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| Blackie and I reminiscing about the tour |
Long distance riding seems to require a sense of the now, being in the present, take in the moment in all its fullness. There are many people met along the way, fellow travelers and locals alike. These are some of the people I met along the Trans Am ride from Charlottesville, VA to Farmington, MO that help to shape my memory of this journey.
https://www.echonet.org/carter/
My favorite family group. And actually the only family group with adolescents I have met in three years of multi-week rides. Jerry is a construction company project manager. His company is amazingly accommodating to his desire to do this several-month-long experience with his family and worked with him over two years to make it happen, even contributing his salary during the time he bikes across the continent. LisaPage is a home school group administrator that is taking a leave of absence to make this journey. It was Jerry's idea, but Jerry and LisaPage completed a west coast bike ride BC (before children) several years ago and considered the wonderful lifetime experiences their children would gain from experiencing the country and its people up close and the lessons of family strength gained as they rely on one another. I met them while they were taking a break at a Blue Ridge Parkway overlook on my first day out from Charlottesville. I then had the joy of sharing a night's stay with them at the church halls of Lookout and Hindman, and again at Mammoth Cave campground, Rough River Dam, and Utica Firehall. We shared many dinners together. They had family and friends that would occasionally pick them up and jump forward, leap frogging ahead of me and I would then catch up with them again. Their 50 mile day riding into Hindman was their longest ride to date. LisaPage said one motivating drive that day was that they would see Robbie again. We celebrated with pizza from the restaurant across the street. At first mom and dad thought it was cheating to accept rides and not pedal the entire 4,200 miles from the Atlantic to Pacific. They eventually made their peace with this and saved their legs. I encouraged them to jump as often as possible over the rough and difficult patches...Ozarks (though I think the Ozark clear spring fed streams such as Johnson's Shut Ins are one of the best swimming places in the country); one or two days of Kansas and eastern Colorado are plenty for the plains; their Boulder friend can bump them up to Jackson Hole for the Tetons and Yellowstone; Missoula may have shuttles that can take them to the top of the Bitterroot Mountains; bump somewhere in Oregon to Eugene and ride from there to Florence on the Pacific coast cutting out the Astoria leg. The important aspect for the kids' frame of reference is once beginning with the rear wheel in the Atlantic Ocean, complete with the front wheel under their own power into the Pacific. It truly is an overwhelming accomplishment that few will savor. They blog at https://www.echonet.org/carter/. One lovely account of the hospitality expressed along their route is the time during a late afternoon storm as the Carters hunker down in a shelter with their bikes covered by a blue tarp, a local father and his young son meet the Carters and later return with a big box of hot chicken for the weary travelers.
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| Rob and Robbie, Damascus, VA |
Rob is not a Trans Am bike rider. I met Rob at the Woodchuck Hostel in Damascus while we both took a day off...me from my bike, Rob from his own gap year to complete the portion of the Appalachian Trail he was unable to do in 2017 due to a fall and broken collar bone. We are nearly the same age and build with white beards. Hostel owner Chuck looked at us sitting and talking on the front porch chairs and asked if we were brothers for the resemblance was great. I wondered what mother would name her sons Rob and Robbie? Rob admired that I could ride 80 miles the next day while he struggled to do 20.
