Touring Tunes

When last we blogged, we’d left Whitesville and had a very pretty day cruising by vast farmlands, enjoying the sunshine in the morning and afternoon, even though rain had been forecasted. At one point, an old farmer with a beer nestled in a beer koozie pulled up to us in his red pickup and asked if we were alright. “Just taking a water break,” we said.
“Taking a what?”
“Taking a water break.”
“Taking a watermelon? It’s too early for that. They aren’t blooming yet.”
“…[awkward smiling and laughter]”

Petunia keeps looking back to coach Greg, who rides behind us because we have discovered that whenever he rides ahead, she makes these little monkey-baby-like cries. She doesn’t like to be the caboose. Speaking of trains, they sure love their coal in Kentucky, where everyone is “friends of coal” and has bumper stickers, t-shirts, and lawn signs to prove it.

It finally started to rain as we got close to Sebree, KY. At about 5 PM, we pulled up to a church that was listed as a cyclists-only hostel in town, and called the number listed on the door. A woman named Violet picked up the phone and told us she’d be right over from the house next door to the church, and she appeared right away and took us to the church basement. This place was absolutely immaculate- it served as a sort of community center, storm shelter, and also a perfect haven for bicycle tourists. It had a shower, real towels, a huge map for cyclists to pin their home town, big comfy couches, mattresses to sleep on, a full kitchen, wifi, free laundry, and even some snacks in the fridge. Violet told us to cast off our wet clothes, enjoy a warm shower, and get ready to come over for a home made dinner in an hour.

Violet and her husband, Pastor Bob, made us what seemed like a Thanksgiving dinner- tender pork chops in gravy, lima beans, zucchini and squash, biscuits with strawberry jam, cornbread, cantaloupe, rice, corn, and blondie brownies with vanilla ice cream for dessert. It was pretty wild. They kept encouraging us to eat more, and we certainly did that.

During dinner, Violet shared stories about some of the many cyclists that the church had hosted since ’76, including two families of 12 people riding on 6 tandems; someone who rode across on a unicycle and another who crossed on a penny-farthing (the old time bikes with the huge front wheel and tiny back wheel); a man who was paralyzed from the waist down who hand-cranked his special recumbent bike, towing his wheelchair and getting in and out of each without assistance; a newlywed couple touring the world on a tandem recumbent bike, and other amazing journeys.

Petunia wasn’t allowed into the hostel interior because a student there has extreme dog allergies, but she was allowed to stay in the foyer where we set up a mattress and she was snuggled all night. How much is that doggie in the window? The one with the trucker arm.

The next day, we got to cross the Ohio river by a short ferry ride, and changed states in doing so.

We stayed at Cave In Rock, Illinois, where we met the first two women cyclists we’d encountered on the road! Karensa and Katie were from California and were riding from DC to the west coast, back home. We were riding at a similar pace, so the next night we split a campsite at Ferne Clyffe state park. As it turned out, Katie had recognized Petunia from an article about our trip that her brother’s friend wrote in April on a site called Visual News. It’s a small cycling world after all!

Some other campers had warned us about raccoons on the prowl, so we all put our food in panniers and stashed them in the camp bathrooms overnight. So we were surprised to hear some scratching and munching coming from our bikes next to the tent at 1 or 2 AM. Turns out they had broken into my first aid bag and ate through a few Pepto Bismol packets and some other non-food items. After we scared them off, we heard the weirdest animal noises in the woods!

The next day was a planned low-mileage day to give our sore seats some rest. After carefully going through a dirt and rubble road that was closed to cars (but not to cyclists who had been previously tipped off by east bound cyclists), we pulled over for a water break. Moments later, a tall man on a blue tractor pulled up and introduced himself as Rick, a local and a fellow cyclist. He kindly offered to let us stay the night at his place near the city of Carbondale. It was still early, so we followed his tractor a mile down the road to his beautiful home on a lake that we later learned he engineered. We met his wife Suzanne and one of their daughters, Sarah. They let us unload our gear, shower and watched after Petunia while we ventured out sans-panniers to get Thai food for dinner. We’d exchanged phone numbers with Katie and Karensa, so we communicated, and realizing that they were in the area, we all converged on the restaurant for curries. Rick and Suzanne generously extended their hospitality to our new friends, so we all pedaled back in the dark and slept peacefully indoors on the pull out couch and beds they’d made up for us.

