail Boss did not partake.

As we sat and ate some snacks and had some fluid replacement, we noted two girls pedaling up Route 803, the road to Damascus. As is always the case with people on the road, we were anxious to hear their story and to learn meaningful trail information (Location of food, water, trail conditions, motels, trail angels, etc.) Well these girls made a half wave ignoring us and headed up Route 11 away from the trail. Then they stopped along the road just 50 yards away. In all my days I had never seen a hiker or biker totally ignore other hiker/bikers along the trail. So I walked over to see them. It was a mistake. They were a surly couple. The taller dark haired one had on some sort of revealing tank top and a short skirt. She kept bending over and exposing breasts smaller than mine. Under the skirt she had a pair of gray worn out long john bottoms with multiple holes showing parts of knees, thighs, and lower legs. She wore a dark colored flowered night gown over her top that extended down to about the mid thigh region. She had scruffy black hair on both her head and her armpits and a bad attitude to match. Her associate was blondish, short haired, and similarly dressed although not so low cut, and much more likable. She had a t-shirt and a white slip over top extending likewise to just above her knees. I think she had a pair of shorts and don’t recall long johns. I don’t know the functionality of nightgown and slip worn over t-shirt and tank top, but that’s the way it was. They did have helmets, but their clothes looked more like camouflage than distinctive bicycle safety wear.

I know my attitude wasn’t the greatest as I couldn’t understand why two travelers weren’t interested in talking to other obvious travelers. They were the first cyclists we saw in over two hundred miles and I suspect they hadn’t seen many either. There is camaraderie of the trail and so much meaningful information to be gained from conversing with those who just traveled your intended route.

So I walked on over to the two who had just ignored us. “Hey, Where are you going?” I asked. “We’re traveling from Rhode Island to Austin, Texas” said the blond with bushy dark underarm hair. “That’s some outfit you’re wearing,” said I. “And you look like some Halloween character in that orange and neon yellow,” said the tall mouthy one. I replied, “I’m just trying to avoid being hit by a car. Why did you avoid us over there? That’s a good deli, and I’d like to buy you lunch.” “We saw benches over here and we don’t eat meat,” said the surliest one. “I didn’t eat meat either for twenty years,” said I, while adding (the fatal mistake), “But you’ll grow out of it like I did.” “That’s condescending,” said the bitch. “You’re too sensitive,” said I, “let’s go get the lunch as they’ll have something you can eat.” “I’m really hungry and need to eat now,” said the ugly mean one. The nicer blond started with me toward the deli, when the jerk said, “NO, we’re not going.” The black bushy armpit blond said, “I’m sorry sir, thank you for the offer, but we must turn you down.” So I walked back to the Trail Boss and said, “I’m going to Damascus. See if you can give those non-meat eating kids something like bananas, peanut butter and bread, soda or whatever they want or buy them lunch in the deli. Give it another shot, but they sure don’t like me much.” The Trail Boss said, “What do I want to do that for?” And I said, “Just do it for me. They are the only people who didn’t talk to me on the whole trip.”

So I learned later the Trail Boss drove over and told them I was just trying to be a trail angel. They said, “What’s that?” And he explained that it’s a kind of unexpected surprise offer of help along the trial that appears out of nowhere and needs management for maximum benefit. He opened the side door to the van showing his stash of goods with an inventory matching a Super Wal-Mart. He said you can have anything you want and they reached for the Bailey’s Irish Cream, stating, “We can really party with that.” He then said, “You can have ALMOST anything you want.” Disappointedly they took some chive crackers, turned down the peanut butter, took my last supply of soda pop, and grabbed a few other things and were quickly gone up Route 11 (the wrong direction) with arm pit hair flying in the breeze. Yuck.

I pedaled on into Damascus some ten more miles and it was a nice trip mostly down hill. The HAPG’s (hairy arm pit girls) must have had a difficult ride up hill all the way. I chuckled as I visualized armpit hair flying by in a slip and a nightgown on two bikes.

In Damascus, Virginia, I rode right into town and stopped first at the Dairy Bar for a chocolate milkshake. I was sitting in the sun in a nice plastic chair (ala Wal-Mart) when the Trail Boss and Van went by. He was driving with both hands on the wheel at 10 and 2 o’clock and staring straight ahead so he never saw me sitting just ten paces off the road. He was headed for The Place, the hostel in town to take a nap.

I finished the milkshake and rode down to Mt. Rogers Outfitters (MRO). Dave the owner is well known on the AT for his service to hikers. On our AT hike our water filter was getting tough to pump so I thought it needed a new filter cartridge which costs about $39. So I went into Dave and said, “I think I need a new cartridge.” “I doubt it,” he said, “have you greased the o-ring?” So he popped the pump handle off, pulled out the shaft, put two drops of silicone lubricant on the o-ring, and it worked perfectly. Then he took out the cartridge and inspected it for filth and said, “You have the best looking cartridge on the trail, congratulations. And here take the rest of this silicone lubricant with you. There will be no charge.” We spent an extra day in Damascus so the next day Millie bought $200 dollars worth of new boots and new pack shoulder straps from Dave.

I walked into MRO and there stood Pirate. The same Pirate we talked about several days ago at the Gateway Motel in Elkhorn City, KY. Pirate is a full time hiker. He doesn’t live anywhere; he lives everywhere. He’s about 50 years old and is said to draw some type of check so he can’t actually starve. He is a member of the group that calls themselves the Blue Blazers or the Hobos and he spends the winter at Lake Okeechobee at the Hobo City. He goes to his sister’s house near our home in Pensacola most years for Christmas. He lists his address as the storage facility he rents near Pensacola. If you hike the Appalachian Trial, you’ll know Pirate. Like horse manure, he’s everywhere. He is a likeable fellow with lots of friends and even made friends with the HAPG’s last night. Pirate said they were nice kids and especially enjoyed some of his whiskey.

Pirate then took me to another store to pick up new riding gloves (fingerless) and to get a new mirror for the bike. The MRO concentrates on hiking although they rent bikes for trips on the Creeper Trail. The Creeper Trail is a converted “rails to trails” trail where an old railroad bed from Abingdon, VA, has been restored through Damascus to an area near Mt Rogers north of Damascus. There are now at least four outfitters (MRO included) in Damascus that haul riders and rental bikes fourteen-mile uphill and north and allow them to ride (mostly coast) back to Damascus on the Creeper Trail. The views of the mountains and streams are gorgeous and this is the height of the leaf season so we saw many full fifteen-passenger vans headed out towing fifteen bikes behind.
I learned from Pirate that Lone Wolf and Gypsy live in Damascus. I first met Lone Wolf in 2000 when he was crew for Mainiac who was attempting to walk the Appalachian Trail in record time. At the same time our friend David Horton “The Runner” was attempting a record of the AT. David had planned for several years to attempt to run the trail from Georgia to Maine in record time. At the time the fastest trip up the trail had been in about 63 days. David recruited Millie and me as his crew for the first four days and had alternating crews to meet him all along the trail. He was to run about 40 miles per day for 56 or so days and beat the record by a week. Well, on the night before his start he learned that Mainiac, a power walker with several previous walks of the AT had also planned a record attempt. And he learned Mainiac started one day ahead. He would walk about 16 hours per day and Lone Wolf, also an experienced previous AT end-to-ender would be the crew. David Horton is a national class long distance runner who has won many a 50 and 100-mile foot race and once ran across America in 60 days.

As soon as we heard this we thought it a joke. How could a walker ever think he could beat David Horton The Runner? So we expected David to pass Mainiac on the first day in Georgia. Well, David did pass Mainiac. He passed him in Vermont! Mainiac was a great walker and he stayed on the trail for often double the hours of Horton. Later they became great friends and Mainiac has competed successfully in running races proving his athletic excellence. You can look up some of this stuff at Horton’s websites: http://www.extremeultrarunning.com/dhhist.htm
http://www.montrail.com/AthleteDetails.aspx?id=134&sport=2

In any event, Lone Wolf and Gypsy hiked some of the Appalachian Trail with Millie and me in 2000. We met them in Stratford, Maine, and spent several days with them. They spent several years hiking, but are now settled into Damascus, the hiker’s town. Gypsy is working at Target and going to college. Lone Wolf is enjoying himself and helping out with “throwing bums out of The Place” and generally keeping the hikers in order.