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| Painting her legs |
Brythnie Tobay from San Francisco
https://warriorexpeditions.org
Brythnie recently left the Navy after six years service as a drone surveillance operator in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other areas of the Middle East. She would be in her mid twenties. She is a participant with Warrior Expeditions founded by ex-military to help service personnel transition from the intensity of war zones to civilian life by engaging in a major event such as hiking the Appalachian Trail, hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, and other similar endurance activities. Brythnie left her hike of the Appalachian Trail to begin the Trans America bike ride in Yorktown, VA when she was accepted in the program. Warrior Expeditions and sponsors furnish all equipment and gear to the participants. Brythnie hasn't ridden a bicycle since she was a kid. Fortunately military life keeps one fit. She rides flat-pedal with equipment heavier than what she would select but she feels it honors the sponsors to use the gear supplied and to make it more likely they continue to sponsor these veterans. She left from Yorktown with another woman veteran in the Warrior program, Keri, 20 years Brythnie's senior and with a much stronger military authoritarian attitude. Brythnie was pleased that their ride days slipped apart. Brythnie's gear was arranged with the sponsors by Shawn. Shawn has never ridden a bicycle on tour. He does his best. He thought it was a great idea to store the bear spray in the bottom down tube water cage for quick access. The morning I left Berea, KY I see a woman riding up ahead. I close in and ride up to say hello. This was Brythnie, who had just minutes before been distracted and hit the rumble strip that edged the road with no shoulder. She startled and ran off the road collapsing into the side ditch. A pickup driver (in rural America, it seems to always be a pickup) stopped to see if she was okay. She thought she may have injured her right shoulder. The driver said he couldn't tell for all the tattoos. I later told her all the eyes seemed to still be aligned correctly. The fall twisted her handlebars and brake lever. We stopped at the next turn to make needed adjustments. For the rest of the day we mostly rode together. On the short hills Brythnie would comment she just saw me draw farther and farther away. "How does he do that?" That's the increased power of cleated shoes where I can engage the pedals on the up stroke as well as down. I stopped at an intersection near noon to suggest we have lunch at the Subway there. Brythnie commented she felt very awkward as a young African-American riding through such homogenous white Appalachia with the several Confederate war banners flying. I respond that these flags are likely a reaction to the change occurring in these people's lives. Appalachia was settled by subsistence farming. When offered cash for the minerals hidden below the farm dirt residents jumped at the opportunity to accept the cash that they were learning had great benefits. At this time a pair of shoes would take six weeks to make during the evening hours after a day of farming and sale for $1.00 or you could call the local midwife to help deliver your child for the same amount. When the coal companies began their mining operations, these subsistence farmers were pleased to take a good cash-paying job. Locals are still strong supporters of coal, but that life is not going to return. The steep hills and narrow hollers of the Appalachian region have little to offer other than mineral extraction and that is not cost effective to operate today. People still live on their family land and there are a few new homes and new gas stations but there are many more abandoned and collapsing residences and businesses than new. We are traveling through an economically depressed area and its residents are suffering from a system they have no control over. The Confederate flag partly expresses their desire for a return to another time when life was better. Afterwards, again on our bikes, Brythnie pulled off the road because she heard hissing and thought she had a tire puncture. It wasn't the tire that punctured...but the can of bear spray likely damaged during the morning fall. The pepper spray covered Brythnie's legs and within several minutes as the heat of the day and our excretion opened skin pores the pain was becoming severe. She told me this near the outskirts of Danville where I noticed an ice cream stand at our turn. "I understand milk products help with pepper spray. Want some ice cream?" She ordered three cups of vanilla...one for each leg and one for herself. It didn't work. We both attempted to search Google in the poor service area for a recourse. "Hand soap and water." I found the back-of-building hose and manned the waters. Her legs still burned until the next morning.
Jay Creswell from London, England; native to North Island, New Zealand
Jay and I shared camps on two nights in Springfield and Hodgenville, KY. My sixty-fifth birthday occurred during our shared evening. I was too full to order a flan for a celebratory desert at the Mexican restaurant across from the city park we camped in that night. Jay ate from two cans of assorted organic vegetables, some fruit, and a bag of salted nuts back at camp as his vegan dinner. I noted the difficulty that exists for a vegan to find enough nutrient in these rural Kentucky back road communities we were traveling. My mid day meals frequently consisted of peanut butter crackers, pizza, ham or bacon and cheese biscuits, and little fruit or anything else particularly healthy in the remote convenience stores. Jay's day has an entirely separate degree of difficulty than mine. Jay rode half the Trans Am last year. He was struck by a pickup in Colorado and seriously injured. He was unconscious for several days. He mended well and rather than commence this year where he left off last, he started again in Yorktown so he could fully experience the Trans Am in its entirety.
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| Michael in rear with Steve later down the road |
Michael is riding east from San Francisco having crossed Nevada during the cold dessert spring. He is joyous of this experience discovering America from the seat of a bicycle. He's in his fifties but relates this joy as a young child telling of their first discovery of ice cream. He flies a small American flag on his rear rack obtained from the rider following from farther behind.
Admiral Sam from Washington, DC
Sam is that rider. Michael has mentioned that Sam is a retired Naval Admiral. Sam, an African American, is more humble than to mention any of this, but Michael notes that Sam is one of the more decorated Naval commanders. They met on the west side of Nevada and have been enjoying each other's company since, Sam usually chasing the rabbit Michael. This is an example of the diversity of people found on the Trans Am...Admirals, artists, contractors, nurses, teachers, military members, professors, airplane pilots, business leaders, architects, young, retired, mostly male but women too.
