Day 45: Morehead City to Buxton

April 14, 2004 North Carolina

The morning sky was again cloudy, and the temperature very chilly. The wind was blowing strongly, but fortunately in the right direction for someone bicycling toward the Cedar Island ferry terminal, such as we were.

We followed highway 70, crossing over the bridges on either side of Beaufort. Here the land was very low lying with grass and reed marshes, small forests on dunes, dredged channels between rivers and sounds, and small beachside communities. We saw two other groups of cyclists today. First was a group of four on recumbent bikes, pumping slowly into the wind. Then came a group of about 15 on road bikes accompanied by a sag wagon, again struggling into the almost overwhelming wind. We were whizzing along at 25 mph, going about the same speed as the wind and feeling almost no wind at all. We exchanged waves and greetings on the go, and could only sympathize with their plight.

Another bridge took us to Cedar Island, the entirety of which is a National Wildlife Refuge. Shorebirds and waterfowl were well in evidence, including different types of gulls, pelicans, egrets and herons, ducks and geese and even a few loons.

The clouds were moiling past, but here and there were splotches of blue sky. Even so, the temperature remained very cold throughout the day. We were wearing most of our clothes, and while peddling along with the wind at our backs, we stayed sufficiently warm. But as soon as we stopped we became chilled.

At 10:50 we reached the ferry terminal, having peddled 49 miles. At the ticket booth, the friendly attendant had to think for a while how much to charge us. A bicycle goes across for $2, while a person on foot pays only $1. Two people with only one bicycle, she figured would be $3. And we figured that was quite a good deal for a 2.5 hour ferry ride.

The next ferry was not due to depart for another hour, and fortunately there was an indoor visitor's center where we could get out of the cold wind.

The ferry arrived promptly at ten minutes before noon, but it took the crew quite a while to direct all the auto traffic aboard because they tried to squeeze in as many cars as possible. To get the last car on, they had to move several cars a few inches forward, and several a few inches to either side. We had to wait and board last, and were allocated a tiny space on the quarterdeck. The bike was only inches from the nearest car, and just in case, I lashed the bike to the bulwark.

Fortunately this ferry had some indoor seating, so we gathered up valuables, maps, water bottles, and some of the fruit we had bought previously, and found seating inside. Most of the passengers remained in their vehicles. Because of the cold wind, nobody spent much time outside.

The huge Pamlico Sound is extremely shallow. One of the ferry attendants said it is only about twenty feet deep at the maximum. The water was covered in spray and white caps, and the shoals were a'boil with wind-blown waves. The ferry ride was comfortable and long: two and a quarter hours. Finally we reached Ocracoke Island, and of course we had to wait for all the vehicles to disembark before we could peddle off.

The small town of Ocracoke was geared for summer tourists, with souvenir shops, restaurants, and shops renting surf boards, wind surfers, and bicycles - few if any of which were being rented on a frigid day such as this one.

Our next objective was the Cape Hatteras ferry, fourteen miles distant. Initially we felt a little vulnerable on this narrow strip of not-so-terra firma, with the sound on one side and the open Atlantic on the other - and both behaving cantankerously in the stormy weather. But soon we were peddling gleefully, enjoying the boost of the strong tailwinds. The wind was closely matching our speed, so was not actually pushing us along, but neither was it holding us back.

How thrilling and unique it was to peddle along on this long, narrow island, far from the mainland. On our left was Pamlico Sound, so large that we could not see the mainland to the west. On our right, sometimes visible and sometimes hidden behind high sand dunes, the Atlantic Ocean. Even when we couldn't see the ocean we could hear it. The surf pounded the beach and sent a salty mist into the air. The gale picked up the fine sand from the beach, and sent it swirling across the pavement all around us.

About three miles from the Hatteras Ferry terminal we came to a road block. Apparently there were road crews at work for the next couple of miles. A worker stepped out of his truck and held up his hand for us to stop. He told us we would have to wait here forty five minutes. We could hardly believe it. We made it clear that the wind was much too cold to wait here that long, and to our good fortune he begrudgingly let us go.

We cycled on, peaking the speedometer at thirty mph. Soon we wheeled up to the ferry dock, and had to wait only a few minutes for the last few cars to load, before we were directed to board. This ferry ride was forty minutes long, and free of charge.