Cimarron the Trail Boss was real psyched to be getting back to Damascus. We each remember that Damascus is an important landmark on the Appalachian Trail located about 1/5th the distance from start to finish. It is said that if one can hike to Damascus, 450 miles from the start of the AT in Georgia, one can make it all the way to the end at Katahdin in Maine. Cimarron didn’t much like “The Place” when he was here before because of the crowds, but he wanted to stay here now what with just one other hiker present. The hiker was called “Tumbler” and we never learned why. He was a young kid perhaps 25 years old and had commandeered a room on the second floor. When we arrived he was in the shower and steam was coming out the bathroom door. We went off to The Pizza-Plus at the shopping center just out of town and when we came back the steam was still coming out of the shower. It was now about 45 degrees outside and the wind was blowing. I didn’t have a pad for sleeping so the Trail Boss made the bed in the van for me. We went in for a shower and Tumbler said there was good hot water when he ended his shower, “but we might have to wait a while for a good supply.” I noted that The Place has an eighty-gallon hot water tank! I showered in very cool (not hot and not cold) water. This is what I would call a thrilling shower and one the Trail Boss would not like. I went out to bed at about 8:00 as it was getting too cold in the hostel for me. The Trail Boss spent time organizing his stuff. He is one of the world’s most persistent organizers. In the morning he told me the water got warmer after an hour or so. How could the Tumbler use 80 gallons of hot water for one shower?

In the morning the Trail Boss said the Tumbler started a southbound hike 12 miles north of Damascus two weeks ago and had been at the hostel for two days. The Tumbler said he got soaked by rains in his hike and had to come to town to dry up. Pirate said it hadn’t rained in a week. We’ll never know what the kid has been doing for the past 12 days. His story, like so many on the trail, doesn’t add up. It’s the wrong time of year, it’s the wrong place to start, he has 12 missing days in 14, he got rained on without rain, he has cotton clothing, and he is wearing work boots not hiking shoes. Perhaps he should have gone on with the HAPG’s.

It was another great day on the Trans-America Bike Route. Temperatures are expected to be below freezing again tonight and for several nights into the future

Some Great Walking Through Virginia, With a Little Biking Mixed In, and one Flat Tire.

October 28, 2007: Day 9.

From Near Council, VA (elevation 1640) over Big A Mountain (elevation 3706) back down to 1640 at Rosedale and back to near the top of Hayter’s Gap (elevation 3281)
Distance: 22.5 miles; Total Distance 243.5 miles

I hoped to get 37 miles to Interstate 81 today.

The day was colder in the low 50’s. I wore the long sleeve under shirt, the Neon Yellow T-shirt, and the nylon vest with a reflective safety vest on top. On the down hills I added on the neon yellow polypropylene jacket.
Within a half mile of starting I was forced to walk up the western slope of Big A Mountain. I walked pushing the bike for 3.1 miles and almost two hours before reaching the top.

Recently I mentioned the variables in biking as being terrain, my age and weight, and physical conditioning. Well I forgot my biggest excuse! Seven years ago I had an arrhythmia and passed out while running on two occasions. I was found to have a heart defect that required using a Beta Blocker by the name of Toprol and in a fairly large dose of 100 mg per day. Among other things Toprol throttles the heart so that my maximum heart rate is about 110. For intense physical activity one needs a heart rate up in the 140 to 150 range to deliver enough oxygen to the working muscles. I managed to walk all of the Appalachian Trail (2168 miles in 7 months) within months of going on the Toprol in the year 2000. I had to take the uphills slowly when I couldn’t muster the heart rate. Now I notice when going up hill I need the faster heart rate and can’t deliver so I must walk. So I walk. What I do have is plenty of perseverance and a good deal of love of the process and the adventures found on a daily basis. I hope it shows in my story.

The down side of Big A Mountain was nicely switched and I got up to 39 mph. Half way down I saw the van sitting beside the road but couldn’t even take my hands off the bars to wave. Later the Trail Boss said if I would have known you were going by like that I would have taken a picture. He said, “You were a blur of yellow in that jacket.” Even though I knocked off about five quick miles coming down, it never makes up for the slowness of the walk getting to the top.

East of Big A Mountain not only is the social sophistication higher but the terrain changes abruptly. Suddenly there are no “hollers” and suddenly we understand the definition of a “holler.” On the East of Big A Mountain we suddenly saw farms with fields of multiple acres. We saw cattle herds and fence lines. We had not seen a field larger than an acre for two hundred miles. In Kentucky one could almost stick their arm out a second floor window and touch the hillside! Suddenly we could see a mile or so across a valley and cattle grazing on the slopes. We saw rolled hay bails in storage buildings. On the west of Big A Mountain the valleys are narrow and the hills immediately rise sharply so there is not enough land for a field, a view, cattle, or a fence. The only views over there are from the very peaks of the hills.

In Honaker I stopped in a Dollar General Store and bought some M & M Peanuts. When I walked in there was a customer with a cart of goods but no clerk. I said to the customer who was near the cash register, “Where’s the clerk?” He said, “I don’t know.” So I started back an isle and saw her coming forward and asked about the M & M’s. She took me over and we got two bags and when we got to the front the customer was gone and so was the cart. She ran out to the parking lot and he was driving off. She said there is a lot of stealing in this store and area because of a major drug problem. We have heard of a “major drug problem” in essentially every town we have seen along this trip.

Near Rosedale, VA, population 945, we stopped at a store and had a cup of coffee (no cappuccino). We met an elder gent riding a motor scooter. He bought fifty cents worth of gas and admired my bike. He made a point of telling me that Hayter’s Gap, coming up later today, was much steeper and tougher than Big A and more narrow and dangerous. He and the girl agreed that I could never make it to Interstate 81 today. Then one of the loafers at the place said he went on a trip once up to Connecticut. He said he saw nothing of interest other than “those idiots posting a sign noting an elevation of 900 feet!” He said if you got in your car and drove north 30 miles to the I-77 junction and back three times, you would see more than he did on his trip to Connecticut!

Once we got up and over Big A we made an average of 15 mph nearly to Hayter’s Gap. I felt if I could get over this second big mountain by 5 or 5:30 PM I could possibly get nearly to I-81 and 37 miles for the day. About 2 miles short of the beginning of the climb to Hayter’s Gap I had a flat tire. The road was particularly narrow and curvy with small rises so visibility was not good. I was able to cruise over the small rises but needed to be cautious for traffic often on my side (actually there was only about 1.5 lanes of width to this road). I could see the top of a car approaching at a rise and curve so I stepped off the road into the weeds. The car stopped and a nice lady and her teenage son asked my destination for the day. I think they were about to ask me to stay at their place when they found I had my own crewman. They pulled out and left and I pushed out onto the road and had a flat rear tire! I think I must have gotten a thorn in the weeds, although I never proved it. I called Cimarron on the cell phone for the first time I even had it on (it worked) and he drove back to assist. He couldn’t pull off the road so I quickly loaded the bike and we drove back a mile to a cattle farm siding where we could pull off. There was an abandoned pickup truck with a nice rear deck where we worked on the tire. What we do is replace the tube with a new one. Tubes are so cheap no one repairs them any more.

So the flat caused us to lose a critical half hour of time I needed to walk through Hayter’s Gap. But I gave it a try. The first switch back is a true 180-degree. I pushed and walked about 2 miles hoping to reach the top and get the “free” four or five mile down into today’s mileage. But, all to no avail. I went up and up and had never ending switches until it was fairly dark. I had rigged up the small LED Bike Headlight I carry but never use. I hung it off the back, as It’s the people closing from the rear who will kill me. When walking these steep slopes I walk facing the traffic so I can see them in the eye.

Soon the Trail Boss showed up first saying, “Man that first switch back was so steep I could hardly make it.” Then he said, “I’ve called the motel. It’s 15 miles of country road to I-81 and seven miles down I-81. You’ll probably want to eat, so better load up now.” So I did.

We had another great day out here fighting to do more mileage, but happy with the mileage we do! I hope each of you have a friend like Cimarron.

Four Experiences in Haysi, VA

October 27, 2007: Day 8.

From Elkhorn City, KY to Near Council, VA
Distance: 32.6; Time: 4:15; Max Speed 38.2 mph; Average Speed 7.6 mph; Total Distance 221 miles

We awakened at the Gateway to the Breaks Interstate Park Motel and headed back west on route 80 five miles to Elkhorn City to pick up our ride at yesterday’s stopping point. First we had breakfast at the restaurant where the waitress said no to my grits order adding, “We don’t eat them up here, they are down south!” It was in the mid 50’s at the start (cool for cycling) so I put on my trusty Duofold Polyester Long Sleeve under shirt I bought in Gatlinburg on the Appalachian Trail more than seven years ago. It’s a marvelous shirt that keeps me warm and wicks sweat to its outer frizzy fibers where it evaporates faster than any shirt I own. I wore this shirt about half the days when we walked the Appalachian Trail in the year 2000 (worn about 100 days). It also doesn’t stink as much as it should when worn during exercise. Over the black under shirt I wore a short sleeve neon yellow t-shirt. Each day I wear a pair of biking shorts with a built in synthetic chamois that pads the perineum (bottom). Over these bike shorts for modesty and visibility I wear a pair of neon orange shorts. My helmet is white. So from top to bottom I am white, neon yellow, and neon orange. What a site going down the road but good visibility. This was comfortable in today’s temperature varying from 55 to 65 degrees. On the walks up the three major climbs of the day I sweated profusely so when I started down I put on my neon yellow synthetic polypropylene cycling jacket to block wind and hold heat.