Peter Hackbert from Berea, VA
Berea, KY was an off-day where I had scheduled a day of rest. I had hoped to visit a museum of Appalachia at the college there but that museum was closed six years ago. Unfortunate, for they had a great collection of Appalachian artifacts and crafts that influenced the art and craft students of Berea College. Turned out to be a fortunate day for me to take off however for there were sever thunderstorms that passed through the area that day. The local weather warning siren sounded several times. I found a good coffee shop next door to the historic Boone Tavern Inn where I enjoyed a classy dinner later that evening before returning to my encampment behind the Berea Firehall Station No. 2. I spent my morning writing in the coffee shop. While there the shop owner told another customer, Peter, "There's a bicyclist tourer over there." Peter came to my table after the counceling session he was having with a Berea College student. He sat down with me for over an hour discussing the economic classes he teaches at Berea. If classes had been in session he would have encouraged me to come to a class or for the class to come to the coffee shop to interview me about the economic aspect of bicycling travel. Berea was founded and still operates as a college for predominately Appalchian-area students who graduate tuition-free. It's interesting to note that at its founding in 1869, Berea was a racial-integrated school. Berea’s commitment to interracial education was overturned in 1904 by the Kentucky Legislature’s passage of the Day Law, which prohibited education of black and white students together. When the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the Day Law, Berea set aside funds to assist in the establishment of Lincoln Institute, a school located near Louisville, for black students. When the Day Law was amended in 1950 to allow integration above the high school level, Berea was the first college in Kentucky to reopen its doors to black students. Peter works with his students to study what economic developments might be successful in their home counties. Bicycle tourism is one aspect of economic development. I might spend upwards of $60 per day on my touring expenses. These communities we pass through need to capture all the income they can. Peter has wondered how to account for the number of bicyclists that travel the Trans Am yearly. There is no way of accounting for the numerous riders going east and west through the region. "Where is there a way to assess these numbers?" he asks. "The Ohio River ferry!" acknowledges Robbie. Peter, the ultimate professor, gives me an assignment...interview the ferry operator about the crossing bicyclist numbers so Peter's economic students can have better data to insert into their analytics. We consider that the ferry must keep these tallies perhaps to party justify the continuing funding of the ferry operation. Turns out the counting is taken mostly so emergency responders know how many people they need to search for in event of a sinking ferry...a somewhat more troubling consideration. I unfortunately cross on a Saturday when the Illinois side office is closed where they might actually have this yearly accounting. The ferry captain tallies the number during each crossing but will not have the accumulative data. I too will need to face a counceling session with Peter on my next visit to Berea about better planning my time.
Mark Gumbert from Paint Lick, VA
Mark is an example of someone trying to make an economic difference in the area. Mark grew up on an area farm. He works as an environmental consultant. Over the years he has bought up the town of Paint Lick...all six buildings except the Post Office. He has created H.H.Gumbert Brewery and works to make this establishment a place to start area bike rides as an example of working with local clubs. He has worked with Adventure Cycling Association to reroute the Trans Am from the current turn at the adjacent nearly abandoned town with the closed school to his corner of the world where something new is happening. This would probably be a good change, but it takes time to modify maps and relocate street directional signs. Mark pulls his pickup over (in rural America, it seems to always be a pickup, so it's been said) where Brythnie and I are realigning her handlebars and brake lever that morning down the road from Berea. Even with his encouragement Brythnie and I do not take the "off-route" excursion.
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| Becky down the road with Rob the artist |
Becky rolled in late to the air conditioned Utica Volunteer Firehall. LisaPage Carter had prepared a chicken-vegy stir fry and rice dinner and plenty remained for Becky to join us. Becky was completing an 80 mile day in the hot, humid 90s. Becky, 40ish, hails from London. "Why did you choose to ride a bicycle across America?" "It's such a wonderful way to experience a country and meet its people." She had a few years previously ridden the remote United Kingdom southwest point of Land's End to the remote northeast point of John o' Groats. This is the longest bike route in United Kingdom that is the traversal of the whole length of the island of Great Britain between its two extremities. The traditional distance by road is a mere 874 miles. Becky has graduated to the 4,200 mile Trans Am. This day I was first to arrive to the unlocked firehall. Inquiring about its accommodations at the nearby convenience market I was told to let myself in. After completing the usual afternoon chores of shower, snack, drink fluids, laundry, I had laid down on a couch for a little nap for only 15 minutes before the Carter kids were staring in the window at the reclining Robbie. Yea! The building was wide open to cyclists...day room, kitchen, showers, laundry. Another sign of rural hospitality and trust. A gracious use of public facilities. A grateful contingent of cyclists from the heat of the day. We all slept on the cool floor except for Russell who claimed a couch.