Next to us was a carload of friendly tourists. They rolled down a window and asked about our trip. They said they had come from Virginia to escape the cold weather. We all chuckled at that. They had ridden on the first ferry and seen us there, and said they were surprised to see us on this one also. To which we replied, thanks to the tailwinds.

Here again most of the passengers remained in their cars, but we went inside the small inside lounge to get out of the cold wind.

Hattaras was even more touristy than Ocracoke, and this town showed a lot more hurricane damage, from the storm eight months earlier. There were piles of rubble all along the roads, and many buildings were under various stages of repair.

We peddled through Frisco, with its rustic art shops. The day was growing late and some very dark and ominous clouds were plowing across the sky behind us. So at 4:30 pm in the next town, Buxton, we called it quits for the day

Day's mileage: 76

Day 46: Buxton to Rodanthe

April 15, 2004 North Carolina

By now we had grown accustomed to peddling in cold and gusty conditions beneath an overcast sky. This morning was no different, except for the direction of the wind. During the night it had swung around, and was now blowing out of the north. We set off at 7:30 am, and hunkered down against the cold headwinds, which were blowing a steady 25 miles per hour and slowing our best speed to around 10.

The first hour went by without much change in the conditions. We cycled on the left side of the two-lane road in order to take the slight advantage of the wind block that the vegetation alongside the road provided. But the farther north we pushed, the stronger the wind and colder the temperature. Finally we came to the three small communities, Salvo, Waves, and Rodanthe. We peddled along the road, looking for a convenience store where we could get a cup of hot chocolate and sit indoors out of the cold. Even after an hour inside we still felt chilled. Outside, the wind was now gusting to 30 mph. In a local paper we read a story about kite surfing, where the writer advised all but the most experienced to be wary of the Cape's notorious April winds. Apparently today's winds were nothing unusual, although the low temperatures probably were. At any rate we decided to find a motel and spend the rest of the day ensconced within a warm and quiet room.

Later in the afternoon the cloud cover moved out to sea, but even with the sunshine the air remained very cold. We bundled in all our clothes, what few we had, and walked along the beach and out onto the Hatteras Pier. On the beach we found numerous skate cases, which are the egg sacks of the skate, which is a sea creature resembling a sting ray. In a fishing shop at the head of the pier we asked about the skates. The fellow told us that they are caught in nets, and their "wings" cut into small, round circles, using a machine that works like a cookie cutter. These are served in seafood restaurants as "scallops." The difference is that the imitations are perfectly round, and the meat is striated horizontally rather than radially.

Day's mileage: 26

Day 47: Rodanthe to Plymouth

April 16, 2004 North Carolina

A glorious blue sky greeted us, along with a cold north wind. Fortunately the wind strength had diminished to about half, down from 30 mph to 15. We set off at 7:30 am bundled once again in all of our cycling clothing. The going was much less arduous, but still fairly slow into the headwinds, and decidedly chilly. We made our way to the north end of Pea Island, which is a National Wildlife Refuge. Along the way we saw lots of Canada geese, mallard ducks, herons and egrets, and rabbits, some curlews, an avocet, a couple of killdeer and sandpipers. And for road kill we saw numerous opossums, a fox and a deer, and a few raccoons. It seemed ironic that this variety of wildlife would be here on this narrow strip of sandy land. But growing on the sand is a lot of briar-type vegetation and some stunted forests of pine and hardwoods. And for most of the way the marsh lands had been left in their natural state for the migratory birds.

The bridge over Oregon Inlet was long but high only in one area. From the bridge we had good views of the Bodie Island Lighthouse, the sound, and the Atlantic ocean. Eventually we reached Whalebone Junction, and here we made a minor change in plans. Rather than continue bucking headwinds another eight miles to Nags Head and Kill Devil Hills, both of which were reputed to be highly developed and very touristy, we decided to turn west onto highway 64 and cross Roanoke Sound. This meant we would miss the Wright Brothers memorial, where these two famous bicycle mechanics had developed the first powered flight. But we had achieved our primary objective, which was to tour the wild areas of the Outer Banks. And this was as far east as we could go in North Carolina. So another major milesone in our summer's journey: Westward ho!

