Chaoswerks Weblogue:
Entropy briefly contained

So I had intended to write daily about my bicycle trip across the Continental United States 20 years ago this summer. In the process, I realized that I needed some either CMS or Blog software to aid in the production of this endeavor. I once again looked at the various existing solutions, but was unsatisfied with them. I had already defined my needs and ambitions; I wanted a system which would work on my local system and generate static pages for uploading to my hosting space. So I began writing my own (I'm a programming therefor lazy and hubristic). I'm also a full-time engineering student and failed to finish the project before the more pressing issue of my last semester arrived. I plan to continue the retelling, but not over the course of the actual trip; I will however pretend that I did so (my blog, I'm permitted).

The other major problem into which I ran was informational in nature. I did not keep a journal of my trip and misplaced or tossed my receipts from the journey. I did manage to locate almost all of my maps except Kentucky. All of this combined to increase the delay in my postings. As I tried to reconstruct my path, I found that more than a few of the motels and camp grounds I used are gone or maybe just refranchised. Long story short, I have been engaged a large dose of internet search sleuthing trying to dredge up memories of my trip. Slowly, but surely, I have been restoring detail to my narrative, so I have decided to postpone my writing in the interest of creating a better narrative rather than rushing something into print.

I hope that those of you who have followed my story will return occasionally to check my progress, and if you are reading this and want me to finish perhaps send the occasional email prod or tell me in person if you know me. Thank you for your interest and I hope than I've entertained you at least some.

The only thing that really stands out in my mind about this day was getting a flat somewhere out in blue grass country. The road was a two lane blacktop with embankments on either side. When I got the flat, I had to cross the road and climb the embankment to find enough area to work safely. At this time, I was still unloading and removing wheels to fix flats. I had just climbed up and was starting the process of fixing the flat when a pick-up truck left the farm which pasture I was beside. The pick-up passed me and slowed and the couple inside gave me a good look over. I guess they decided that I was harmless enough as they neither stopped nor spoke and soon sped off. But, what makes it stand out in my memory is that as I neared the finish of fixing the flat, I heard these muffled shuffley thuds behind me. When I turned to look, I was shocked to find maybe twenty to thirty cows pushing against the fence staring at me and the ones at the back of the crowd where trying to climb the ones in front to get a better look. I was completely creeped out and vowed from that day forward to never let a cow go uneaten.

The other thing I remember about this day is that sometime around midday, I stopped at a 7-11 to grab a Gatorade (the real stuff not the sugary soft drink it is now), use the toilet, and refill my water bottles. I was the only person in there other than the clerk. As headed to the checkout stand, three boys all around twelve or thirteen in age came into the store and preceded me to the checkout. They wanted chaw (chewing tobacco). Up until recently, they would have gotten their chaw, paid, and left, but Kentucky had decided to start enforcing its age limit on tobacco (at the time 16, like most tobacco states). Now, these youngsters were quite worked up and giving the poor woman working the counter no end of shit because she wouldn't sell them the chaw. The kids were yelling and cussing. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore especially since I wanted to drink my Gatorade and get back on the rode. So I told the little shits to "shut the fuck up and get out". I also told them that it wasn't fair to take out their frustration on the clerk who did not want to lose her job for selling tobacco to minors. They all glared at me and sulked out of the store. The weary clerk thanked me and rang up my purchase. I left.

Late in the afternoon, I started trying to figure out where I would sleep that night. On one of my convenience store Gatorade breaks (I endured on Gatorade and PowerBars. My only meals were breakfast and dinner), I enquired about camping spots and was directed to Kentucky Horse Park outside of Lexington, KY. It being the weekend and it coinciding with some event the campground was full, but luckily for me, they were permitting primitive camping that is allowing tents in ares without pads and no hookups. I didn't need any of those things, so no bother, plus they were permitting access to the showers which is all I cared about.

Again not much about this leg of the trip. Lots of Appalachian riding, up and down. Tomorrow, I should leave the Appalachian Mountains for Kentucky's Blue Grass region. I'm not certain whether I camped or slept in a motel or other lodging in Slade, KY.

I've been in the Appalachian Mountains since the climb from Stuart, VA. I get up and leave Whitesburg, Ky. Traffic is light early and through out the day. The highway I'm using is not heavily travelled. I spend the day climbing up and coasting down. It is difficult to make much westward progress loaded as I am. At some point during the day, as I'm climbing up hill, I am reminded that I'm in coal country. I fail to exit onto the gravel shoulder quickly enough for the coal trucker that is coming up the grade behind me. As the truck passes, the driver releases disel soot from his stack. I ride for a while in the hanging cloud of disel. In the late afternoon, I see a sign for camping near a place called Gay's Creek, KY. I drop down off the highway and find the campground. It's nice and if I remember correctly it was a family owned campground with facilities. It's alongside a stream. I meet a couple close to my age. They are also touring by bicycle, but they are following one of the old Bikecentennial routes. I sleep.