The next morning, we shared touring stories over an amazing breakfast that Rick made for us all- biscuits and gravy, a delicious fruit salad, homefries, and coffee. It was such a heavenly way to start the say! Katie joked with our hosts, “I wondered how you slept knowing there were four strangers in your basement,” and we all felt so lucky for the coincidence of our meeting.

The next day was hot and humid and we were again following our friends westward towards a cyclist only hostel in Chester listed on the map. Greg accidentally rode over a broken bottle on the shoulder and got flat number 3, with multiple punctures to the tire.

The sun was setting as we were in the flat levee area of the Mississippi River alternate route, so we didn’t have many options but to push hard and pedal fast as it got dark. Then the rain started, and the mosquitoes came out in full force. It wasn’t until well past 10 o’clock that we arrived wet, hungry and dirty at the tiny 8’x10′ 9-bunk wooden barracks style hostel.

Shortly before we collapsed onto our respective planks, we learned that one of the 5 other cyclists crashing there for the night was competing in the west to east TransAm self-supported bicycle race, and he was in the 15th position. Marcus had just completed a 110-mile day (his 5th lowest day, he said) and he was kind enough to talk with a few of us for a while. He told us about what he ate (“absolute garbage– $25 a meal at McDonalds, gas station ice cream for breakfast”), what he carried (he’d just sent his sleeping bag home to reduce weight, and therefore slept on bare wood that night), and how little rest he got (he stealthily crept out of the lodging at 4 or 5 AM). He was fascinating and told us stories about the other racers, including the fact that the winner completed the race in about 17 days.

The next day, we peeked around Chester a bit, which is the home of the creator of Popeye.

Then we crossed the Mississippi River by bridge and made it to Missouri! More stories to follow.

Last Friday, we rolled into Harrodsburg around dinner time and spoke to a local fellow who suggested camping in the state park at Old Fort Harrod nearby. We pulled in at dark to see that some large tents were already set up– but they were made of canvas and set up in a British military style, and a couple of men in costumes were sitting around and stoking a small fire. We were welcomed and told that they were there in preparation for the coming weekend’s large reenactment of the Native American raid on Fort Harrod settlers that occurred in 1777. The next morning, we got a tour of the tents and teepees by some really cool costumed volunteer actors/actresses and educators. They told us that the previous night that, from the outside, our green tent with our green headlight shining from within made us look like E.T. among the old fashioned settlement.

As usual, we took our time and talked to folks and dragged out a delicious breakfast in the shade, concluded by a big serving of banana soft serve. Breakfast of champions indeed. I don’t think Greg has really gone a day without at least one cup of caowfee.

We pedaled past the historical site of Lincoln’s birthplace and parents’ home and past a golf course, where a few golfers snapped our pics and asked us to make the University of Kentucky gang sign (go Cards!).

Through another gorgeous area of thinly populated farmland, we saw some heavy clouds headed our way. A man passing us in a pickup truck with a big dog in the truck bed slowed enough to call to us “Big storm coming– follow me if you want to avoid that rain.” A few hundred yards ahead, he pointed out the window to a house with a porch and said “I know them- go ahead and take cover and I’ll give them a heads up. Gotta go, much to be done.” Heeding his advice, we pulled under the car port and sure enough, the skies opened up as we remained dry and comfortably sheltered. The elderly homeowner came out with bottled water for us and eventually the truck driver came back briefly to chat about our travels and route.

Reaching Bardstown at dusk, we thought we’d try to camp at another state park/pioneer village, but learning from the director that was a no-go, and feeling unwilling to pay the nearest camp site’s inflated asking price for a simple tent camping spot, we hunkered down behind a church and passed out.

The next day, we decided to have out first official rest day after a full month of pedaling. We really got to see old Bardstown and eat everything in sight, including Jamie’s odd dessert choice of ice cream, beets and bacon.

We found the local fire department and were immediately welcomed with open arms and leftover hot dogs (pretty much the best kind of greeting there is). We were told we could camp out, shower, and even take pictures of the fire chief and his awesome muscle car.