Another long bridge took us across Croatan Sound to a large peninsula and another expansive wildlife refuge called Alligator River. This was very pleasant going. The traffic was fairly light, our speed had nearly doubled since turning away from the north wind and heading west, and the sun was finally beginning to warm the day. We felt almost like we had just returned from the Arctic, and were starting to shake the cold that seemed to have chilled us to the core. Along highway 64 through most of the wildlife refuge was a dark and stagnant channel of water which was home to hundreds and thousands of turtles. From big, 14" dinner plate size, to babies that would have fit six in a teacup, the turtles had climbed onto logs or stumps or clumps of grass that protruded from the water. With their necks stretched out, heads lifted high, feet splayed out, they were enjoying a midday sun bath. How we enjoyed seeing them. They were very wary, and as we cycled past, some of them would quickly scurry into the safety of the dark water. Curiously, along the road were a few signs stating that it was unlawful to feed the bears.

Yet another long bridge took us across the very wide Alligator River, which is actually an arm of Albemarle Sound. As the afternoon wore on, traffic along highway 64 increased slowly but surely, and unfortunately for us, and the motorists, the highway had little or no shoulder. Yet to our very good fortune the drivers were extraordinary courteous. Without exception they pulled away towards the other lane, or completely into it, as they went by us. Or where there was opposing traffic, they slowed their speed to match ours, and waited until it was safe to go around us. This was true even with the large trucks, including about two dozen logging trucks. To see a logging truck slow to a bicycle's speed and wait to go around, this is almost unheard of. These drivers really made our day.

Reaching the outskirts of Plymouth, we stopped at a grocery store, and while Jenny went in to buy salads and fruit for dinner, I sat outside with the bike. A fellow happened along, and asked whether our bike was a Santana. I told him that he was the first person on our trip to recognize the brand name, and I asked how he knew. He said that he owned one also. And by the way, in this narrative I normally omit the many conversations with friendly people we have met all along the way, for the simple reason of brevity and lack of writing time. But these people are a big part of what makes such a trip so interesting.

Day's mileage:102

Day 48: Plymouth to Roanoke Rapids

April 17, 2004 North Carolina

We set off at 7:15 am into a gloriously sunny day. A light wind was blowing out of the southwest, but not strong enough to slow us much. We followed highway 64 westward. The Saturday morning traffic was very light, and the road had been widened to 4 lanes with an 18 inch shoulder, so we had a very pleasant ride through the rural woodlands of eastern North Carolina.

In Williamston we left highway 64 in order to take a more northwesterly route, following the 125/903 across rolling terrain to Scotland Neck and then Halifax. This area was even more rural. Along the way we passed by tree farms, fields being disked for a new planting of peanuts, fields of cotton previously harvested, and a few fields of grain. We peddled past light industrial areas: peanut processing plants and warehouses, yarn and fiber manufacturing plants, lumberyards, and highway maintenance yards. We cycled past cows and horses grazing in small pastures. And scattered amongst all this were residences: everything from rundown single wide mobile homes with weeds in the front yard and rusty cars piled out back, to the expansive antebellum-style mini mansions with their immaculate gardens and grounds. We were indeed seeing an interesting slice of rural North Carolina.

Most houses had lawns, and these ranged from small front yards to twenty acre plantations, and nearly all of them were freshly mowed. Many times we passed by someone out mowing their lawn, and because most lawns were extremely large, most people used sit-on tractor type mowers. Perhaps because the day was a Saturday, but lawn mowing seemed to be the local enterprise.

At one point we cycled past a Forest Service Demonstration Plantation, with a small sampling of trees with signs identifying each type. There were two different varieties of Loblolly Pines, along with Longleaf, Virginia and White Pine. There was Sweet Gum, Sycamore, Bald Cypress, Ash, Black Walnut, Yellow Popular, Cedar, Saw Tooth Oak, Black Locust, Autumn Olive, and a few others.

Finally we reached Interstate 95 and at the exit/on-ramp we stopped at a gas station with a convenience store and fast food restaurant. Except for a couple of small, local-hangout tobacco shops, this was the first modern store we had seen in nearly fifty miles, and we were in need of water and refreshments. So we sat inside the busy store and refueled. People were there practically in droves, perhaps because of the huge Roanoke Rapids Lake just twenty miles away. After having been out in the sticks all day, this sudden rush of humanity was a little bewildering.

