Misfortunes -- opportunities in disguise

50s-low 60s, sunny; 8:30-12:00, 25.9 miles
Another awesome road this morning - at times running beside the creek beneath a canopy of trees, then climbing for a magnificent ride along the ridgelines, with farms carved from the forested hills. Being Saturday morning, the road was virtually traffic-free.
Unfortunately, we didn't plan on a leisurely ride to Roanoke - we wanted to speed there quicker than bikes could take us so we could get the visit to the emergency room over. When I awoke this morning, my mouth told me there was something wrong. A quick glance in the mirror revealed something resembling a blood blister on my gums stretching to my front teeth.
I elected for caution, wanting someone to tell me to tough it out (or to make out my will). Alta Vista had no emergency room, and the EMS people couldn't tell me anything but offer to take me by ambulance for $300. Instead we tried hitch-biking - riding along and sticking our thumbs out when we heard a vehicle approach from behind. Of course people thought we were commenting on the wonderful day, some even returning our 'thumbs up'.
At noon we stopped for a break, reasoning we could hitchhike while eating our snacks. Before I could finish my PowerBar, Charles (Ron) McElheney stopped to ask about our trip. Moments later he had our bikes in the back of his truck, and after a stop at his home, we were gone to Roanoke.
We quickly found that Ron shared our interests: he and his wife Laura had toured on a tandem in years past; they owned flat-water kayaks like Sue and I; they enjoyed the simplicity of camping. For 45 minutes we traded war stories in the ER waiting room, while I waited for my exam. When the nurse took me upstairs at 2:20, I figured our time here was nearly done.
By 3:30 no one had said 'Boo' to me in my ER room. When I tired of standing in the doorway glaring at the nurse ignoring me, I decided to be productive. There was a computer on the shelf, turned on but unused, so I got onto the internet and spent 2o minutes checking our planned bike route for tomorrow.
The doctor finally came in at nearly 4:00, chatting amiably and apologizing for the wait. He grabbed a new hand-held microscope and looked into my mouth, commenting, "Man, that looks cool!" Admitting that it was full of blood, he said it wasn't infected -- just monitor it and let it heal.
Ron now took us back to his home, where we showered and changed. He then took us to Smith Mt. Lake, where we joined he, Laura, and several of their friends for a cookout. More wonderful, friendly people. (Really. Who woulda guessed?) Before dinner, we helped step off the boundaries of a new home the owners planned to build on the lot, admiring the views of the lake and mountains. During dinner, the conversation segued into a hysterical riff filled with metaphors and double entendres that had me laughing until I cried. I'll never think of water pumps and head pressure in the same way again!

A different brand of friendly folk

mostly- to partly-cloudy, lo-mid 60s; 2:20-6:00, 36.3 miles
Here I am, sitting on top of a hill, watching dusk settle over the adjacent mountains and valleys, surrounded by people called Corunna Miel, Bullwinkle, and Happy Feet...
After we treated our wonderful hosts to breakfast, they took us back to their house. Ron and Tim then spent a couple hours tweaking Tim's bike, correcting problems that had slowed him down. They then drove us past Roanoke and over the Great Eastern Divide, sparing us the worst climbs out of Virginia. We can't thank them enough...
We finally got on our bikes in Sinking Creek, perhaps the most awesome of the wonderful back roads we've taken. For 17 miles we rode by a succession of scenes that could only be described as eye candy.
The second half of the trip was again on US460 - no shoulders, but acceptably light traffic. As we cycled through Pearisburg heading for the motels, a car pulled up and the passenger yelled out, "Looking for a place to stay? You just passed the hostel!" He got us turned around, and after stopping four more times for additional directions, we finally found it - a two-story wood shack tucked into the trees behind the Catholic church. No owners present (it must belong to the church), the sign asks only for a donation to keep it running. With electric lights, a small kitchen and bathroom, and bean-bag mattresses for beds, it reminded me of an upscale version of the shelter huts along the Appalachian Trail.
Of course, it WAS an upscale shelter hut along the Appalachian Trail (AT). The hut is only two miles from the AT, and is considered prime lodging by thru-hikers. Most such folks go by trail handles, so I resurrected my name from the walk and introduced myself as Mr. Litter. Tim decided he needed his own moniker, so he chose Gasper, since he was always gasping trying to keep up with me.