I awaken; the drunken revellers have gone. I watch the sunrise over the silent, still mountain lake. Could anything be better? After breaking camp and loading the bicycle, I head back down to US 19. The road dow is so steep that I have to hold down the levers on both brakes to keep from rocketing down the mountain. By the time I hit the bottom, I can feel the heat from slowing my decent in the brake levers that I'm holding. The day is spent mostly going up hill. In the late afternoon, I cross from Virginia into Kentucky. I've done it, successfully ridden across Virginia into another state. I've covered almost 530 miles, only 3000 or so to go. I ride on until I reach Whitesburg, KY. I find a cheap, clean, seen-better-days motels and sleep. According to the one credit card statement that I've been able to locate, it was called the Suburban Motel. It appears to be gone now.

So, I hang out in the Holiday Inn after breakfast waiting for the bicycle shop to open (The shop was Mountain Sports, Ltd.). Once the shop opens, I hang out in the shop for a few hours while the mechanic diagnoses then fixes my rear wheel. Turns out that the bearings in the rear hub have been ground up and that's why it felt like I was riding up hill even when not. I get back on the road in the early afternoon and head back up US 11 North. Given my recent experience, I'm a bit gun shy about the rear wheel. I start thinking that the bearings are shot again without realizing that I'm climbing ever so slightly up hill.

I see a elderly woman out in her yard and ask her if I might use her phone to call the bicycle shop. She permits me and a while later one of the owners comes out and checks my wheel. There is no problem; he informs me that I'm going imperceptibly up hill. At some point, he asks where I plan on staying the night. I have no idea and tell him so. He says my options are limited out here, but he knows a campsite near a lake and offers to take me there explaining that it is up an extremely steep climb. He drives me up, says good-bye, and I set up camp. At some point after dark, a pick-up truck filled with partiers shows and distrubs the peace for a bit. I think that I'm fortunate that they never noticed me. I sleep. The place is Hidden Valley Lake.

Today is full of typical Appalachian cycling — lots of climbing followed by nice downhills and repeat. I pass through Damascus, VA, where the Appalachian Trail passes into Virginia from Tennessee.

Damascus is the scene of a post high school attempt to do some hiking on the Appalachian Trail with some buddies (Casey Golliher, Ian Frisbee, and Mike Kubovchik). We couldn't understand the accent of the girls working at the desk in the local cop shop, so it took us nearly an hour and a half to find the hostel in town where we could leave the car without fear of loss. Once we got our packs and started walking, it took almost as long to find the actual trail head for the Appalachian Trail section we wanted to hike. I think we hiked less than 5 fives from Damascus before setting up camp. During the night, a tropical depression moved in from central North Carolina; we got drenched. Instead of spending the planned week hiking, we packed up and drove back to Norfolk, VA. That's my Damascus story. Back to the regularly scheduled trip down memory lane.

So like I said lots climbing up and down hilling, then I enter the valley on the other side the mountains I'm riding through. Now that I'm back in relatively flat terrain, I start to notice that it is really difficult to move the bike forward. In the town of Abingdon, VA, I stop at a payphone and consult the Yellow Pages to find a bicycle shop. I suspect that something on my bike is broken; something that I can't see. Of course the only repair shops are down in Bristol, VA. Time to make a 20 miles out of the way detour. Also, it being Sunday and late in the afternoon or earlier in the evening, your pick, and being in the southwestern part of Virginia pretty much guarantees that the shop is closed or closing. Fortunately for me, it is the latter. I'm unable to get in before they close, but I do get useful information such as directions and opening time for the following day. Once I reach Bristol, my options for accommodations are limited by what has become a very apparent problem with my rear wheel. I stop and get a room at the first place I find, a Days Inn which appears to no longer be there but might now be the Holiday Inn and Conference Center, not cheap, but nice enough. I think they were even cool about letting me keep my bike in my room.

Since Stuart, I've been climbing into the Appalachian Mountains. Today, I ride to Grayson Highlands State Park. The ride is pretty much constantly uphill; sometimes the uphill is more obvious. As I'm checking in at the ranger station, I have a nice chat with the rangers. The rangers are impressed that I'm riding across the US and one of them calls me, "brave". It is at this point that I realize that I've gone insane and articulate this revelation as "I'm not brave. I'm having a psychotic episode, and I hope it doesn't end 'til I reach the other side." Everyone laughs.