In order to make a few fast miles toward the town of Roanoke Rapids, we decided to cycle on the Interstate. This worked extremely well, mainly because of a very wide and smooth shoulder. However, we had gone about three miles when a patrol car pulled behind us with flashing lights and siren. We pulled off the shoulder and the officer pulled along side us, rolled down his window and informed us politely but sternly that riding a bicycle on the interstate is not legal, according to federal regulations. He said it was very dangerous. We told him we were only going to the second exit, a few more miles ahead, but he said that we must exit at the first one, a quarter mile ahead. And he was kind enough to give us directions on how to proceed into town from the first exit.

So we pulled off and perhaps that was a good thing, for here was a nice motel, quiet and away from the usual din and congestion of a busy interstate cross street with all its traffic and clutter of fast food restaurants. We stopped early, 3:15 pm, still feeling a bit fatigued from the last several days of harsh weather.

Day's mileage: 83, Trip Total thus far: 3,200

Day 49: Roanoke Rapids to South Boston

April 18, 2004 Virginia

Another sunny day with mild headwinds. We set off at 7:45 am, peddled into the town of Roanoke Rapids, then turned west onto highway 158. Like the 2-lane roads we had cycled yesterday, this road had an 18-inch shoulder, and took us through more rolling woodlands. We crossed over Interstate 85, then followed a much narrower two lane road northward to the Virginia border. We had been in North Carolina nearly a week, and Virginia is our 11th state visited.

For several miles we were not totally convinced we were on the correct road because it was not signed, and the farther we went, the narrower the road. It was heading in generally the right direction, so we kept going. We passed by small homesteads, but most of the land was either forests or cleared land for agriculture or grazing. When we came to the junction of road 712 and 714, we found ourselves on one of our maps. These little back roads went every which way but straight, and followed every dip and rise, as the land was gradually becoming more hilly. But the major land feature that we were negotiating around was the huge Kerr Reservoir, or Buggs Island Lake. This was a reservoir with a labyrinth of arms and inlets and peninsulas. It was also a very popular bass fishing lake, and the locals were out on this beautiful weekend, fishing from their outboard boats.

Finally we reached the town of Boydton where we turned west onto Highway 58. It felt good to going west again, on a wide 4 lane, divided road with a smooth surface. The only drawback was that in a couple of miles the shoulder suddenly went from wide to zilch. The afternoon temperature was in the high 80s, and the sun felt quite intense. And as we approach the Appalachian mountains, the country was becoming very hilly, with the road continually climbing and descending. Sunday afternoon traffic was beginning to seem a bit hazardous, mainly because some of the drivers returning home with their fishing boats were driving erratically, as if intoxicated. So in South Boston we stopped for the day.

Day's mileage: 96

Day 50: South Boston to Stuart

April 19, 2004 Virginia

The forecast was for another hot day, and the morning was already warm. Once again this part of highway 58 had no shoulder and a fair amount of traffic, so I had to keep a constant watch in my rear-view mirror for any vehicle that did not pull over. A couple of them did not, and each time prompted me to steer quickly off the highway and safely onto the gravel. This worked very well, except for one time where we were approaching a mini-mart with the intent of taking a rest, and for a few moments I was looking at the mini-mart rather than the traffic behind, when suddenly a big semi whizzed past, seemingly inches away. It was a good lesson about not letting a distraction make me lose focus.

We stayed on highway 58 through Danville, where again the road had no shoulders, and was hilly and very winding. Here the traffic was congested, and the drivers seemed very impatient.

All day we worked hard, climbing one hill after the next. Most hills were steep, and we spent a lot of time in the bike's lowest of 21 gears. But with each hill climbed, the road only lead down the other side. Sometimes I could let the bike coast down these hills, and often the speedometer indicated 30+ mph. But more often I had to brake on the descents because of the oncoming traffic. In the event that I needed to pull quickly off the highway, I would need to be going reasonably slowly.

On the steep up hills our speed was usually between 5 and 7 mph, and at this speed we could see every weed and wildflower we cycled past. Also we often caught glimpses of small rodents as they scurried to safety. Once we saw a black snake, and another time we watched a ground hog. Throughout the day we of course saw several road-kill deer and opossums.