I also wear a pair of biking shoes with a metal cleat on the bottom that snaps into the pedals. With these I can pedal by pushing down and by pulling up so the power stroke can be a full circle instead of just a mashing down. This is much more efficient and less tiring. However, when stopping one must always remember to unclick the feet or I’ll fall over when I stop with my foot still stuck in the pedal. This has not happened this trip but happened often last year until I got used to the process.

On the way out of Elkhorn City, KY, route 80 goes along the Russell Fork River, which is a very popular class five white water river. I met a couple from the New River area of West Virginia who own a rafting company and were here to camp along the river and photograph the rapids. The New River is noted as very beautiful and these folks said this river is even more beautiful. They advised me of viewpoints along the road for my viewing pleasure where I was able to see down six hundred feet from the road to the water. At one stop the view was great all the way to the water, and just fifteen feet away was a freezer and washing machine and a dozen or so tires thrown over the cliff! What’s wrong with these people? Also a crew of workers from a power company was sitting at the overlook having lunch when I pulled up. They must have seen the movie Deliverance. As I walked over to the Gazebo to read the history one of them said, “Don’t miss anything honey.” I read for a few minutes, but I could hear them chuckling. Then as I got on the bike one said, “Goodbye, sweetheart.”

Today we had to walk on three different mountains for a total of about 5 miles of walking I would guess out of today’s 32.6 miles. I think my general cycling is fairly good but my hill climbing technique is non-existent. Cimarron has worked on trails at the Phil Mont Boy Scout camp where the standard steepest trail is 9% grade. He says many of our grades on this trip have been more than 9% grade so my estimate last week of 6% was way off. The good cyclists will often stand to pedal on the steepest slopes. Because the bike then wobbles from side to side and the legs are more powerful standing a higher gear is used to limit the pedal revolutions per minute. However, the breathing rate rises considerably. When my respiratory rate gets too high, I have to stop and walk. I seem to be able to walk and push the bike up any slope, but my speed is just a little over two miles per hour. It’s amazing to me that I have run 39 standard marathons and over 100 races of fifty miles in length each between 4 hours and 15 hours. So why can’t I go more than 50 miles on the bike? The variables are many and include: age, weight, training, desire, and terrain.

At Haysi (long i) I had four great experiences. As I came into town I saw my first original Trans-America bike ride road sign. Recall that in 1976 for the Bicentennial an organization named Bikecentenial organized a very successful cross-country group bike ride and this is the route they plotted. (That organization changed its name to Adventure Cycling and sells the maps I use.) The entire route was marked with permanent signs using “76” as the main logo. There are very few of these signs left across the country and I have read they are mostly in this area of Virginia. I’m glad I got to see them, and I got a picture.

The second experience was being stopped by a Virginia State Policeman who was conducting a random traffic stop to check licenses. He stood in the middle of the narrow road in Haysi and had two flares burning. I pulled up in the eastbound lane behind three cars. He also had a half dozen stopped in the other direction. There was such a traffic jam I thought he’d just wave us through but he checked every license until I got there and he waived me through. I said, “No, I want my license checked and I want a picture of you checking it!” He said, “I have a customer (his word), here with an expired license and I need to give her a ticket before she drives off.” So I said, “Can I take a picture of that?” And, can you believe it, he said, “Sure, go ahead!” I waited about ten minutes in hopes that I could get a picture of the Trail Boss and the cop, but the TB never showed up.

The third experience was a tobacco shop with the sign that said, “Tobacco Outlet, Tanning,” and “Tobacco Tavern” and on a small hand written sign in the window it said, “Now available Piercing Rings for tongue, nose, lip, ear, legbet, umbilicus, and nipple.” (What’s a legbet?) Wow, what a place here in Haysi, Virginia, population 186! We didn’t try any of it, but I made the Trail Boss mad when I told him I had told them he was on his way!

But the best of all was the last Haysi experience. As I made my way out of town along the Priest Fork River and near the Haysi High School I saw a woman wading in the river some fifty feet below the road. She was using a commercial size hoe and hoeing the muddy bottom along the other side of the river, which was about 100 feet wide at that point. She appeared elderly and had a bandage on her right face. She was wearing what looked like neoprene diving suit tights and a pair of rubber boots up to her knees. She had a dark shirt or jacket and a floppy sun hat. So I stopped and watched thinking she was scooping some type of critter from the water like crawdads in Louisiana. But she never picked anything up and so finally I rang my little bike bell until she looked up. I yelled, “What are you doing?” And she said, “You may think, like the others around here, that I am a little crazy.” And I said, “Hey, I’m a doctor, I’ve talked to lots of crazy people and I like most of them, and believe some of them” And she said (I swear she did, you can’t make this stuff up), “I’m moving the river!”

I shouted down, “Why?” And she shouted back, “Because the government won’t move it for me. They say it will cost too much in dollars and in ecological damage.” Now, this woman may be a little ‘touched’ as she put it, but she isn’t stupid. I then said, “But why do you want it moved and how long have you been working on the project?” She said, “My house flooded in 1976 and I’ve been working on it ever since.” So I said, “It sounds to me like the project is working perfectly if it hasn’t flooded since you began the work.” And she said, “I know. I think I’m a civil engineer and should be working for the Army Corps of Engineers.” I couldn’t agree more. As I was about to pull out I shouted, “What’s your name?” “Vivian Owens, and I’m 78 years old,” she said. As I sped off I shouted down to her: “Goodbye Vivian Owens of the Army Corps of Engineers.” And she said, “Have a safe trip and God be with you.”

As I rode my mind flashed back to Pikeville where the government moved the river several miles for a cost of $80 million. If they can move the river in Pikeville, I figure it’s okay for Vivian Owens to move the river in Haysi. Just one hundred yards up stream from where she worked was her beautifully kept cottage just ten feet above the water level. She had beautiful mums on her porch and a nice porch swing. The yard was well kept and the house clean and fresh. Behind the house I could see four 50-yard long lines of stone piled in the river so as to funnel the water toward the other bank and away from her property. Vivian Owens is diligently at work on her project.

Haysi is my newest favorite town and Vivian Owens my newest best friend.

After Haysi we pedaled about 17 more uneventful miles to near Council where we stopped for the day. These 17 miles were more than half of the day’s mileage, but only took about one fourth of the day’s time. If I could get some easier terrain, I could do much better mileage. I did stop at about three stores and got some cappuccino, but the Trail Boss found some cappuccino powder in a Dollar General (The new Wal-Mart of the smallest towns it seems as they all have this brand new store). So now I have TBC (Trail Boss Cappuccino).

In each of the stores they like to tell me, “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until you get to Big A Mountain. (The Mountain is called Big A because some view to some person at some time looked like the letter A.) Well at the end of the day on driving east on our route to find a motel we had to drive over Big A Mountain. We finally found a motel Lebanon, VA, some 40 miles from our stopping point. All the advisers are correct; the “Big A Mountain” is a big deal. It rises from 1600 to 2600 feet over 5 miles of intense switchbacks. (This data was calculated by use of Garmin GPS mapping program on topo USA Maps on my laptop computer at the hotel.) I’ll walk that devil tomorrow pushing the bike but it will take me a couple of hours and kills the day’s total mileage again. But please don’t let the cycling community know, I like the walking. Wish me luck.

In Birchleaf, just 2 miles east of Haysi and west of Big A Mountain, I pulled into a fairly modern country store/gas station that had no coffee and the clerk wasn’t too nice about it saying gruffly, “We only make it in the morning.” As I walked out a beautiful tall young woman drove up in a new Honda Sports car for gas. She looked like a professional woman in a one-piece dress near the knees and with high heel shoes. Her hair was well managed and she wore appropriate makeup. We knew something was amiss, as we had not seen such a sophisticated sight in a week. And she didn’t have a cigarette hanging from her lips. We learned later that Big A Mountain seems to divide the more sophisticated Virginia from the Kentucky like far western Virginia hill country.

What a great trip. What a diverse country.

101 Miles in one day, but not by us!

October 26, 2007: Day 7

Today’s Mileage 36.0; Average speed 9.2 mph; Total Trip Distance: 183.5; 3.5 miles from Virginia.