The Appalachians have hills!

partly cloudy, 50s to 70s; 8:30-4:10, 67.9 miles
Last night I chatted with Corunna Miel and Jetwash about AT memories. Thinking back to the segments I'd done in 1993, I said, "I remember one thru-hiker I met and spent two days with in New York. He called himself Purple Pilgrim."
Corunna perked up at that name. "I know a Purple Pilgrim!" she said. "I met him in... it was 1992 and 1993. He helped me when I left the trail!" We quickly verified we were talking of the same man. After 13 years -- what a small world!
Yesterday I felt like I'd cheated a bit skipping the 'hardest miles of the trip' crossing the Great Eastern Divide. Not anymore. I'll never know what we may have hit without the McElheney's help, but it couldn't have been more difficult than crossing the mountain coming out of Hinton. A 3 1/2 mile grueling climb, a quick 1 1/2 mile downhill, followed by another gut-busting 2 1/2 mile inching our way up, a 1 mile coast, and another 1/2 mile ascent. I haven't had a climb like that since crossing Rabbit Ears pass in Colorado in 2002, with my old bike. This was the first time I've used the lowest gear on this bike. (In fact, I shifted into low-low seven times during the climbs.)
Knowing I should arrive in Beckley no later than 4:00 to prepare for my library talk, I left Tim to climb the hills at his own pace. I did make it on time (barely), while Tim straggled in before 6:00. The evening was wonderful - they held a potluck at the library before my talk, where I met the staff and volunteers.
After my talk, one couple came forward to ask if I could speak at their schools tomorrow - luckily my schedule allowed it. Afterwards, my contact Gail McCray (who had allowed me to shower beforehand at her place) arranged for us to stay with Dany McMillion. Those wonderful ladies reminded me why I had named West Virginia one of the friendliest states on the walk.
CHARACTER SIGHTING: After finishing breakfast at Hardees, we got our bikes ready as an elderly gent came by to wash the windows. "How you doin'?" he asked.
"Fantastic!" I replied. "How about you?"
"Not as good as you, I guess!"
"That's because you're not biking!"
"Oh, lordy, don't get me near no bike! I'd crash and burn. I went out with my grandson the other day, and he kicked my butt. I kept looking for nails to run over - maybe if I got a flat, he'd take pity on me."
When our chuckles died down, he continued, "Besides, I'm a low-tech guy. When we were cycling, I told him we were lost. He pulled out a hand-held GPS and told me, 'We're not lost! The highway's right over there.' GPS! Heck, I'm still listening to 8-tracks!"

Many miles, little progress

high 60s, partly cloudy; 11:40-3:40, 39.3 miles
The day had a different feel to it, a disjointed rhythm. Danny fixed us a wonderful breakfast, then I went alone to speak at the high school. The talk went fine - as usual with the older kids, they were reticent to ask questions. After the kids took pictures of me with the teacher (Ben Alston) I'd met last night, and with the principal, I returned to Danny's.
After repacking, we followed the bike trail (the only flat passage in Beckley) to the bike store so Tim could change tires and pedals. Rob at Ride-n-Slide proved very helpful, giving Tim free tires, and throwing in a pedal strap to replace one I'd broken. We then returned on the bike path and rode past the high school en route to Oak Hill. Once there, we had to back-track a mile so we could arrange a car rental to explore the area later on. We then pedaled forward to Fayetteville, and had to backtrack another four miles to stay at the motel we'd already passed. Then, as we drove to the New River Gorge, we discovered that our route for tomorrow had closed down as of yesterday for bridge replacement. We would have to return to Oak Hill for an alternate route. (At least the rental car was a pickup truck, so we could drop the bikes there when we returned it.)

Easy day to the capital

~70, partly cloudy; 9:45-3:40, 50.0 miles
Maybe yesterday was my typical 9th day funk, coming a day late. As usual, I bounced back strongly with a great day.
From Oak Hill we headed north on Hwy 61. Again we chose well, and the road traveled through a narrow forested canyon - with only one climb of note, a mile-long hill requiring nothing near the lowest gear. As we approached Charleston, the road ran through urban sprawl, but the flat route served us well.
In Charleston we stayed with Bob and Brenda Wilson, a couple that Valerie Strege had connected me with. Bob whipped us up a wonderful vegetarian dinner, then whisked me off to a Toastmasters meeting. There I met Valerie, whom I had conversed with via email after finding her name on the Toastmasters website. Her group welcomed me, and enjoyed the speech I'd prepared. Valerie then returned me to the Wilsons' home, where we had a stimulating discussion on Affluenza and sustainable lifestyles, and Bob reminisced about his days in the '60s living in a commune.