The undulating land was beautiful, with stands of very tall oaks, sycamores, elms, and other hardwods. Even the pines were tall and stately. It appeared that spring was late in coming to this area, as some of the deciduous trees were only now starting to show their pale green leaf buds. We passed by numerous tree farms, but in a few places the land had been left in its natural state. A cheerful chorus of bird song greeted us every time we passed by these areas.

Every 15 miles or so, we stopped to rest our legs, drink water and eat some food. These stops were usually at gas station convenience stores, and although it was a relief to get off the bicycle seat, and to wipe the sweat from our faces, the rest stops were not as restful as they could have been. Usually the only place to sit down was on the concrete in front of the stores, where customers constantly came and went.

At the next big town, Martinsville, we were starting to flag, because of the hills, the heat and the traffic. We talked about stopping for the day, but decided to continue another 25 miles to the next town of size. Truly we had become spoiled with the flat coastal terrain. And now we had more mountainous terrain ahead: the Blue Ridge mountains, visible on the horizon, and beyond that the Appalachian mountains.

At 5 pm we reached Stuart and found their one and only motel. It had been a long day and we were definitely ready to get off the bike.

Day's mileage: 90

Day 51: Stuart to New River

April 20, 2004 Virginia

A beautiful morning greeted us, a bit cooler than the previous days, for which we were grateful. We set off at 7:30 am and immediately began grinding up the first hill. Not far out of Stuart, highway 58 narrowed to two lanes, again with no shoulder.

Once again the terrain was quite hilly, and of course so was the road. After each steep climb was another steep descent. But as we started up one particular hill, we noticed that all the trucks coming down the road, the opposite way, smelled very strongly of scorched brakes. By this we knew that this particular hill would be very steep and very long. As indeed it proved to be. As we labored in low gear, sweat dripped down our faces and drenched our shirts. By now there was a fair amount of traffic, and much of it was trucks, from delivery trucks and dump trucks to plenty of big semis. Oddly, all the uphill traffic behaved as though in some kind of race. Peddle to the metal seemed to be the locals' method of dealing with this hill.

But the country itself was extremely pretty. Sunlight streamed through the trees and the new leaves just starting to come out seemed to glow in the golden backlight. Small creatures scuffled in the thick layer of last autumn's leaf litter: squirrels, mice, voles, and small birds. These woods, and the accompanying woodsy odors, beckoned us to come explore.

Many of the slopes had been logged, the fast-growing pines being the prime target. Left behind were some broadleaf trees along with the flowering dogwood, in full bloom, and another tree loaded with pink blossoms. Although void of the pines, these slopes were still very colorful and pretty.

It took us two hours to reach the first high point, at a place called Lovers Leap. The slope below fell away steeply from the road, and beyond, to the east, the view of rolling hills far below extended away for endless miles. We peered directly over the edge and were surprised to find what looked like the local's unofficial trash dump.

For the next several miles the road climbed and descended again and again, like an oversized roller coaster. At one point was an elevation sign reading 3,000 feet. We would peddle along, grinding very slowly up one hill, crest the top, I would gear up in anticipation of the next downhill, and we would fly down the backside, curving around one hill and then another going 35 or 40 miles an hour. Our highest run was 42. Once, at about 40 mph I had a painful "head-on" collision with a very large flying insect, something along the lines of a bumble bee. On another run I fortunately missed a squirrel trying to cross the road. It was all good fun, but sometimes things like this reminded me to get back on the brakes. And sometimes so did the traffic.

We crossed under the Blue Ridge Parkway and tackled another series of climbs and descents all the way to Hillsville. There we took a lunch break at a restaurant. Studying our maps we decided to leave highway 58, opting instead for what we hoped would be a less strenuous route. With the type of maps we were using - ordinary highway type maps - we could not determine ahead of time how strenuous the route would be. We set off again and turned north onto highway 52, and were glad to find that this road led down out of the Blue Ridge mountains. It was mostly downhill, although there were still a few stiff climbs, but nothing like what we had been doing all morning.