Cimarron is happy tonight as he says, “We’ve been in this state long enough. I want some good roads!”

We left Pikeville after another good breakfast at the Huddle House. During breakfast Cimarron picked up a brochure entitled “The Pikeville Cut-Through Project.” What a project! Pikeville like many a town was built in a poor location. It’s on the Levisa Fork of the Big Sandy River. The Levisa makes a horseshoe bend around Peach Orchard Mountain and Pikeville is along the river in the flood plain. So, low and behold, the town periodically floods. Who would have guessed it? At the heel of the horseshoe the river was only ¾ of a mile from itself but the mountain intervened. So in 1973 they moved the mountain! Because unsightly rail traffic, a flood prone river, and too many cars on the four-lane Route 460 were coming through town, moving the mountain allowed the river, the highway and the railroad to bypass the town. The project was rather magnanimous in that 18 million cubic yards of earth were moved from the mountain cut-through for the new RRRR (River, Road, and Railroad Route) and the entire abandoned riverbed was filled to create 400 acres of usable land, which was suitably named after Mayor Hambley who came up with the idea. The New York Times called it the “eighth wonder of the world.” The brochure concludes as follows: “The Cut-Through Project has freed Pikeville from the floods, dust and other restrictions that plague so many other Eastern Kentucky counties. The net result is a very livable town…” The cost was just $80 Million. Isn’t that lovely.

Finding our stopping point of yesterday was no easy task on the 37-mile drive from the hotel in Pikeville to the town of Bypro. We got five miles too far down Route 122 and only when we saw a beautiful high school football stadium we had never seen before did we know we were lost. We finally pulled up in Bypro opposite the dilapidated shack of a hardware store. My mirror bracket was cracked and the mirror would not hold adjustment so I went over to the hardware where the owner gave me a two inch piece of duck tape and some silicone spray lubricant for the bike chain which showed some rust after all the grit, grime, rain, and Phillip Newsome’s high pressure spray cleaning. There are nothing but nice people in Kentucky. The fellow said, “You ridin’ that cross country bike route?” When I said yes, he said, “good luck up old Abner Mountain down there in a few miles. I don’t even like to go over that in my truck and most of the coal trucks can’t make it up and over. It’ll be a two or three mile walk if you make it!” It just sounded like the rest of Kentucky to us, and off I went towards Abner Mountain on Route 122.

The mountain was all it was advertised with more than two miles of walking and bike pushing. There were no shoulders and many sharp steep switchbacks. Again all the drivers were courteous. They could not drive more than 20 mph in either direction. The downhill was for over two miles and I was able to go up to 20 mph and keep ahead of the cars that couldn’t go any faster than me. The bike probably would have run out to 40 or 50 mph if the curves weren’t so sharp. I sweated heavily on my push up to the top so I put on my rain jacket for wind blockage on the decent. At the first country food store downhill I met Heather (who pronounced it Hather) who is 31 years old and has a twelve-year-old son. She is divorced from her car salesman husband and indicted all salesmen saying, “He like all salesman was a womanizer, and treated me badly when I got fat, and telling me I was too fat to find anyone else. So I found a 51 year old who treats me right, and not just for the sex!” All you have to do is walk in and they tell you all this stuff. They didn’t have any cappuccino and not even any coffee! So I had a bag of M & M Peanuts and was on my way bidding Hather goodbye and wishing her luck with her new beau.

At the bottom of the hill the Trail Boss was sitting next to a gas station and I shouted, “Do they have any coffee?” And he shouted back, “No.” So I kept on going for another couple miles where I stopped at a country store and was told to go another mile for coffee. I found a very nice store with a Hunt’s Pizza Franchise and got two slices of Pizza and a cup of cappuccino. They said the Hunt’s franchise is cheap and the quality way beyond anything they could produce. They sell 200 Pizza’s per week. The Trail Boss went by and missed a turn and me, and I didn’t see him again for an hour or more. While I sat sweating out front on the ground eating my pizza a school math teacher in her pajamas walked up to order 6 pizzas for her fifth grade class. She said to the total stranger sitting there (me), “Excuse me for being in my pajamas but it is “pajama day” at Virgie elementary school, and I came to get the pizza.” I said, “I prefer women in night gowns, but pajamas will do.” I think she was happy the biker wasn’t offended and wished me a safe trip and goodbye when she left. Is this a great country, or what!

Then down the road a mile or so on Route 1469 the Virgie Middle School kids were picking up roadside trash. There were about 50 kids all over the side of the road and off into the grass and weeds wearing latex gloves and placing garbage bags of trash all along the road. There were no warning signs, no flagmen, and no police escorts. About half the kids had orange vests and the rest did not. They all waved and shouted at me. There appeared to be just one supervising adult for about each twenty kids. As I took a picture one of the kids waved and the supervising person herded her back with the rest of the kids as though she thought I might kidnap the kid on the bike. When I said, “You need a few signs, flagmen, and a police escort.” She said, “We’re okay, we have a bus driver.” They do this activity once a year. It must be in conjunction with pajama day at the elementary school.

I soon had to walk over Buckingham Mountain another couple of very steep up hill miles. The Trail Boss came by at a very inopportune time on a major steep switchback and shouted something about how great the van was running but these mountains might be killing his transmission. My transmission wasn’t doing so hot either, and I don’t mean the bike.

Soon we were out on to Route 23, an expressway for about 4 miles. Cimarron was sitting at the turnoff to Route 611 to Lookout. He had bought instant Cappuccino and had made me a hot cup. What a Trail Boss he is. His dedication and friendship to me are immeasurable. We are having a good time and he is beginning to get back into the Trail Boss mentality. There was a car parked with a flea market sale going on. I checked it out, but I didn’t see anything I needed. Cimarron didn’t even look but pointed out they smoked more cigarettes per hour than they could possibly pay for out of sales!

As I sat sipping the Cappuccino I saw another bike rider coming up Route 23 at least three times as fast as I did. I waved for him to come over and never moved off my seat. It was not a Trans- Am rider but Steven Childers an 18-year-old freshman at Union University in Middlesboro, KY, where he is on a full scholarship for bike racing. He says the tuition is $21,000 a year and he has a full ride! (No pun intended!) Recently he came in second in the nationals of college bike road racing even against Stanford, Florida State and some other big schools. The kid is a star. He lives just half a mile up the road from where we saw him and had just completed a 101-mile circuit ride in less than half a day! I had been out longer than he and was just now pushing 22 miles. The kid did say they had us on the very tough cross-mountain routes and he could route us a faster although longer way. Steven said he was a good off road motorcycle racer in junior high school and saw Lance Armstrong win the Tour de France two years ago and said, “Maybe I can ride a bike and get to go to college on a scholarship.” So he took up cycling two years ago and is now runner up national champion!

Soon we were going up another walking climb on route 611. I walked another couple of miles pushing to the nearly 2000-foot elevation top. Then we went down the worst road of the whole trip route 611 through Lookout. My friend Cindy Miller (Mrs. Gorp of hiking fame) rode across country on her bike last year and then rode back. She was with her friend Stumpknocker. Once they rode 70 miles in Colorado and the hotel was non-existent so they rode 49 more miles to the next place—all in one day! Well, Mrs. Gorp wanted us to look for the house she saw last year sitting in the middle of the road in Lookout after having slid off the mountainside in torrential rains. Well Cindy, the house has been moved, but the slide evidence is still present although smoothed off and replanted. I think you can buy the property cheap if you want it! This road was only one lane wide and had a stream close to the right edge that eroded under the pavement so in some spots the pavement had caved in. There were many shacks and trailers. We wondered how the trailers were ever brought up the mountain to these spots.

I came off Lookout Mountain and Route 611’s terrible road and turned onto Route 197 towards Elkhorn City, the last town in Kentucky. The Elkhorn River flows to Elkhorn city through a deep valley between the nearly 2000-foot hills. I left Cimarron the Trail Boss on top of the mountain calling motels and told him to meet me along the road to Elkhorn City as it was getting near dark. He said to just stop at Ashcamp, 7 miles short of Elkhorn City, but I said, “No, I’ll stop when I see the whites of your eyes.” Well when I hit Route 197 it was a well-paved and smooth road and for the first time on this trip ran level or slightly downhill all the way. So I pedaled in the second front Cog and sometimes the highest rear gear and had the speedometer up to 23 mph as I cruised the entire 7 miles to Elkhorn city in about 20 minutes. This was the fastest 7 miles of my life.

Well, my hand typed spreadsheet directions for the Trail Boss neglected to tell him which way to turn on Route 157 and he went the wrong way. When he figured it out and came north he couldn’t believe he didn’t see me in a few miles so he went south again. Finally he figured the route was north and came into town just at dark to find me standing in front of the only restaurant. He was quite frustrated and said, “don’t go so damn fast at quitting time!”