The people at the fire department were so kind and helpful, and they told us all about the huge Heaven Hill whiskey distillery fire in ’96 that ripped through several warehouses. Pretty serious stuff.

It was a great place to spend a rest day. We met a few eastbound TransAm cyclists who took pictures of Petunia and have already corresponded with us by email. Hi, Tor & Victor!

As we left Bardstown Sunday morning, the smell of Kentucky’s famous spirit was suspended in the humid air as we cruised past a distillery, having consumed nary a drop of bourbon. We needed all of our strength- we put in a 60+ mile day on Sunday and found rest at a small grocery store/hostel run by a very sweet family that was listed on the map.

Today we got held up by a few storms that passed, including one so intense we took shelter under someone’s outdoor structure overhang, just as the lightning was getting uncomfortably close.

It came down like mad, then turned to Just-Regular-Rain so we kept moving. We have set up in a town park in Whitesville for the night and aren’t sure what to do about tomorrow’s predicted storms. Petunia was not too thrilled with the rain and the heat all day, but one restaurant we stopped at for lunch took pity on us and let us eat indoors in their event room where it was nice and air conditioned. She got to play some pup-world-cup soccer this morning, too, so hopefully that made up for the tough day.

On Wednesday, we set out for another ride in the 90° heat and humidity after leaving Booneville, again climbing steep and rolling hills until we stopped at the little hometown diner and market in small town of McKee. I must’ve looked a fright because when I clacked over to the register in my bike shoes, the owner looked at me with concern and said the cold ginger ale in my hand was on the house. 

He asked about my travels and sadly told me that “one of mine” had just been  killed not far away over the past weekend, as he urged me to ride carefully and to watch out for “maniac drivers.” I later read that 24 year old Jamie Rogers from Maryland, riding with a group that was raising money to fight cancer, had been struck and killed by a pickup truck while changing a flat tire on the shoulder of the road. It was a depressing piece of news and made the rest of the ride harder on our nerves.

I don’t bring it up to scare anyone about our safety or discourage anyone from bike touring, but it’s worth discussing some of the danger involved with modern cycling. We have tried to manage much of the risk by takibg precautions such as wearing rearview mirrors on our glasses so we can see whether approaching cars are giving us space or if we should pull off the road altogether for oncoming coal or logging trucks. We have high visibility triangles, bright colored panniers and jerseys, rear and front blinking lights, and a super loud air horn (dog deterrent and alarm). We ride defensively and try to pull off into a driveway or away from the road if we need to stop for anything. We also have bike bells and use a simple code system: one ring is to call attention to something, two rings means a car is approaching, and four rings means we need to stop. We try not to ride when visibility is poor and alert each other in case of road debris or dogs. Still, accidents happen, and we were saddened to hear about the tragic loss of the young woman.

Once we got closer to Berea, our heavy hearts were lightened somewhat by wider shoulders and roads and less stressful riding. There was a gorgeous descent into the bluegrass area and we cruised through petty farmland until we arrived at our hosts’ place for the night- Home Grown Hide Aways tree farm, where the lovely Jessa and Nathan welcomed us to stay on their festival grounds.

They were just wrapping up after a big music and movement festival called PlayThink, and they shared their stories of hitchhiking, meeting the Pedouin family of 5 cross country cyclists, and told us about their sweet dogs living on their farm. They also were extremely skilled and knowledgeable in the areas of eco-friendly and sustsainable natural building and lovingly showed us and explained the process behind their cob house construction in progress–a structure made of clay, sand and straw. Really cool folks doing awesome interesting work, the couple will also host an event soon called Whippoorwill, with over 75 workshops teaching earth friendly and sustainable living skills. Their dog Emmy was also the sweetest girl on campus.

We had another leisurely morning, enjoying the peace at the farm before heading into Berea to do laundry and eat awesome Thai food at a restaurant that Jessa recommended when we ran into her again near Berea College. The restaurant was great- they gave Petunia the VIP treatment- and we even carried her into a big box store to reprovision and were not hassled at all. She loved the air conditioning after working hard all morning.

Since we didn’t leave Berea until quite late in the afternoon, we thought we’d ride until we found a park to sleep in, but we realized we missed our turn and ended up in the small town of Paint Lick.

