Transcontinentalitis, Days 11 - 13 (Cookeville, TN to west of Waverly, TN)

Day 11: Cookeville, TN to Nashville (76.0 miles, 790.6 total, 35.9 mph max)


I saw a hawk sitting on a fence on the right side of the road. The land dropped very steeply below the fence. When I came up to him, he hopped up, took two flaps and soared into the valley. It was graceful and really impressed me.

Yesterday we were riding by some meadows and we saw three horses running and playing. The wind was blowing. It was beautiful; straight out of Little House on the Prairie. 
We made it to Nashville, country music city, USA. A big tourist trap; fun, though. We're taking tomorrow off.We deserve it.

Some beers tonight, bike shop tomorrow, country music shows, etc. I hope to catch up on some writing tomorrow.



Day 12: Day off in Nashville, TN


I can't believe it, but I had a blast today listening to country music. I think I might even like it. We saw the Opryland Hotel; I know where to go for the perfect date. The conservatory was wonderful. When I get home I want to go to Phipp's (the local conservatory in Pittsburgh) and check it out. 

I'm glad we took off and I feel rested. We ought to get far tomorrow.

We met a man named Lowell. Single guy, quit his job and went camping at Nashville. We went to see Vince Cordell and his Dancing Waters (I have no idea what this is, nor do I have any recollection of it. In fact, I'm not sure I'm spelling it correctly because my handwriting is difficult to read) with Lowell. He drove. So, we even got to ride in Lowell's pickup. My stay in the south is complete.

At the Nashville KOA: Dave something, I don't know. A great show with our new friend. We're becoming friends but I'll never see him again in my life. Weird. (I don't actually remember Lowell at all, but for some reason I think he was living at the KOA Campground in Nashville)
 
Day 13: Nashville to west of Waverly, TN (90.5 miles, 881.0 total, 36.4 mph max)


Whew -- what a day. At least it ended good. Sort of. This is how it went: Woke up and took off about 8. By the time we were through Nashville -- and Nashville is very cool -- I got a foreign object puncture. BOOM! Psssssss. . . There was an inch gap in the sidewall. So, athletic tape and crossed fingers should do the trick. Right! That gets us to Dickson, TN.

Some kid pushing buggies at the Dickson Wal-Mart said to go to the bike shop that turned out to be out of business last year. So, we hope it will make it to the next shop - Jackson: 120 miles. 

Just then, I noticed Chris's bike is making noise. We check it out and the tire has a slight bubble and is rubbing on the brake shaft washer. It's already worn a hole through! More athletic tape and get rid of the the washer. Double crossed fingers.

Too more random flats (obvious why).

We made it to Waverly. No bike shop.

I tried a 27-inch Wal-mart tire, but it didn't work and we returned it. (Our bikes, and all road bikes purchased at bike shops come in metric sizes; the parts Wal-mart carries won't work for most parts). Allright. Let's pray like crazy and hope to make it to Jackson, which is now 100 miles away. Dinner at KFC Buffet. Good deal. Now we're looking for a place to camp.

Everything's going bad today. Then, out of the blue, we're at a shopping center parking lot patching our tubes and a strange woman gives us each an ice cold pop (soda). Ok, things may be a little better. Off to find camp. 

I say pull over now, Chris says keep going . . and going . . and going. Now we're about to cross the Tennessee River and, Campground! Right on the banks. Everything's ok until morning. But we need to make it to Jackson and tomorrow is Sunday. Monday is Memorial Day. 

Things could get sticky again. I'll hope for the best.

This is more like the experience I remember. I don't feel the need to supplement this much because it flows in the way the trip felt: cultural experiences, personal connections, and natural beauty meshed with the intensity and spontaneity of traveling by bicycle.

Then again, "Dinner at KFC buffet. Good deal," isn't the most exciting way to articulate the experience I was having . . . who writes this stuff??