Rob Hickman from Brooklyn, NY
http://rustycrankc2c.blogspot.com
Rob is a large glass and textile sculpture artist and art professor living in Brooklyn, NY. He has wanted to ride the Trans Am for many years but determined he would not until his son was in college. Rob drove his son to Boston to begin college the week before he drove to Yorktown to begin his bicycling dream on May 25. I spot Rob riding from a good distance away. Slowly I catch up to him and we ride together until Goreville. I knew of Rob prior to meeting him. The day before, after leaving Cave-in-Rock, IL, I stopped to visit the Rose Inn overlooking the Ohio River. The inn keeper offered me a cold Coca-Cola and mentioned that another bicyclist by the name of Rob had called that morning for a room reservation. I got a tour of the inn...Rob's going to have a cushy night. After a Subway lunch with Rob in Goreville, he rides off into the West; I ride a short distance to nearby Fern Cliffe State Park where my son Andy dropped me off two years ago. Technically my gap ride is completed, but I will be riding another three days and 140 miles just for the fun of it to cross the Mississippi River and enter Missouri.
Jimmy Frederick, Dixon, KY
I departed Utica Firehall early morning at 6:30. LisaPage woke up each of the boys so I could say goodby. They're young boys...they easily went back to sleep. Jerry was beginning to make a large breakfast of pancakes and fruit. LisaPage likes to bring in the comforts of home when full kitchen facilities are available. I wanted an early start because I anticipated a long, hot day. I planned to ride 80 miles to Marion, KY, spend the night, and take a morning ferry across the Ohio River the following day. Turned out that the day's ride went well and after waiting out an afternoon thunderstorm in a Marion cafe, I decided to risk further storms and ride the extra ten miles to the ferry and the state park campground at Cave-In-Rock, IL, the town sitting on the Ohio's northern bank. Riding down the Kentucky ferry access road I spot a road side sign and the young Amish woman marketing her baked goods and sitting with a non-Amish neighbor woman. Upon my arrival and the sound of conversation the Amish lady's three young sons came out from behind a nearby farm building where they had been loading hay to see what this stranger was about. I wanted to engage the boys so I asked them which were their favorite cookies, baked by their mom, that were on display...the oatmeal ones pointed out the 11 year old, the raisin cookies were the choice of the 9 year old, the ones with the chocolate chips were the 6 year old's favorites...a diverse family! I said I was also partial to chocolate and bought a bag. Then I told them of my Carter family friends and the three boys nearly their age that would soon be riding down the same road and hoped the Amish boys would have a chance to meet the Virginia boys. The boys were not very conversational. The mother stated she would not be out again. I believe her experiment to market her baked goods may not have been as fruitful as she hoped. I loaded my cookies, that were consumed by nightfall, and continued on. There is indeed a cave in the rock at the river's edge where infamous pirates are alleged to have robbed unsuspecting river flatboat travelers from an earlier time, and is known too for an earlier era of whiskey and prostitution. I saw only rock and mud. On my morning ride I entered the town of Dixon, rolling to the single intersection stop sign, looking right and left for a place to get a cold Gatorade. The day's temps had risen and I was hot and soaked in sweat. Nothing to be seen from the intersection, I rode left to see if something might show itself. On the way I passed a motorcycle pulling out of its driveway. Seeing no Gatorade oasis I turned back. The motorcyclist had noticed me, pulled over, and motioned for me to stop. "What're you lookin' for?" "Something cold to drink." "Go straight ahead and just beyond the curve in the distance is the Marathon station and cafe. You'll find something there." Marathon's have been the common gas station, convenience market, with frequently hot, prepared food found throughout the rural areas of Virginia and Kentucky. He speeds off. As I roll into the Marathon the motorcyclist comes out of the connected simple restaurant that is an upgrade to the usual Marathon composition and says "Come on in. I'll treat you to a drink." I order a large iced Coke and sit down at the table with Jimmy who has ordered his routine mid-day half cup of coffee. We talk. Jimmy was born in Dixon when the population was 600. After 82 years the population is still 600. If the restaurant patrons are any representation of the current population the town's numbers are due to drop in a few years as these old timers lie under the Kentucky bluegrass. Jimmy was in town 42 summers ago when he noticed several signs marking turns about the local area. Grass mowers frequently pushed these over and they didn't always find a new footing. Jimmy liked the look of the signs so he took one waylaid sign home where it is still hanging in his shed. I suspect there is much still housed in Jimmy's shed. This sign is from the first trans America bicycle route known as the Bikecentennial Bike Ride hosted in 1976 to celebrate America's Bi-Centennial that later became the Trans America bike route...the same route that I am traversing. And Jimmy has one of the original road signs! I have visited Adventure Cycling Association, the organization in Missoula, MT that emerged from this first organized cross-continental bicycle ride, and don't remember seeing a 1976 sign. Jimmy recognizes he should begin divesting his collection of stuff housed in his shed. I suspect there is much to be divested. He gives me his address and an assignment. Why does everyone give me an assignment?! The Berea professor and Jimmy are in a conspiracy. I am to contact ACA and find if they want the 1976 sign. Jimmy will be pleased to ship it to them...for no cost. This pretty much sums up the value of my collectible stuff too.