After toweling off and putting on a dry fleece sweatshirt and loading up the frisky stallion, we went into the restaurant and had a fine dinner. I had a hot roast beef sandwich, green beans and mashed potatoes and a big piece of cream pie and three 20-ounce cups of diet coke. There were two sheriff deputies seated at the restaurant and I talked to them about the recent two-dozen drug arrests in this Pike County yesterday. They took part in the raids and said most of the problem is prescription drug abuse and mostly oxyconton (a highly addictive narcotic found in brands like Tylox, Lortab, and Vicodan). The cops said most of the drugs come from massive prescriptions that doctors in other states write for a fee of $200. The drug dealers travel to get the prescriptions and then sell each pill for about $100! Since I am a doctor, and stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, I don’t know how (or why) any doctor would write such a prescription, or get away with it, and how any pharmacist would fill it. All the doctors I know have so much meaningful and legitimate work serving good patients that they would never get into this business and the low life people involved. Then one of the officers sat down with us and pointed out the father of the police undercover officer who has infiltrated the local drug business! One learns a lot when riding a bike!

At the hotel we learned our Hiking Friend Pirate has stayed here and is a friend of the owners. The owner has a CB handle nickname of “Sweet Pea” and when Pirate heard that he said, “I have a hiking friend named Sweet Pea.” That hiking friend of Pirate’s is my wife Millie. We hiked the entire Appalachian Trail in the year 2000 and met Pirate many times along the way.

Tomorrow we cross into Virginia after 3.5 more miles. The Trail Boss is excited about getting near the Appalachian Trail and the famed AT town of Damascus, Virginia, some 80 mile away. If we could get the same road as Route 157 we’d be in Damascus tomorrow. We’re psyched.

Van Fixed; Rain Stopped; Flat Tire; Magnificent Day

October 25, 2007: Day 6

Today’s Mileage 28.9; Average speed 9.7 mph; Max Speed 32.1; Pedal Time 2:57; Time on course 4:00. Total Trip Distance: 149.1 Miles (30 miles per day average)

Phillip Newsome fixed the van and it runs like new says the Trail Boss. It was a $273 repair and worth every cent to see the grin on his face as he went up the first hill without the need to manually shift and without the shimmy. While we waited for the arrival of the new plug wires, I asked Phillip where we could drive to a car wash to wash the bike which was covered with road grime and coal dust from the rain. Phillip, full of excellent customer service, pulled out a steam cleaner and pressure washed it off and oiled the chain! Soon the wires arrived and since Cimarron had already loosened and moved the radiator so Phillip wouldn’t screw it up, the wires went on quickly. Poor Cimarron paced up and down in front of the garage like he must have done anticipating the births of his eight children as Phillip and his staff worked. Cimarron later confided that the Van had never been taken to a garage before! So I was quite happy for him that it all went well.

We were out of Hazard, KY, for the last time headed to Carrie, KY, where we last quit pedaling. We unloaded the bike at 2:23 PM and the rear tire was flat. I hadn’t changed a tire since last year and changing the rear is more difficult than a front. The weather was predicted to be cloudy and rainy all day but the weatherman was wrong. It was beautiful, again, with a blue sky and a few white puffy clouds. The sun was shinning brightly and we both sweated as he helped with the tire change. The new tube was installed in 20 minutes, probably a new record for a rear tire for me. I put on latex medical gloves and they were covered with grit and grime. We pumped her up to 105 psi and I was pedaling before 3 PM.

We pedaled about 4 miles into Hindman, population 787, and home of a US senator. I have forgotten his name but the locals haven’t. They named the school after him and have very impressive government buildings and the place looks prosperous. We primarily followed streams in this section and the course was easy and pleasant. We went through Mallie, population near zero, and then to Pippa Passes, which had a store and a dozen houses. The stream through this valley flowed toward me so I was going uphill; however, I coasted most of the way—how do you figure that?

At the Pippa Passes store there were three women working: Oma, Laretta, and Sarah. Oma has twin girls who are basketball stars in the Pippa Passes School. Laretta is a young graduate nurse who hasn’t been able to pass the registered nurse exam so she is working as a store clerk. This area appears considerably less economically deprived than what we have been seeing. Oma said an ignorant biker came through and thought everyone in the whole state was illiterate and that “we all lived on dirt floors.” Laretta and Sarah said they were fearful of the folks over in Buckhorn where I had the very steep hill walks two days ago. “We played their girls in basketball once and they were rugged and some chewed tobacco!” So I asked Laretta if she had ever dated her cousin, and she said, “No, he’s in jail!” These girls were bright with a good sense of humor. I asked about motels 20 miles up the road and Oma said, “You’ll find nothing for fifty miles, but I have a remodeled bedroom in the barn. My nephew is staying there but he can come into the house and you can stay there tonight. It has nice beds and a shower. Here’s my phone number, call me up to 11 PM as I’ll still have the store open and you can come back.” I love meeting these wonderful people along the road while I drink my cappuccino. Up the road but still in Pippa Passes is a college (I’ll add the name later it slips my mind now). The founder came to the mountains to educate the children and established the college, which carries her name. The campus is about 100 yards wide and half a mile long in a steep valley along a small stream and the bike ride goes right through the center. The mountains rise sharply from behind the buildings for about 500 feet. Several of the builds are historic landmarks and constructed of stone. Many are modern design like the fine arts and library buildings. The founder’s log cabin (perhaps 10 x 15 feet) sits near the stream in the center of the campus apparently in its original location. There are 500 students and a strong religious connection.

Not long after Pippa Passes we came to an active strip coal mine and tipple area. The strip mine had defaced the entire mountainside and the seam of coal was visible. The seam of coal was bout three or four feet high with peculiar holes into the seam. Some of the holes were two-foot diameter round and some were rectangular about eight feet across and the full height of the seam of coal. At a restaurant later we learned from a miner (who spent twenty-five years working underground) that the rectangular areas were evidence of prior deep shaft mining years ago and were the rooms of coal that had been removed. The round holes were drilled during the current operation to extract coal from deep under the top of the mountain without having to move the whole mountain. These “auger holes” extend up to half a mile under the mountain. As I turned a corner the coal trucks were coming out of the strip job heading for the tipple. The road was pretty dirty. Suddenly out of a side road in the woods came a nearly new Elgin Street Sweeper. The bearded operator, looking a lot like Santa, swept the narrow county road as this bike rider stood on the side of the road taking pictures between the sweeper and the coal trucks. By the way, each coal truck holds 100 tons of coal, and a gravel truck is only allowed to carry 80 tons. The state is partial to the coal operators, or 100 tons of coal crushes a road the same as 80 tons of gravel. Go figure.

Near Dema I went into a restaurant advertising pizza but the wait was fifteen minutes so I ordered two hot dogs and a warm Sierra Mist. The clerk asked what I wanted on the dogs and I said, “What do you have?” She said, “Do you want Chili, mustard, ketchup, cheese, onions, or Cole slaw.” I said, “Yes.” And they were great. Then Jim the AC man and Georgia Hall, the cook, gave Cimarron motel advice advising going 37 miles to Pikesville, KY. They said there was a big climb over the mountain between Knott and Floyd counties and then another twice as bad five miles up the road between Floyd and Pike Counties. I decided I’d walk the first one today and coast down the other side and then walk the next one tomorrow. So to end the day I pushed the bike up the 600 foot mountain for about two miles where I met the Trail Boss sitting at the top on the county line next to a “Do not Dump” sign and under a seventy foot high wall cut through the very top of the gap. The wind was howling and he was looking for long pants on my arrival. I put on a nylon vest and took off down the other side barely under control as the switchbacks had speed limit signs as low as 15 mph. A car or bike could easily spin out on this descent. I was glad the road was dry. When I reached Bevinsville, KY, a fat girl and a guy were sitting on a 4-wheeler on a bridge talking to a middle aged man at the intersection of the county road with State Road 122. I said, as I always do as I pulled up to the stop sign with a big grin after the severe downhill, “Hello.” And they looked me straight in the eye from less than ten feet, and said not one word in reply. And I said again, perhaps somewhat sarcastically, “Hello.” And they did not respond. So I guess they are mute, since I have not met an ass hole yet on this trip. Then since the Trail Boss was nowhere in sight at our quitting time of 6:30 I continued on down the road. In about a mile an almost new gold colored pickup truck sped by too closely and the driver honked the horn loudly and shouted out the window, “Get off the road.” This was the first obnoxious driver and the first unresponsive pedestrians in 150 miles of Kentucky. Bevinsville should be embarrassed. If any reader knows anyone in Bevinsville, inform them.