Transcontinentalitis, Days 8 - 10 (Bristol, VA/TN to Cookeville, TN)

Day 8: Bristol, V/TN to Moorseburg, TN (69.8 miles, 533.4 total, 34.9 mph max, 15.8 mph avg)

Very hot today. We're finally in Tennessee. Two broken spokes on Chris's bike. We'll be in Knoxville tomorrow and will go to a bike shop to get our rear wheels straightened out.

I'm not sure if I'm enjoying myself or not.

We met a man called Mr. Fuzz. He is a DJ for a Rogersville radio station. Very nice to talk to and was interested in our trip.

I think I'm homesick and it's the worst while riding. Then, when we stop or when we're camping, I'm fine. I wish I could call a friend.

We're at the Cherokee Lake Campground and there's an article on the wall of the office about a man who did the same trip, except west - east and stayed here. We're just beginning. He was almost done. I'm glad we're ending in California.


Day 9: Moorseburg, TN to Rockwood, TN (104.5 miles, 637.9 total, 33.6 mph max)

We maxed out for distance today, tra la la. Went through Knoxville. Nice place, except for the Greenlea Bike Shop. (I don't remember why I didn't care for the shop).

We got to Knoxville very quickly and then it was like this (a drawing of a steep ascent). Hills and more hills.

We finally got to the Caney Creek Campground in Rockwood. Hillbillies with porches 2x the size of their campers, a lot of them year-round tenants.

It went up to 90 today, a real scorcher. My knee is a lot better, surprisingly, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable.

Chris and I got into it in the middle of downtown Knoxville today, but I think we're both a lot better for it. Funny how things work that way.

Tomorrow - the Cumberland Plateau. I keep hearing about it from locals. 

Day 10: Rockwood, TN to Cookeville, TN (76.7 miles, 714.6 total, 36.8 mph max)

Today we went up and down the Cumberland Plateau. Going down was fun, but I wrecked today. Chris jammed on his brakes because of a dog and I smashed right into him. We were going around 20 - 25 mph so I hit the gravel shoulder hard but it resulted in a only a few cuts and scrapes.

We ate dinner at the Pizza Hut in Cookeville and the waitress seemed to like us. Free salad bar and other food. I was working on a yard to camp in but figured I'd be pushing it.

Tomorrow we'll make it to Nashville, but it'll take about 90 miles. We can do it. 
I eat as much as possible now, and even though I get very full, within an hour I'm hungry again. I can't eat enough. I figure with the way we're going we'll run out of money somewhere in NM or NV. I hope we have some sympathetic parents.

Yesterday we went off the course of the book. We'll rejoin it in Memphis. It looks like we made the right choice because it's about 100 miles shorter and we're seeing beautiful places.

The Cumberland Plateau was great. We're meeting some kind of a variety of people out here -- hillbillies and cityfolk. The accents are becoming easier to understand as we get west and as we close in on the bigger cities. I want to take photographs of things, but decide not to. I'm not sure why.

I'm not sure why people are amazed with our trip, but nobody has really been willing to help us other than the man in the Knoxville Visitor's Center and the waitress tonight. I'm not sure the lady at the pool even wants to. I hope that changes.

We got to change our clocks today.

By week two we'd gotten into the zone. Virginia was behind us and the miles were flying past much easier because of our conditioning as well as the diminishing gradient. However, countering the relative comfort, the heat kicked in. Because of this the word Tennessee still sounds dreadfully hot to me, even more so than Florida or Mexico or Swaziland. (Is Swaziland even hot?)

I don't even remember crashing, so apparently it wasn't all that bad. When I was in front of Chris we'd stay together; he was faster than me and would get away if in front. But when I was in the back I had to draft in order to keep up. That means I was following very closely, increasing the risk factor.

Fortunately I don't recall being homesick while on the trip, but apparently I was. I had a girlfriend, who was probably not worth missing at the time, but more so I was head over heels with the job I typically had each summer at a summer camp. Now that I look back on it, I was on a life-changing journey, and I should have realized it at the time. Ironically, the maturity that I needed to fully appreciate the trip was one of the greatest rewards that I'd ultimately gain because of it. They say that hindsight is 20/20.