We crossed the very wide and full New River, then paralleled it for about a mile. The sky was filling with cumulus to the northwest, and before long they started to overdevelop, growing dark and ominous, and foreboding of rain. We reached a small town and stopped at a grocery store for a long-overdue rest, but another look at the sky prompted us back onto the bike in an effort to reach the next major town, still 10 miles distant. In a couple miles we crested a hill and before us was busy Interstate 81. Here we were surprised to find a major agglomeration of motels, gas stations and fast foods joints. So here we decided to stop for the day, mainly because we were tired from the day's strenuous exertions.

Since it was still early afternoon, Jenny bought a can of WD-40, and cleaned and oiled the bike. This job was long overdue, even though yesterday we had stopped at a car wash and sprayed the bike down, washing the residual salt and sand from our coastal days. But the chain and sprockets and dérailleur were extremely gritty and greasy, and the gear-changing had become stiff and sluggish. Before long the sky let loose with a deluge, and Jenny had to relocate her work to the shelter of a large awning.

Day's mileage: 60

Day 52: New River to Wytheville

April 21, 2004 Virginia

More rain had fallen in the night, and the morning scenery was hidden in thick fog. We decided not to risk the traffic in such conditions, where we would be much less visible. But by 10:30 the fog had lifted so we set off.

Going down the first hill I discovered we had no rear brakes. Perhaps a little oil splatter from the cleaning operation had found its way onto the disk. So we stopped at a mini-mart and bought a bottle of alcohol, and using this and several napkins we cleaned the disk, and also attempted to clean the pads without actually removing them. This restored the braking power to only 30 percent, but that was enough to get us to the next town, 8 miles distant.

In the downtown area of Wytheville we chanced upon a bike shop, so went in to buy a new set of tires. Our rear tire had lost most of its tread, and the front one had lost some but was also in the advanced stages of dry rot. The shop owner, Ian, told us that he no longer stocked the Continental brand of tires because in the last few years the quality had degraded. Instead he sold us a pair of Specialized Armadillos. Also we bought new tubes because on inspection the old ones were shot.

I mentioned the oil contamination on our disk brake, and Ian showed us how to remove the pads for sanding and cleaning. He was friendly and seemed quite knowledgeable, and the more he inspected our bike the more wear-related problems he found. He told us the rear hub was extremely worn, the rear chain was stretched, and so forth. With something like 4,000 miles on the bike, admittedly it was time for some work. So in the end we agreed to a complete overhaul, meaning that we were grounded in Wytheville for the day.

Walking a couple of miles to a motel, gear bags in hand, felt very strange because this was the first time in nearly two months that we had been without the bike. In fact we talked about how it felt almost like defeat, but we had to agree that better here with the bike shop than out in the middle of nowhere with some mechanical problem related to neglected maintenance. But the comical part was that while walking alongside the road, where there was no sidewalk, Jenny instinctually walked directly behind me, as though on the bike, and I kept trying to look at the oncoming traffic through my rear-view mirror (attached to my eye glasses).

Day 53: Wytheville to Abingdon

April 22, 2004 Virginia

We had arranged to meet Ian at his shop at 8 am this morning. So we gathered our bags and walked back into town 2 miles and arrived at the shop to find him hard at work on our bike. He said he had worked until 11:00 last night, and had run into a few problems with the rear hub. He said he had resumed work at 6:00 this morning. But he still had much to do.

So it wasn't until 10:45 am that he finally finished. Altogether he had worked 8 hours, and here is a list of what he did: Installed new tires & tubes, new chains front and rear, new derailleur cables and housings & adjust front and rear derailleurs, new front brake cable and housing, 3 new gears in rear, rebuilt both hubs, (did not replace bottom brackets because he had none), dismantled headset and cleaned and repacked bearings & races, removed and lubed both seat tubes, sanded & cleaned contaminated disk brake pads, trued rear wheel (front wheel didn't need it) (front brake pads were fine), and wax lubed chains, sprockets and derailleurs. During the time I was there, Ian very patiently explained his work in progress, and as a result I learned a great deal about maintaining this particular bike.

We also bought a spare rear view mirror for me. I rely on this mirror so much that I wanted a spare one in case anything happens to my original one. We also bought more lube, since we were completely out.