As advised we drove to Pikesville, KY, for a room. The trip was over 30 miles and took nearly an hour as the roads were steep and switched. However, dinner at Long John Silver’s was great. The TV in the motel worked beautifully. The Trail Boss had expressed his doubts and wanted to see the Red Sox in the World Series.

We ended our day near Bypro, KY, at the end of map number 131 in the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail Section 11, Berea KY, to Christiansburg, VA, Adventure Cycling Association Bicycle Touring Map. On this current 2007 bike trip we have covered 147.5 official trail miles (and a few unofficial miles while lost but pedaling) or 28% of our 527-mile trip. We are 39.5 miles from leaving Kentucky and entering Virginia and 119 miles form crossing the Appalachian Trail in Damascus, Virginia. Both Cimarron and I have walked the entire Appalachian Trail from end-to-end more than 2168 miles from Georgia to Maine and Damascus is one of our favorite trail towns.

Fixing the VW EuroVan

October 24, 2007: Day 5

Mileage: None

It rained all night as we slept well in the EuroVan in the parking lot of the Hazard Motel in Hazard, KY. He was real proud of that and I sure appreciated the roof over our heads. When we awakened this morning it was raining heavily. And he is beginning to worry about his VW van not running well.

After our trip last year he parked the van for nine months. When we decided to come back out on the road he took her out for a spin and thought it not running well. He added about a half a dozen different fuel additives, but to no avail. He got 16 miles per gallon on his trip up to Rhode Island this month and usually gets 18 so he knows it’s not running right. In Rhode Island he went to a VW garage but they wanted to keep it overnight. So he left. Now on these murderous hills it bogs down, shakes and he needs to manually shift the automatic transmission. I’ve offered to drive and take the pressure off for all this “bad traffic” but he doesn’t trust my driving especially not knowing how to shift the transmission. I tried to tell him I’m shifting through 27 gears on the bike. I haven’t driven the van yet!

He wanted to have the van checked but didn’t want anything other than a VW dealer. So I said give me ten minutes and I’ll be back. I ran into a smiling pleasant lady named Nancy who works housekeeping in the motel as I headed over to he office for a free cup of coffee and information and a shower. I told Nancy I needed a shower in a dirty room before she cleaned it and she took me to room 237 saying they already checked out. She was all apologetic that she didn’t have one cleaned yet! We circled the building clockwise since a counterclockwise route would take us by the motel owner’s apartment. Apparently this was an unauthorized activity. The room didn’t look bad, but there was a full ashtray of ashes sitting on the table. Nancy said, “I forgot to get you a towel.” And she ran out and came back with two clean towels. So I said, “Look, Nancy, you’re giving me a shower, can you do my laundry?” And she said, “Come down to the laundry room when you’re done where my manager has an office and she does laundry.” So Geraldine did my laundry and Nancy arranged a shower and the manager passed out free coffee. So we immediately signed up for a room for tonight.

I called the Ford Garage and the Service Manager said Phillip Newsome used to be a technician at Ford and opened his own shop downtown. Phillip was reported to be trained, pleasant, honest, and hardworking. I called Phillip and he said bring it down. When I got back to the Van having been gone 15 minutes the Trail Boss had all systems ready to roll and said, “You’re late.” And I was five minutes late, but had showered, had coffee, called the garage, and arranged for the laundry—not bad. He agreed to allow someone else to do the laundry and I ran the stuff over to Geraldine and we were off to Huddle House for the second time in two days. He also agreed to take the VW to a non-VW authorized garage.

We had already been past Phillip Newsome’s garage twice in the two days we have been in Hazard. He is an ASE certified mechanic and a wonderfully nice man. He was supervising three other workers who were pulling brakes and bringing parts for his inspection and direction. He and the Trail Boss opened the hood of the van and both dove in. This van has a peculiar radiator that swings on a pivot to give space for access to the plugs and wires and most everything else. The Trail Boss has told me in the past that no one knows how to do the radiator without destroying the headlight wires, so he and Phillip worked together and I have the pictures to prove it. I worked on this journal on my laptop in Phillip’s office. Soon he came in and said there were bad plug wires and he could see them arching. He ordered new wires at NAPA and they will be in town at 10 AM on Thursday. In the meantime he cut off the most offensive wire and repaired it and the van no longer shimmies and shakes and Cimarron the Trail Boss is all smiles as it sure does run better. And I thought it was only the hills. Phillip said, “No charge today, pay tomorrow.”

Lots of Chit Chat and Some Riding in the Rain

October 23, 2007: Day 4

Statistics: Mileage Today 28.5; Max Speed 36.9; Average Speed 8.6; Riding Time: 3:16; Total Mileage 117:

We stayed at the Hazard Motel that used to be a Holiday Inn and is showing wear and tear. It was the only room in town. The Super 8, the brand new Holiday Inn Express, and the Hampton Inn were all full (on a Tuesday night). Hazard is a busy place even though my bike maps say the population is less than 5000. The Hal Rogers four lane Expressway runs East and West through town and state highway 15 is a four-lane north and south. Hal Rogers the state senator, known for pork barrel legislation, has named the highway after himself. Senator Rogers felt the previous name did not appropriately fit Kentucky Heritage—it was previously called the Daniel Boone Expressway! We have learned here that Daniel Boone like Senator Rogers was also a self-promoter who not only explored this western territory by way of the Cumberland Pass from Virginia, but also organized a land company, ran off the Indians, and was Kentucky’s first realtor.

Hazard only has one flat strip of land along the Kentucky River. Otherwise it is very steep 1600-foot hills and very deep valleys called “Hollers.” The roads will run up a Holler and Wal-Mart will sit half way up a hill almost hidden from view. Signs along the holler road will say “Partin Furniture” and there will be a very steep (10-20 degree slope) sled riding type hill road climbing up to the store up in the woods almost out of view. There are major “cuts” in the hillsides with stores, house trailer sales lots, or K-Marts high up above the cliffs. It’s hard to tell if these cuts were at one time strip coalmines or are an effort to produce a flat spot for construction. So the town is chopped up with the Kentucky River, numerous Hollers, and numerous hills, all disrupting the landscape. Especially confusing to us was going up very steeply from one of the four lanes, winding around the top of the hill and coming down onto the other four-lane road. I never say anything like it even in Pennsylvania coal country.

The town of Hazard has nothing to do with the “Dukes of Hazzard” television show. In fact the TV show is about a town in Georgia. Although small in population, Hazard is the largest city for at least 50 miles in any direction. It appears everyone comes to Hazard for goods and services. There is a large regional medical center where the nurses are currently on strike manning a picket line with tents on the street. “Agency” nurses have been transported in to run the hospital. The hospital pays the agency $90 per hour and the agency pays their nurses $45 per hour. There are at least 100 agency nurses working so it costs the hospital ($90 x 100 x 24 =) $216,000 per day. The paper is full of articles about groups supporting the nurses against the hospital including an ad by the nurses stating they are striking for better hours, less required overtime, and a higher ratio of nurses to patients. “We are not striking for higher income,” says the nurse’s ad. The entire town seems to be backing the nurses and even one of the “scabs” (agency nurses crossing the picket line) said the staffing levels were abominable.

We awakened to rain. It rained more than any day this summer. Certainly they needed it. Nancy, the maid at the Hazard Motel said, “It’s so dry in them woods the deer are stepping out on the highway to commit suicide.”

Our first stop was the Huddle House breakfast restaurant. Cimarron the Trail Boss loves the place. If he gets his morning eggs his disposition is greatly improved. Every time I mention oatmeal he shrivels up his nose and says, “I need real breakfast.”

Immediately after breakfast we took the Hal Rogers Expressway out of town 15 miles in the wrong direction while looking for Route 15. He sighed and breathed deeply all the way. Having spent years as an ER doctor trying to manage chaos I see these minor problems as new adventures while he sees them as earth shattering and nearly life ending events! He talks incessantly about the horrible traffic and I must admit I never saw a town of 5000 that was so active. But he’s comparing it to Atlanta. There are no secrets when he is upset! We turned around and finally got back on Route 15 headed for Chavies.

On arrival at Chavies we pulled into the gas station at about 10 AM and it “came a downpour,” as they say around here. We jumped out of the van and under the carport that serves as a loafing spot for some of the local men. There are four picnic tables under the cover and as we scurried underneath a car door opened and Hill Billy Philosopher Sam moved on in with us followed closely by Walter Archer and Frank. There was no way we were going out into this level of rain so we settled in with the boys for some morning loafing and chit chat (Chit chat is what Cimarron called it; our new Kentucky friends called it Bull Shit!).