I also have since forgotten about the stress in knowing that Chris would be running out of money at some point. We'd both contributed equal shares into a bank account and were using a debit card as we traveled. I don't remember how much, but I believe it was around $1000 each. So, we were both anticipating hitting up parents for loans. Two things contributed to the expense: the amount of food we were eating and using campgrounds instead of poaching. Unfortunately poaching isn't easy when you're restricted to paved roads.

"We got to change our clocks today?" Seriously? Who gives a shit? Who's writing this crap?

Transcontinentalitis, Photos Archive I

Some shots from the Southeastern US.

The trip was initially delayed because when we started mounting the racks to Chris's bike we noticed a crack in the frame. In one of the most loyal moves in a 25+ year friendship, my friend Jeremy drove a new frame from Kraynick's world famous bike shop in Pittsburgh all the way to DC. If I remember correctly, it only set us back 50 bucks (one of the reasons it's world famous). We quickly swapped frames and it only delayed our start by a couple of days.

Didn't everybody have purple Umbros in 1995? Well, only mine were bleached.

At the VA/TN border, in Bristol. Week one completed.

This is a great shot of what the ride was like. We spent nearly the entire trip on two-lane country roads, and stocked up at places like this general store. For the most part, our only exposure to locals was at places like this, which provides a very interesting perspective.

Chris's bike is shown fully loaded down in the foreground, mine is in the shadow under the porch. I have no idea where this was taken, but my guess is somewhere in VA or TN. On the entire trip, we had only one issue with somebody going through our stuff, and it was in California. I don't believe they stole anything.

One of the more interesting campsites.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 5 - 7 (Catawba, VA to Bristol, VA)

Day 5: Catawba, VA to Max Meadows, VA (87.5 miles, 398.3 total, 37.5 mph max)

Without a doubt the most challenging day in years. I thought I was going to fall over at times. The hills were unbearable and I felt sick all day.We stopped a few times and I was asleep within a few minutes. We made it to the Groves' (my brother-in-law's relatives) eventually. Thank God for the Groves. I never thought I'd be so happy to see total strangers. We're taking tomorrow off; it's necessary. 
I can't wait to get out of VA. I hate mountains.

Day 6: Day off in Max Meadows, VA

Stayed at the Groves; very nice people and interesting conversation. Mr. Grove has a great accent and is fun to listen to.

Bike maintenance today; we ought to be okay for a while. 
I needed to rest. I slept twelve hours last night and took a two-and-a-half hour nap around 1 o'clock. 
Great homemade food. I enjoyed myself and the Groves made us able to continue. If not for them, I think we would have burned out.


Day 7: Max Meadows, VA to Bristol, VA (75.3 miles, 463.6 total, 36.4 mph max)


Today was really no sweat. We're finally out of Virginia! 
We're about ten miles from the Tennessee border, a half mile North of Bristol, VA at the Sugar Hollow Campground. Shower. Dinner at Prime Sirloin. Buffet extraordinaire.
One week is over. It doesn't seem like that long, perhaps because the hills were tame today. Then again, I drafted most of the day. 
I broke and repaired my second spoke, and we came across about a dozen dogs. Fortunately, they're still afraid of me. Unfortunately, my rear wheel is very untrue and so I have a bumpy ride. 
I feel much better after leaving the Groves. 
Everybody here loves race car driving. There are pictures everywhere and t-shirts galore. 

Reading this now, I can't believe what a lousy journal I kept. Seriously, I know that this trip was more than a matter of looking around while miserably pushing through the hills.

However, I am certain that crossing the state of VA represents some of the toughest bicycling I've done in my entire life. It literally brought me to my knees and I can remember on day 5 passing out at least once in the grass along the roadside. The promise of shelter and some home cooked food was enough motivation to get up and continue each time, and Chris was critical in getting me to my feet. When we got to the Groves' I was running a fever and after eating I passed out before the sun went down. I didn't stir until the next morning.

We took that day off in Max Meadows, VA. It would one of the few full days off we took on the entire trip.