A gentleman in a straw hat called to us to ask if we were riding across country and we stopped to talk with him and his two friends. Having seen several bike tourists lost in his town, he gave us some advice on our route and then offered to let us camp at his place.

Mark, principal biologist and CEO of Copperhead Consulting, an environmental consulting firm, and local entrepreneur, welcomed us into his stately 1830’s southern style mansion, let us have warm showers, and fed us the-absolute-best brisket BBQ, potato salad and cole slaw we’ve ever had. We laughed and exchanged stories along with his business partners Brice and Marcos over decadent beer ice cream floats until midnight.

Maybe we were initially too harsh on Kentucky. Over the last few days, between meeting such inspiring and interesting folks with such passion for the environment and making the jump from rural Kentucky into the hip college town of Berea (which Marcos aptly described as going from “backwater to Berkley”), the commonwealth has redeemed itself. Okay, so there was that one day when we pulled over on the shoulderless side of the road uphill to drink water only to be greeted by three loud barking dogs and their owner, who stepped onto his front porch making a big show of the shotgun he brought brought out with him to scare us away. But it has been worthwhile to learn lots more about a state we haven’t given much thought to beyond horse racing and fried chicken. Did you know that Kentucky has the longest known cave system in the world at Mammoth Cave National Park? We didn’t either until we made a great wrong turn and ended up in Paint Lick. Life is amazing like that. 

Kentucky has not been a highlight of this trip so far. We’d been warned about the big dogs off leash who bark and chase cyclists down the streets (and up hills, in some cases). We even met a cyclist whose panniers had been ripped open by an aggressive dog. After experiencing it first hand, it’s as bad or worse than we’ve heard, it seems, with our hearts pounding after each close call and quick escape from the K9s, which we fend off with a close-range blast from Greg’s very loud air horn. It’s been an effective and non-violent way to deal with them, but we’ve heard of the sometimes tragic consequences for the dogs who run into the busy, winding roads full of pedal-to-the-metal pickup drivers. Petunia gets anxious when she hears the angry barking of the dogs before we see them, never sure whether they’ll be chained up and sadly running the same 10-foot route over and over until it’s a worn sand pit, or running at us full speed, baring its teeth at our hyper-spinning legs.

Two nights ago we camped at a small campground in Buckhorn. Greg made a nice fire and we ate sizable portions of chili and pasta that Jamie cooked up.

Jamie woke up stiff and sore from the previous day’s unrelenting and steep climbs in 90+ degree heat, but we didn’t stay to get much rest because an army of good-behavior prisoners wielding weed whackers and other landscapers came out to clean up the park at 9 AM.

On the bright side, some of the ride has been pretty, although the landscape is not what I would’ve pictured if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. The roads are all cliffside and everyone lives on a hill or in a valley. The lush greenery in conjunction with Greg’s tribal printed bandana made him look like a contestant on Survivor when we pulled over to let Petunia run in a baseball field.

Despite feeling unwell in the heat, we made a modest 30 mile trek to Booneville, where we camped out behind a cyclist-friendly church with another outdoor shower. We met two other cyclists, recent college grads from DC, who are heading south to complete the southern tier, to our surprise (“it’s going to be SO HOT” we both exclaimed).

Onward to Beria today!

There hasn’t been any cell service on my phone in several days, so there are many stories that haven’t been shared yet. On Tuesday, we pulled up to Jefferson National Park in Rural Retreat, VA, just as our sunny day decided to turn into a sudden downpour. We quickly set up the tent and tarp on a campsite, and luckily the rain didn’t last too long.

As we prepared to settle in for the night, we met our first fellow bike tourist, Steve, from Minnesota. He was headed eastbound and had faced rain almost every day of his trip. Soon after Steve went off to his campsite, a golf cart puttered over to us and we were greeted by its driver, Jim, the volunteer campground overseer.

He was an older man who spoke like a Vermonter, and he kindly told us that if the rain was too bad, we could stay under the awning of the camper that he shared with his wife. Because we were TransAm bike tourists, we could camp for free, he said, as long as we didn’t mention it to the RV camping folks.