We talked for more than an hour as the rain poured around us. Frank sat in a porch swing with a major chaw of tobacco in his left cheek mostly spitting efficiently but now and then dribbling, Sam nuzzled into the table across from me, and Walter Archer sat warily at a table behind Sam. Sam said he was retired “mostly from mining, with some soldiering, and some womanizing mixed in.” The others seemed to agree with the womanizing part. Walter Archer nodded and Frank flat out said Sam just can’t stay away from “that stuff.” Cimarron mostly paced, obviously displeased that we weren’t making any bike progress, and not concerned that I was getting another culture lesson for the day. At one point Sam said, “Cimarron looks like he’s looking for the whip.”

Finally Sam drew Cimarron into the conversation. Cimarron told him he had eight children. Sam said there was a guy over the holler named Winchell and then stuttered over the last name. Walter Archer said, “It’s Winchell Collins, Sam.” “Yea, that’s right, Winchell Collins. Well, he had seven kids, and there weren’t none of them too smart, and he always told us all if that women got pregnant again he’d hang hisself. Well he come home a one day and the woman said, ‘I’s pregnant.’ And true to his word he went right out to the barn and climbed up and he slung a rope up, ah, up, ah…” And Cimarron, now fully involved, said, “Over a beam?” And Sam said, “Yea, that’s a right, a beam. How’d you know? And then he proceeded to put the noose around his neck and was tightening it good when the woman showed up.” She said, “wait a minute Collins, you’re hanging an innocent man!” Everyone laughed uproariously as they had pulled off their joke once more for strangers. They were a well-oiled comedy machine and we lucky to fall into their trap.

I told the boys about the fifteen dog attacks over in the other county and none here in their county. Sam said, “Those bastards over there are Republicans! We’re Democrats over here.” I almost had to tape Cimarron’s mouth shut.

We had some discussion about education and Sam said the folks who settled these parts were educated in Virginia and could read and right. However, on settling here there never was any flat land and many of the homesteads up various hollers (for water) had only a small vegetable garden or tobacco crop. So our stereotype of the hills being full of moonshiners was in fact true. Any stranger coming through was suspected of being a “revenuer” and distrusted and the families lived isolated lives. Although the grandparents were usually literate the subsequent generations were not. But, as Sam put it, “They were illiterate, but not ignorant.” However, he also said there was plenty of inbreeding and Professor Adams of Salem College has published extensively about the level of congenital defects in children in this area from inbreeding. Sam, and others, feel Professor Adams has exploited these people.

Suddenly a young woman (30-40) came in out of the rain and straight for Sam’s table. “I can’t shut the car down, or it won’t crank,” she said. “Well don’t turn it off, let it run. I tol’ you it was the alternator, let him put it on,” said Sam. “Just let everyone jump you,” said Frank, as Walter chuckled and Sam laughed, and she ignored the obvious sexual connotation. When she left she thanked them, and they all said in a matter of fact way that she was the local prostitute. They were obvious friends and she seemed pleased with their advice and walked off in the rain.

Sam said Walter Archer was a brilliant man. He had studied psychology for two years in college. He had served time in prison twice for two different murders he never committed. Sam said, “Every time they had an unsolved murder around here they arrested Walter.” Walter studied the law and was a personal friend with a law professor from Lexington with whom he spent a lot of time in his younger days “when not in prison.” He learned “principles of studying the law” from the professor and then “learned the law” from the prison libraries. He defended himself each time and earned his own prison release. I had seen a political sign along the road asking for votes for “county jailer.” I asked Sam about the position and he said, “Walter runs for that office every time. The last time he got 41 votes.” Later as I prepared to finally go bike riding, Walter wanted to shake my hand and give me his full name. I told him Sam had said he was a brilliant man. And Walter said, “I studied psychology for two years, spent more than two years in the military, and more than two years in jail. That’s the only way to be fully brilliant.” Cimarron and I are not there, yet!

So near noon the downpour had stopped and there was a light drizzle so I started out on the bike leaving Cimarron alone with our new friends the Kentucky philosophers. Later I learned he just couldn’t stay out of a political conversation, so Cimarron the Conservative Republican from Florida discussed politics with these Liberal Democrats from Kentucky. However, he was saved when it turned out one of them was also a Republican. He said it went well as he “drove away and wasn’t run out of town on a rail.”

So I rode very well for the first ten miles back toward Hazard. It began to rain steady after five miles or so but the riding was good and the drivers remained courteous. There still was no place for me to ride other than on the road and no shoulder. I have learned to watch my rear view mirror and wave my left arm as I see a vehicle behind me. They immediately move over the centerline and give me a wide berth. I saw more coal trucks, probably a hundred, as they bring coal to a major tipple (railroad loading site) in Hazard. The trucks are much longer than the coal trucks I’m familiar with in PA. The road was flat and I made a pace of nearly 15 mph for this section, but soon I turned onto Route 15 towards hazard and immediately came to three walking hills. When I get down to 1st gear (of twenty seven) and the bike is only moving at 3 mph, it’s hard to stay upright, so I need to walk.

Near Hazard the trail goes on Route 80, which is a limited access four-lane expressway with a wide shoulder. However, the shoulder is full of gravel, loose coal, and rumble strips so I still try to stay on the outer part of the road. The drivers were more aggressive and slightly obnoxious on this road. It’s interesting that on the country road where there is little opportunity to hurry, no one is in a hurry. Out here on the expressway, nothing seems fast enough. I had to walk a few hills on 80 also, but I sure could speed down hill with a couple of mid 30 mph areas. Once it rained so hard and the speed was so high it felt like BB’s hitting my face.

This trip takes management. There is bike riding management, crew management, map management, managing the cars that pass, and significant logistics. My 85-year-old Trail Boss and I don’t often think alike although we both are dedicated to the adventure. When I’m on the bike and it’s raining cats and dogs and coal trucks are throwing their dust all over me, sometimes I fantasize about the next cup of cappuccino. I just can’t help myself. So, I’m coming down a hill on the expressway at 35 mph in the rain and there is a nice food store/gas station along the road on the other side but still on the slope of the hill. My Trail Boss is running out of the store waving in the rain, but there is no way I can stop for half a mile without sliding. I didn’t even feel good to raise my hand and wave so I rang the little ringer bell on the bike and went on by. Four miles and an hour later (there was a half mile hill to walk) I exited the Expressway onto a nice country road. I stopped under a bridge to take off one of my insulating shirts from beneath the rain jacket) and along came Cimarron. It would be at least another hour to the next (supposed) store. The first thing out of Cimarron’s mouth was, “They had great chicken back there and wonderful pizza, and all cheap at the end of the day shift. They also had cappuccino. Why didn’t you stop?” I said, “That sounds great, what did you bring me?” And he said, “Nothing. I brought nothing. I didn’t know what you wanted, I’m not a mind reader!” So I pulled out from under the bridge and headed on hoping the next store actually existed.

It did. Four miles later I came to a small gas station and country store. They sold pizza and cappuccino. It was great. The seventeen-year-old senior behind the counter is engaged. Her boy friend is interested in art and she showed me some of his Halloween vampire pencil drawings. He is very talented. Her parents own the store and while I was there she sold perhaps $50 worth of cigarettes and $100 of other stuff and filled a few tanks with gas. She had to ask the other clerk who looked just as young (but was 40!) about how to ring things up. I asked what she and the boy had for future plans and she said she hoped the parents were going to give her the store. However, Benny a bystander (who apparently stands by a lot) said, “She’s in love. He’s a good boy. But her parents aren’t giving her the store, and that boy needs to study art. He has a gift.” I suggested that perhaps her parents would give them an apartment at the university and she could study business and he study his art. She said, “I don’t think so.”

I was sipping my 24 ounce cappuccino as fast as I could and getting chilled from being soaking wet and standing around. The cappuccino was too hot. So I said, “Could I have some water to cool it off?” And the future owner turned to her mentor and whispered, “Is the water safe?” And the mentor said, “In the sink it is.” Then, not knowing I heard, she said, “Sir, come with me this water here’s perfectly good.”

Although I had seen Cimarron under the bridge and indicated I would not pass any further stores, he did. I lingered here for 30 minutes. Now in pouring rain with my crew ahead perhaps too far and dark approaching, I started out again. One complaint I have is apparently Kentuckians do not turn on their headlights in rain and now it was hard to see cars sneaking up behind. And I already learned these folks would not blow their horns at me. Now I wished I were home with the Cantonment rednecks who try to blow me off the road with their horns.

I had made a mistake under the bridge and told Cimarron I would meet him at Hindman, but I meant Carrie, some 4 miles closer. I was riding well but it was raining and getting too overcast near dark. I rounded the curve and there was all of Carrie, a town of ten houses. And sitting in the middle of downtown Carrie was the Trail Boss parked 50 yards past a really small store that was not out of business and was open. If he didn’t tell me it was there, I would have never known. There was no obvious advertising.