More to come.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 2 - 4 (West of Chancelorsville, VA to Catawba, VA)

Day 2: West of Chancelorsville, VA to Waysnesboro, VA (103.5 miles, 40.8 mph max)

At breakfast at some general store, I asked the guy if he had a hose we could use. He replied, "Do you wish to hang yourself with it?" Southern humor, I guess. 

We're at the Colonial Michie Tavern. Chris and I had a beer. Some guy told us to "be careful of Mizoura." I think he meant Missouri, but we didn't say anything.

Good lord the hills. The two miles to Rockfish Gap took an hour. Steep! We had already gone 96 so it wasn't a picnic. 

We didn't realize that the route we're following took a side trip to Monticello, so we went all the way into Charolettesville for no reason. Tonight we get showers at a KOA campground -- Classy.

I hope we don't do so many miles tomorrow.

Lesson of the day: If you need to adjust your panniers, don't do it while you're riding. I have a swollen hand and four chewed up knuckles that recommend stopping.

Day 3: Waysnesboro, VA to Natural Bridge, VA (71.1 miles, 39.2 mph max)

Today let us know what we are in for. UpDownUpDown. We missed the campground and went 3 miles too far like this (drawing of a steep descent). So we had to go back like this (drawing of a steep ascent).

My knees hurt bad. We're at the Natural Bridge KOA campground. We only planned on 45 miles but ended up doing 71. We may take off tomorrow; we're 104 miles ahead of our planned course.

Lexington, VA is really neat.

I picked up a turtle and helped it across the road. After what happened on Monday I had to (note: I have no idea what this is referring to). I think I'm going to run out of money.

Quote of the day, from the cashier at a Willco gas station in Waynesboro, VA: "Either you done squashed some hard bugs, or you been throwin' your helmet around." Camping on this trip is fun; climbing hills while at wits end is not.

Day 4: Natural Bridge, VA to Catawba, VA (51.7 miles, 38.7 mph max) 

Wow. The hills suck. We stopped in Fincastle for lunch while there were thunderstorms. High winds and hard rain; branches blown off trees. 

Tonight we're in Catawba, VA at a place called "Home." All you can eat. The Appalachain Trail crosses here and we're hanging out with some hikers for the night. Good conversation and a good change from just the two of us. 

I'm on the porch of "Home" and feel like I'm in Vermont. The food just keeps coming at "Home." I think Chris and I ate more than a typical family of four. This place is incredible. They even let us camp out on their lawn

The hikers we met were called Gypsy Bones, Dances with Snakes, and Chico. Each hiker gets a nickname; it's traditional. 

Funny, I like the part when we're not riding the best. It's more fun. It is, however, worth the riding it takes to get there.

Met more hikers; more conversation. They've been out for weeks. I feel like an amateur. I'll get the hang of it.

"Home" is the best part yet.

Reading this now it sounds like I was having a miserable time. I wasn't. I was having the time of my life. Fortunately, that's how I remember it now. I recall beautiful countryside that slowly increased in gradient from rolling to low gear grinders. I don't remember knee pain or exhaustion, though I remember the scent of overexertion (kind of ammonia-esque). I remember the people who welcomed us when they saw us pedaling ridiculously loaded bikes.

Riding through Virgina would prove to be the toughest part of the trip for two reasons. First, we had just started the trip and so we were not used to the mileage on the heavy bikes. In addition, we found that the hills are steeper in the Appalachians than they are in the Rockies. Rather than long ascents, the hills are shorter, steeper and come more frequently. It was unexpected, but perhaps it shouldn't have been; by the time roads were being built in the Rockies engineers were designing them better and explosives were blasting them through. The long gradual hills of the Rockies awaited us as we pushed through the steep ups and downs of the Appalachians. Rt. 250 into Waynesboro was memorably challenging.