11:00 am we set off along highway 11 and followed it southwest, paralleling Interstate 81. The terrain was hilly, but not as steep as a few days ago. This followed the Middle Fork of the Holston River, so we were generally - averaging out the hills - going downhill. The countryside was green and lush, and much land had been cleared for cattle. We cycled through small communities, and past scattered houses dotting the hillsides.

Near the town of Atkins we crossed the Appalachian Trail, where it emerged from the brushy forest. We recognized the gas station (that still offered showers to hikers and truck drivers for $5.00), the adjacent motel, and the small creek feeding into the Holston River. We talked with a couple bedraggled AT hikers sitting on a bench by the gas station. The fellow introduced himself as "gear guy" and said that the trail was much tougher than he and his girlfriend had imagined. To us the irony was obvious. Lots of gear equals lots of work carrying it. As did the heavy boots they were both wearing. Still, we enjoyed talking with them, as it brought back memories of own AT hike eleven years previously. We had enjoyed that hike tremendously, but also we were enjoying this trip, especially for the freedom to choose our own route.

We cycled into the afternoon, dodging the occasional rain shower and getting soaked only a few times. Here again, one of the local pastimes seemed to be the mowing of huge lawns. The lawns and gardens were very pretty, and we admired a variety of blossoming trees, including one gorgeous tulip tree in full bloom.

Where the road led through wooded areas, there were dozens of woodchuck burrows in the road cut banks, and every now and then one of the chunky creatures scurried about. As did a number of squirrels.

Abingdon is reputedly one of the oldest towns in Virginia, first settled in the 1760's. We peddled through it at the height of late afternoon traffic when the populace was returning home from work. The drivers were all in a rush and many squeezed past us, but still everyone showed us courtesy, and not a single one tried to run us off the road. We stopped at the south end of town at 5:00 pm.

Day's mileage: 60

Day 54: Abingdon to Rogersville

April 23, 2004 Tennessee

The sky was partly cloudy when we set off at 7:30 am. We continued following Highway 11 southwestward, admiring the lush growth, not just along the roadway, but also on the distant hillsides. The road managed to avoid much of the climbing and descending even though the terrain was quite rolling.

At the southwest side of the large town of Bristol, Virginia, we followed a different Highway 11W and soon came to a sign welcoming us into Tennessee. This route had a very wide and smooth shoulder, and to our surprise it was signed as a bicycle route. At one of our rest stops, a fellow stopped to talk, and said he thought this bike route went all the way across the state to Memphis. Because of this wide shoulder we decided to stay on this route for a ways, even though it would take us southwest when we wanted to go northwest.

The sky was very dark ahead so we stowed our rain jackets at the ready. We cycled through Kingsport with just a few raindrops, but in the next small town, Mount Carmel, the sky became extremely black and distant thunder was rumbling. Suddenly I had a prompting to seek shelter immediately, so we turned into the closest parking lot at a fast food restaurant, found a place to park the bike where it wouldn't get soaked, then went inside the restaurant. Within a couple minutes the deluge began.

For over an hour the rain fell heavily. I sat working at my computer, while Jenny studied her maps. The restaurant's air conditioning was very chilling, however, and we were glad to finally get back outside. The highway was wet, and the traffic whizzed by in clouds of flying spray. But at least it wasn't raining any more, and it wasn't cold.

We climbed and descended several long hills. They were not steep, but they were long, and to make our job more difficult we had headwinds. But still the going was pleasant, especially since the recent rain had left the land so green and wonderfully fragrant. One tree in particular catches our attention; it has no leaves yet, but it does have large, trumpet-like lavender-colored blossoms. We passed by dozens of these today, and they are very fragrant. The old seed pods still hang from the branches along with the new flowers. These seed pods are about the size of small walnuts, but with smooth outer shells, and they hang in clumps from stems.

These forests are almost entirely deciduous trees, mostly maple, it seems. The trees are very tall and the forests cover nearly 80 percent of the land. We still see cardinals, and today we saw several eastern blue jays. We also saw several woodchucks. Each time one sees us it runs for its burrow.

This four lane highway had a wide shoulder, but the shoulder was covered in debris which made my job of steering taxing. And the traffic was high speed and frenetic. This was a Friday afternoon; and the later in the day, the more intense the traffic. By the time we reached Rogersville the traffic had become so intense that we decided to stop for the day.

Day's mileage: 69