A day of disasters...

sunny, 60s to over 80?; 8:15/10:15-5:00, 67.4 miles
...thankfully not OUR disasters. The fire trucks and ambulances roared past us, sirens blaring, as we neared Nitro. Then we rounded the bend and saw the huge column of inky black smoke billowing from the tire storehouse, forcing officials to evacuate the town and close the school. Ten miles later, fire crews had closed a lane of traffic, and a cement truck sat in the grass just off the road, its driver-side front wheel and fender sheared off.
Though the temperatures must have hit 80 this afternoon, it was a good day. For the first fifty miles, our two biggest climbs were the bridges over the Kanawha River. We followed the Kanawha to the Ohio River, where we crossed into our fourth state. At one point I decided to see what I could hit in high gear, so I left Tim eating my dust and kept it at 21-23 mph for the three miles between towns.
Two talks - the kids at Bridgeview Elementary in South Charleston enjoyed my visit there. Typically for the younger kids, they had endless questions, some I've heard before (like, "How old are you?") and some I haven't (one girl asked, "What kind of music do you like?"). This evening I talked at the library in Gallipolis to a small but enthusiastic crowd of three. The small audience let me transform it from a lecture into a conversation.
Now I look forward to tomorrow, when I get to ride the road where both the best and the worst moments of the walk occurred -- in fact, where the walk almost came to an early end...

A trip down Memory Lane

up to mid-70s, partly cloudy; 9:50-5:50, 64.5 miles
Today the memories flowed freely, bringing that critical week of the walk back to life. I re-read the Gallipolis-to-Portsmouth chapter of my book to remind myself of those years-ago events, but the view of those places unearthed even more recollections. It was, at times, very powerful.
I began the day as I had so many on the walk, giving an interview to the local paper. From Gallipolis we cycled a beautiful road to Rio Grande, the same highway a mother and daughter from Chillicothe had joined us in picking litter for half-a-day. Today as I crossed a bridge, the view of Bob Evans Farms stopped me cold - the store, the restaurant, the campground were exactly as I remembered. A mile further I recognized another turn.
The memories - and emotions - grew more intense upon leaving Oak Hill. It was here that, thirteen years ago, we gave Tim the keys to Sue's car so he could store it for us in Detroit. Once again with a pack on her back, her broken leg fully healed, Sue set off with me to South Webster, twelve miles distant.
I recognized the highway rest stop where we pumped our own water, where Sue complained of a burning pain in her knee. The crumbling mansion we took a break at -- where Charlie Horner had treated us to cold sodas -- no longer stood, but the house Charlie had been painting still shone with another new coat of paint. I recalled the power substation we took our final break, with Sue near tears from the pain.
Of course I remembered South Webster, the town I soon dubbed 'the friendliest town in the country' - the town where the outpouring of generosity warmed our hearts as we struggled with Sue's injury. However, while the natural landscape stayed much the same, the human landscape had evolved with time. The parsonage where we camped for two nights (and the pastor's wife cooked us dinner) still stood, though the pastor had long since been reassigned elsewhere. Their neighbors who had treated us to another dinner had moved on to Cincinnati; the parishioner who had paid for our hotel room the next night had passed away. A new library had replaced the cramped facility I remembered; the grocers and the cafe had both gone under.
The town still oozed friendliness. As we ate outside the new deli, three times people stopped to ask about our journey. As I prepared to donate two books to the library, a man struck up a conversation, telling me about his time spent on the AT. He ended with a farewell I grown quite fond of in these parts: "Is there anything I can get for you? Is there anything I can do to help?"
At the library I got phone numbers for Charlie Horner (moved to Portsmouth) and Trudy Bostick (who eventually drove us to Detroit - a six-hour trip - so we could reclaim Sue's car). Trudy was out-of-town, but tonight in Portsmouth I dropped in on Charlie. We chatted over tea for ninety minutes, talking about what was and what may be coming. It was a perfect ending to a day when the past loomed large.