Jim assured us that the water on site was safe to drink despite its light brown color. “It’s just iron. The water’s got a lot of iron in it,” and, while flexing a retired bicep, added, “it’ll make you strong.”

The next morning, we had a nice breakfast and dried out as best as we could before heading off toward Meadowview, Virginia.

It was a great day to ride bikes and we continued to catch some more perfect weather. Our route map indicated there was free camping permitted behind a small town store in Meadowview. Although we hadn’t been able to reach anyone there earlier by phone to confirm our stay and the store was closed when we arrived at dusk, we decided it would be okay to set up visibly on the side of the store as to avoid looking suspicious.

As we began unpacking the tent, a man in a camouflage U.S. Navy ball cap and reflective sunglasses drove across the street toward us on his John Deere lawnmower. He didn’t motion to respond to our friendly wave. Turning off the mower, he said firmly, “if y’all are gonna camp out here, I’d suggest goin behind that there tree or out back so you won’t be seen or bothered by the rednecks out here buyin pop in front of this here store all night. You’ll be safer and their headlights won’t bother you as they’re buyin pop, droppin off babies, doin all sorts of drug deals and whatever else they do. I watch everything going on around here. My name’s Alan, and you’re more than welcome to charge your phones or gadgets over on my front porch over there across the street and help yourself to the hose, have some ice water, or whatever you’d like. Sometimes the bikers come through here and I’ve put ’em up under a big tent in my yard and we play guitars and harmonica and have a good old time. You should look up this one couple who came through called The Variety Show, on the interweb or whatever.”

Alan told us he was a former Navy man and previously a BMX racer, much to Greg’s interest. He returned later and brought us over some freshly picked sweet strawberries for dessert before he turned home as it got dark. “Come on by for anything at all you need,” he offered. “Just remember, you gotta say the password, though- ‘don’t shoot.’ Y’all have a good night, now.”

The next morning we met the owners of the quaint Snavely store. Standing at a grand total of three aisles of antiquated Jello boxes and miscellaneous auto parts, it was the largest retailer in town or possibly for several towns over. Mr. Snavely fixed us two ham and cheese sandwiches at his deli counter for breakfast as he told us that his granddaddy had opened the store 84 years ago. He was soft spoken with a lucky grin, and wished us safe travels as we headed toward “the big hill,” a steep and twisting climb that trucks often got stuck on and had to be towed down almost weekly.

At some point along the way, we stopped for lunch in the cute town of Damascus that was popular among AT hikers and cyclists. Three children eating ice cream asked all about Petunia and our bikes, and their mom told us that she had taken her family on a five-person bicycle from Kentucky to Alaska by bicycle and had written a book about it! We later found out that they were the Pedouins, “ordinary people on an extraordinary journey of giving and receiving,” and their lovely daughters were enchanted by Petunia and her dog pod and accessories.

They very generously donated to our fundraising efforts for Alzheimer’s research, a kindness that really touched me. And that reminds me to put a little request in at this point and you are sill reading– I’m on a personal quest to raise funds to be donated toward a worthy Alzheimer’s research center, a cause near to my heart, and any amount you can give would be so incredibly appreciated. Our donation page is here on Go Fund Me, and if you can find it in your heart to give a little, it would mean a lot to me.

From Damascus we headed on until we reached a church that was also a free hostel for cyclists, which was an oasis in a sea of overpriced campgrounds. No one was there and it was operated on trust and free will donations. A church youth had built an outdoor cold shower for cyclists as part of his scouts project, and food was available as well as indoor and outdoor lodging.
We ate and did some laundry, and soon another bike tourist from the Netherlands showed up …. and another from Lancaster… and another from Pittsburgh… and another who was also an AT hiker. It was quite a crowd and we had a nice opportunity to trade stories of scary dogs (one bit holes into the pannier of our friend from abroad), compare our rigs and gear, and bemoan the hills and food deserts together. It was a great crew of guys.

We rode a lot more, including over a mountain simply and aptly called “the big A mountain,” and through some gorgeous farmland. We made it to Kentucky and stayed in another great hostel last night in an indoor basketball court, and tonight we’re at a state camp ground. More to share, but sleep is calling so I’ll just show and not tell!