I can vividly remember the place I called "Home" in my journal. It's the Homeplace Restaurant in Catawba, VA, a popular stopping point for Appalachain Trail (AT) thru-hikers. They serve course after course of comfort food for one price, and Chris and I had cycled our metabolisms into high gear. I'm sure that the restaurant took a loss on us that night. It was on the lawn of the Homeplace where I met my first AT hikers and have since become fascinated with the vibrant trail culture, perhaps enhanced by cool trail nicknames. What I thought was funny was that they were impressed by our trip though it would take them longer to cross Virginia that it would take us to cross the entire country.

Our routine was becoming solidified. In the morning, after breaking camp and loading bikes, Chris and I would ride to a general or convenience store. Sometimes it was the first store, other times we'd put in a few miles first. We'd tear through at least one box of cereal and a quart of milk and wolf down any additional calories we were craving. Making sure we were stocked up on lunch food we'd then push through to midday. We'd stop literally anywhere for lunch (a town park, a cemetery, a curb, the shoulder of the road, ) and eat 3 or 4 peanut butter and granola sandwiches each. Then, we'd ride into the afternoon and stop wherever we decided would be a good place to camp. If we could find a cheap one-price all-you-can-eat establishment, that was dinner. Pizza Huts became reliable back up plans for their salad bars.

Camping was often done in a proper campground, but at other times it was just in a wooded roadside area, or in the yard or parking lot of somebody's home or business. The latter campsites were the most interesting. Off the top of my head right now I'm remembering camping next to a silver school bus in some storage lot in Tennessee, in somebody's garage in Arkansas that was used for a flea market, in a dusty and desolate sun-baked field on a Reservation in Arizona, and of course on the manicured lawn of the "Home" in Catawba. I'm sure I'll come across more as I continue into the journal.

Based on the max speeds in these segments, it's clear that we were in the mountains. Descending a mountain pass at 40 mph on a 85 pound bike is a rush. Turning and stopping become slow-motion actions that are best left undone. Now that I'm 15 years older I'm sure I'd be on the brakes the entire time.

Git r dun.

Transcontinentalitis, Day 1 (DC to Chancelorsville, VA)

In the fall of 1994 I was a Junior in college and came up with a grand plan. After dwelling on the plan for a few days, I attempted to self-advocate some freedom: I told my father that I intended to take the spring semester off so that I could ride my bicycle across the US. Rather than telling me I was nuts, he was supportive of the plan but persuaded me to do it the following summer instead. For the next six months, I spent every free moment planning and dreaming of the great ride I would be taking. This obsessive condition is known among those who have done similar trips as Transcontinentalitis.

After finishing the spring semester, on May 15, 1995 I climbed onto my road bike at the foot of the Washington Monument in Washington, DC. My friend Chris was the only one willing (crazy enough) to join me for the journey, and as we spun away from the National Mall I felt an anxious freedom that I would never forget. Chris and I would spend the next six weeks in a constant state of experience. As we took in the cultural, geographical, and physical experiences of extended travel by country road on a bicycle, we grew closer. So close, in fact, that we fought like brothers at least once. At the end we had gained far more than we had ever imagined.

This is the tale of my first journey across the US. I was happy to find the journal I took on the trip this morning buried among old photos in a plastic bin in the basement. Every few days I will transcribe a day or two of my entries from 1995 here and then reflect on the experience.

Day 1: Washington, DC to west of Chancelorsville, VA (84.5 miles, 35 mph max)

Whoa! We're on our way. I'm here at Chancelorsville, VA, about 50 yards in from Rt. 3. Today went well; we're getting started. We are still experimenting with our bikes and will hopefully find comfort soon. 

I can't believe Chris -- he's exhausted and had a rough ride today. I feel good but am worried about getting in trouble for camping here. Road kill is nasty up close. Today -- turtle, birds, squirrels, and something unrecognizable. I think dog; Chris thinks pig. 

I'm very sticky and would like a shower. 

13 of the 85 miles today consisted of a loop when I realized I dropped my sleeping bag. We had to ride 6.5 miles back on the trail before we found it. 

It's morning now and cold as hell.

