Biking again, and lost in Kentucky on day 1.

October 20, 2007:Day 1.
Riding Stats: Distance 26.7; Average Speed 12.2; 3:07 PM to 6:30 PM; Wheels in motion time: 2:11; top speed 38 mph; goof off time 1:12
I awakened at 4 Am to help get the missionaries off to Pensacola. There was frost on the dorm roof about an hour after the bus left. Cimarron never got up so I also went back to sleep until 8 AM. We bought him a fleece hat for 50 cents at the Opportunity Shop and fired up the van for the 20-mile ride to I-75. The ride is over Pine Mountain up about 500 feet of elevation gain and over several switchbacks. It was a challenge for Cimarron and the VW Euro Van that he is concerned is not running smoothly. I thought the van did great, although I see why he said the school buses were pushing him on the way into the Settlement on Friday. He drove very slowly and cautiously. I offered to drive, but he said he didn’t want to die that way! I guess this was some subtle opinion on my driving! We made it to I-75 at Williamsburg and had a big ole Huddle House breakfast. We were up to Berea to intersect the Trans-Am bike route in about an hour and then wasted about 2 hours trying to buy Halt, a type of pepper spray for Kentucky dogs. We never did find any so I made my own with Louisiana Pepper Sauce and a squirt gun. But we needed four stores to find the squirt gun. Then we had to filter the hot sauce through a sock so it wouldn’t clog up the squirt gun! One of the clerks said Mace is illegal, but if I went over to the gun shop I could just get a legal 357 magnum and blow the dogs away. I should have just brought my own.
At preciously 3:09 I started pedaling down Route 25 in downtown Berea. However, I was supposed to be on route 21 out of town. Cimarron honked and pointed me off in the right direction toward the city of Big Hill, population ten, five miles east of Berea! After going about 100 yards, I saw a Berea College girl on a bike and flagged her down. She said she often rides to Big Hill and back, but the road is narrow and there are no shoulders or bike lanes. With that encouragement, I was off as Cimarron headed for a Laundromat to do my weeks worth of work laundry.
The road to Big Hill was indeed narrow and hilly, and about 100 cars went by. There was no bike lane and the road newly paved so nice and smooth, but the shoulders had not been filled so if I ran off the pavement I would fall six inches to the grass shoulder and probably hit the guardrail. But none of that happened and the drivers were very polite. No one flashed the bird, swore, or threw anything. There was not even any horn blowing. These folks seemed accustomed to bike riders. I got plenty of quick practice in gear shifting using all 27 gears at least once in the five miles. I was proud to never have to walk the bike, but I did get down to the lowest gear and top speed was 3 miles per hour on a couple of the climbs. But none were greater than half a mile and all were quickly followed by half mile down hills where I got up to about 27 MPH several times and 30 once.
The dogs, as advertised, were plentiful. I was bluff charged at least ten times by many breeds and twice more for real by those little Australian Sheep Dogs. I hate those little bastards. Each time they charged out from behind shelter of lawn shrubs and attacked suddenly. I had no time to grab my new Louisiana Pepper Sauce squirt gun, or either of my two “Pepper Sprays on a key chain.” Each time I pedaled hard, shouted loudly, and outran the little sons-of-bitches (I guess they were!) by the skin of my teeth (or, in this case, heels). This was my all-time highest number of dog attacks in one day of cycling, but only the Australians were serious. Tomorrow I’ll be more prepared to give them a good spraying of Pepper Sauce.
There was only one time I could have been killed today. I watched my rear view mirror carefully and noticed a large coal truck slowly following me. I wandered why he didn't go past. But he patiently followed for at least half a mile until I pulled off into a Baptist Church drive. He went by and had a flatbed trailer behind with two wide rolled hay bails that stuck out at least three feet on each side. Those bails would have hit me and surely knocked me off the bike (in the least)! I need to be observant of vehicles and their trailers, although that is not easy in a small rear view mirror!
At Big Hill there was a nice gas station with Cappuccino so I of course stopped for a cup. Five miles, and I stopped for refreshments. It was then that I heard Kentucky was playing Florida in college football in half an hour so I tried to tune in my new MP-3 player/FM Radio to the stations recommended. I couldn’t get it off of playing music and couldn’t get it off of “Radio-Mute” so a hillbilly girl (about 45 years old) came over and said, “Let me fix it for you boy.” She punched a few buttons and the screen lit up and the channel came in. She said in thick Kentucky accent, “I’d betta progrum a few more ‘pre-sets’ because you’re sure to lose contact with them stations about every five miles.” Then she said, “who you rooting for anyway?” And I lied, “Kentucky, miss.” Later Cimarron said, “Who’s the dumb one here?”
The day was perfect with no wind, 70-80 degrees, low humidity, and nicely placed gentle hills. I’m sure I climbed several thousand feet, but never more than two hundred at a time. Along the 10-mile country road I saw 5 churches (all Baptist) and three tobacco farms. Three of the churches had a similar hand drawn sign posted near the road announcing, “Baby Shower at 6 PM.” Were there three babies expected, or were the churches having a combined shower? One farm had tobacco hanging in an actual tobacco barn (lots of ventilation and hanging tobacco visible through all the openings.) Two of the farms had the tobacco hanging off some sort of trellis in the field and partially covered with black plastic with about half of the tobacco hanging below the plastic, I guess for air exposure. At the 22-mile mark we missed a turn onto Murphy’s Ford. We thought it was a town, but it was a road. We did stop there at the intersection, but three dogs came running out and I shot off down a big hill (on the wrong road it turns out) and got up to 38 mph and knocked off three good miles when I came to 6:30 PM our quitting time. I felt real good that we did 26.7 miles on day one in about 3 hours with a long break messing with the radio. Then Cimarron arrives looking all short of breath what with pushing on the van brakes down the big hill. He shouted out, “That was your best 3 miles all day. You are making great progress. But you're on the wrong road!” If he weren’t 85 years old, I’d say he’s a smart ass.
As we loaded the bike on the back of the van, a nice lady came up the road pushing a baby in a carriage. “You riding the Trans-Am Trail,” she asked? Proudly while puffing out my chest I answered, “Yes I am.” “You’re mighty old, fat, slow, and on the wrong road,” she said. Then she smiled and said, “Just kidding! There’s a Wendy’s and a cheap motel just four miles down the road.” So we went for both places and now are watching Cimarron’s Red Sox blow away the Indians!
This has been a glorious day.