He was prepared for the arrival of the bike but not me. He thought we should put it inside on the seat, but it was way too dirty. While I loaded the bike on the back rack, he walked 50 yards to the store in the driving rain. I needed warm clothes and my other rain jacket so I dug for them and then walked to the store.

There was all kind of confusion on what to do for the night. We were about 15 minutes from last night’s hotel down the expressway but he didn’t want to go back in the wrong direction. I knew we’d be in a warm room and shower in less than thirty minutes in that direction. Our maps claimed a B & B in Hindman, but it did not exist according to a state trooper we consulted. We had heard of a college dorm at Pippa Passes 20 miles up the route where cyclists could stay, but the policeman who called his friend the security chief over there said, “not at this time of year.” The man at the Carrie store said there was a motel on Route 80 just five miles away but it was overrun with drug problems and the policeman said, “Don’t go up there or you’ll need me later in the evening.” The 15-minute ride down the expressway back to Hazard began to sound good to Cimarron. So when we got to Hazard there were no rooms available in the whole town! So we camped in the parking lot of the Hazard Motel, and it rained all night with me in the bed and Cimarron upstairs in the bunk of the VW Van. He was so proud that his Van saved us, and so was I.

Dog Gone and a Hill Billy Philosopher

Riding Stats: Distance 29.5; Average Speed 7.4; 10:10 AM to 5:45 PM; Wheels in motion time: 3:57; top speed 37 mph; goof off time 3:35.

Weather: 53 degrees at the start and overcast. Later reached a high of 66 degrees. Very light rain started intermittently at noon. Steady light rain at 4 PM to the end. This was my first time on this Trans-Am trip that I rode in the rain including all of last year’s mileage. At home I have ridden in rain several times in the past and have walked in the rain hundreds of times, actually never missing a daily walk or run over twenty years for rain alone. I do not, however, go out in lightning. I like rain and when we lived in Seattle for a year I often took my three-year-old granddaughter out for an eight-mile stroller ride around the city in the rain. When asked about the rain by her grandmothers she was taught to say, “What rain?”

Dogs: Today there were NO dog attacks. I saw probably 100 dogs, but only a dozen or so were not chained. Several barked, but none ever left the yard. Later at a store a local said, “The dogs in Perry County are under control.” He was incredulous that they were such a problem over in Estill County.

The Course: I was very disappointed with today’s total mileage. I had hoped for a fifty-mile day with the earlier start. We started off 2 miles out of Booneville having licked the first big hill out of town the evening before by walking the bike a mile or so up 500 or so of elevation gain. It was overcast and a cool 53 degrees so I put on a jacket. When it’s below 60 degrees, it’s downright cold on the bike. I used to feel like a wimp about being cold at 60 degrees until I read a book by David Phinney a professional bike rider and former Olympian who lives in Colorado. He wrote that when the temperature is below 60 he wears long legged tights and long sleeve shirts and a jacket and warm cycling gloves. I felt better to hear that.

The road from Booneville to Buckhorn and then to Chavies was one of unbelievable climbs and switchbacked turns at about a 6% grade. There were no bike lanes and thank goodness little traffic as the road is narrow. The drivers remained cooperative. I walked at least 3 or 4 miles pushing the bike and this cost me, as the walk pace was less than 2 miles per hour. The initial hour I made a nice 12 miles riding and thought I might do 50 miles today; however, the ride quickly turned into a walk.

And then the rain started. They need rain around here, so I was happy to see it, and it was just a steady light drizzle. However, there is a significant danger in down hill riding in the rain. The left brake stops the front wheel and the right stops the rear. When the road surface is wet, there is little friction between wheel and road. The brakes work by pads squeezing against the rims. So it’s possible to squeeze the brakes and stop the wheel (since there is less friction between wheel and wet road) and send the bike into an uncontrollable skid. This is especially dangerous if the front wheel skids. With my excess weight, I generate excess down hill speed. So I was concerned about this all day as the downhills are as severe as the ups. Once I got going faster than I wanted and a sharp switchback was ahead. I thought I might skid out on the turn if I let her run out, or might stop the wheel and skid if I applied too much brake. This was a very unpleasant situation, but I got her under control and survived.

Today’s views included a large cut through a 400-foot mountain where the Middle Fork of the Kentucky River is dammed for the Buckhorn Lake. Later I saw the “Regular Baptist Church” with two entry doors, a hitching post, and adjoining male and female outhouses. I saw shacks with dual satellite dishes. And at the Buckhorn Post Office we saw a disabled elderly man (older than me and Cimarron) drive up in an old Junker maroon colored Jaguar. Near Chavies I saw a huge mountain at least 600 feet high of fresh dirt that was tailings from a strip mine. I never saw anything near this huge in my Pennsylvania coal country.

My ordeal from Booneville to Buckhorn was tough. I walked and pedaled on the worst hills I’ve ever seen. Along the way I saw Cimarron once and advised that I hoped for a cup of coffee at Buckhorn. When I arrived there was an old dilapidated strip center with a Post Office on the right and a store on the left. As I pulled in it started to rain harder and I was cold. I said to Cimarron, “What’s at the store?” And he said, “Nothing, I walked through and they have nothing more than I’ve got here in the van.” And I said, “What about coffee?” He said, I didn’t see any and the guy at the post office says they sometimes put on a pot. I didn’t ask at the store!” I said, “I’ll ask at the store.” And he said, “I’m not going in again!”

So I walked into the store and the clerk was very pleasant. He saw I was a cyclist and pulled out a Trans-Am journal book for my signature and gave me information about a change in the course in Pippa Passes and the name of a place to stay free in Radford, Virginia, some 100 miles up the road. He then said I looked like I could use a cup of coffee and pointed me to the fresh pot near the door. I looked around in there where Cimarron saw nothing. They had an inventory that could rival a Wal-Mart, although they probably couldn’t find some of it. One customer said I could buy a pair of boots twenty years old. Cimarron and I certainly have a different view of these places. He had a pistol hanging beside the cash register in easy view. I said, “Do you ever need to shoot anybody?” And he said, “Oh, it’s just for show; it’s a B-B gun!” Later Cimarron said, “You should never have asked him about that gun. I thought next you were going to ask if he married his cousin!” I might have had I thought of it!

After two more long walks up the hills out of Buckhorn toward Chavies, it rained even harder. Then I had the exciting two-mile downhill on wet pavement into Chavies. At one downhill switchback there was a sign showing a ninety-degree turn with a 15 mph speed limit. That’s a switchback like my Dad used to say, “You can look out the window and see your own ass as you go around!” It was about 4 o’clock and school buses were running. I saw about a dozen. The school buses, unlike the cars, cannot yield the road to my bike. I’m glad I have good mirrors and can see what’s coming. I saw no coal trucks and only a few log trucks. All the drivers were polite and again there were no shouts or horn blowing.

Finally I got to Chavies still thinking I’d do another 15 miles. Again as I entered this town Cimarron was sitting along the road at the first sign of civilization. I could see a gas station down the road. I said, “What do they have at the station?” And he said, “There’s no station here, you told me yesterday when you reviewed the maps.” So I rode the bike on down and went in to a wonderful store where I had a great piece of pizza and a cup of coffee. I met a man named Sam who immediately asked me about my Trans-Am ride. He said, “Did you start in Astoria, Oregon, or Yorktown, Virginia?” He knew the Atlantic and the Pacific terminal towns of the trail! Then he proceeded to congratulate me for my successful trip from Booneville to Chavies saying it was one of the toughest sections of the entire trail. I lamented that I had to walk the three big hills and thought the youngsters all pedaled it; and he said, “I’ve lived here for twenty years and seen them all walk those hills.” He then told us of the trail for the next hundred miles and where to get a room and the price in Hazard, KY, some ten miles down the trail.

I commented that I had not seen many spoils of strip mining and he said, “If you were in an airplane you’d see plenty. We ruined this land, just not near your road.” Then he added, “You know, we don’t often notice the damages we create when we are receiving a pay check!”

Then Sam said, “Gary, you’ve ridden enough for today. It’s getting late; it’s raining; the road to Hazard is easy, but the traffic is heavy now. Load that bike up and get a room.”

So we did.

In Hazard, population 4000, we found an Applebee’s and had a nice dinner. The food was good. The local hospital nurses are on strike and had tents all over the front yard of the hospital. I never saw that in my medical career. The Hazard Herald (Newspaper) has the following headlines on the front page today:
· Shepard not guilty in shooting case
· Murder suspect makes court appearance
· Attempted murder case goes to grand jury


How good is this.