Of course the first day will always remain a vivid memory. We rode the Mt. Vernon Trail from downtown DC through Alexandria, and then took Rt. 1 south through the suburbs. I remember it being miserable; lights, traffic, not much of a shoulder. Chris and I both had a rough day (contrary to my claim to have felt "good."), which is not surprising due to the fact that neither of us had previously ridden more than 50 miles in a day, We had to get outside the expansive suburbs so that we could find a roadside camping spot we'd feel comfortable with (after all, it's generally illegal to camp in the woods on the side of the road anywhere).

I was surprised that I weathered better than Chis on the first day; he was in better shape than I was and much more tolerant of discomfort or pain (I knew this because we were on the rowing team together and he could row circles around me).

Our bikes had front and rear panniers (aka, saddle bags) and handlebar bags, and they were all stuffed full. Tent poles were strapped to my bike frame and the tent and sleeping bags secured to our rear racks. The routine of securing all of our gear to our bikes was important, and losing my sleeping bag would have been a major mistake. Then, once my bike was loaded, it was very cumbersome and riding in traffic and braking or turning while descending proved to be difficult tasks. In addition to the difficult riding, we were on bikes ill-equipped for the weight. For the next six weeks dozens of spokes would break on each of our bikes.

Photos forthcoming.


Git r dun.

A moment of childlessness

All in about 27 hours.

I've come to the conclusion that, in contrast to the difficult and regimented lifestyle of a household with two toddlers, time away from the kids is blissful no matter what. As long as it's not more than a day and a half. And as long as we can call a few times to see how they're doing. To be entirely truthful, after about 30 minutes we start to miss the kids. No matter, we trudge on and can enjoy nearly any activity in any conditions, as long as we're confident we'll return safely.

We've got it covered

When we leave the kids to get out, we should probably relax. But we don't, and it seems that instead we try to pack in as much as possible. Thus, over a period of 36 hours this past weekend, Molly and I embarked on four short adventures in celebration of our 3rd wedding anniversary. It went like this: (1) Grumman the Cassleman River from Rockwood, Pa to Markleton, PA, (2) hike for a few hours on an out-and-back round trip on the Laurel Highlands Trail from Ohiopyle, PA, (3) bushwhack through the woods from Trap Run Road for half a day into the Upper Yough, and (4) hike all over the Bear Run Nature Preserve in an attempt to take a short 1/2 mile stroll to a vista that we'd seen marked on the worst trail map I've ever used. Between the second and third we bunked at our favorite Inn in the area, the place we stayed in June 2008 on the eve of our engagement.

Perhaps the best part of any adventure that includes an aluminum canoe is the opportunity to use the word Grumman as a verb. (We Grummanned the shit out the Casselman.)

Again? Really?

The triumphs of each segment were countered with travesties. The water level on the Casselman was perfect and the skies cleared up for us, but the sign at the put-in warned us of combined sewage overflow (an issue that seems to plague me wherever I go). We aced all the whitewater, some of which had us gripped, then we spilled and both swam after smacking a small boulder when our guard was down in the riffles. I watched my paddle float away after the spill but gave my best war whoop when we found it downstream, swirling in a big eddy at the take out. And that was just segment (1).

By the end of our adventure, we had added about 200 miles to the odometer, a dozen or more miles to our boots, and we'd Grummanned 7.5 miles of scenic river. We ate lunch in a downpour while standing under a canoe. I ate too much organic homemade food. We hitched a shuttle ride in an old, beat up van. Then, as the weekend drew to a close, I watched the mountains in my rear view and zoned out driving. Reflecting on the paddling, the hiking, and bushwhacking, we realized that it was the chance to actually talk to each other, uninterrupted by child care duties, that made the weekend what it was.

Custom! Matching! Cute!

Really, we spent the weekend talking. We talked about life and work, about the future and the past. We talked about old friends missed. We talked about Differential Equations (no kidding). We decided that there's no better way to get chest deep into a conversation than by getting chest deep into the weeds on a forgotten logging road meandering through the forest.

As we got closer to home, we talked about how much we missed the kids, and how we can't wait for them to be able to join us on adventures, and then we chatted about what our next adventure would be.

Git r dun.