http://steveacrossamerica.com
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| Robbie and Steve befor the storm |
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| Bruce, Robbie, and Bob in from the heat |
https://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/Pilotbob/
Bob S. is an ex-Air Force pilot who most recently flew with Alaska Airlines. A few years ago as he attended the funeral of an age-contemporary friend he commented in a melancholy tone to his wife of a desire to do something like a bike ride across the country. "Why don't you just go ahead and do it, honey." So he is. After my lunch with Bob the artist in Goreville's Subway, Bob the artist leaves, and shortly after Bob the pilot arrives. Turns out this Subway is the meeting ground for cyclists. Two years ago I sat with a young mother from Indiana who was on the Trans Am heading west. She had left her husband at home to care for their three young children. I overheard her arranging via cell phone for her husband to come pick her up. She recognized she dearly missed her family and was going to cut her trip off. I did not think it timely to interject that one more day of riding could have her cross Big Muddy and cap a grand journey. Her journey was now focused on a family reunion. Bob the pilot eats a 12" sandwhich and soon heads out for Carbondale where he will take the next day off awaiting the arrival of a riding buddy.
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| Bruce with his light-load gear... |
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| ...and later at Johnson's Shut Ins where I suggested they take a swim |
Bruce from San Diego, CA
Bruce is that riding buddy. Bruce travels with only a change of clothes and minimal necessities. He and Bob the pilot rode a week of Virginia together before Bruce planned to return to California. Bruce had such a good time on the Trans Am that he called Bob and asked when he could rejoin him. They will ride together from Carbondale to Pittsburgh, KS which is just across the Missouri border...one doesn't need to overdo Kansas. Since Bruce travels light he arranges motels for each night's lodging. This can be difficult in rural Missouri. There will be afternoons that Bruce will ride off-route twenty miles for a motel and Bob will camp on-route. When they stop and people have a chance to speak with them there are the usual questons, "Where are you from?" Where are you going?" And in their case, "How come he (Bob) is caring all the gear?" Unknowingly they have moteled the same night in Chester that I stay at the Fraternal Order of Eagles. FOE provides a small shack of six bunks behind their lodge for the touring cyclists, and a shower room...always a godsend during these hot, humid days of riding. There is never a fee for these hospitable bike hostels on the Trans Am route. There is a full restaurant and bar in the lodge. The bicyclists are welcome to dine. "Where's our bicyclist from? calls out one woman to me. We speak briefly. She has paid for my dinner I learn when I go to pay! Departing the next morning I again stop to give homage to Popeye at the Mississippi River bridge head and meet up again with Bob the pilot and his friend Bruce. They are eager to cross the bridge when there is a break in the morning traffic while I am reading some information markers. I catch them shortly thereafter while they are stopped for a Gatorade stop down the road. We ride together the rest of the day to Farmington, MO. Along the way we stop at Crown Ridge Tiger Sanctuary for the purpose to refill water bottles but take the tour of its rescued lions with twenty other families and children out in this remote area where I thought little happened. Another six miles down the road light-loaded Bruce has pulled into the air conditioned brewery for a beer and lunch. When we arrive in Farmington, I lead them to my first-class bike hostel provided by the city in a renovated 1800s two story jail (a superb facility with guest rooms on the second floor.) Bob and Bruce head off to their motel. We connect a final time over dinner within walking distance for me, a taxi drive for them. The end of a good last day of bike riding with like-minded fellow travelers on the Trans America bike route. I'm content.
This statement from the Christian Science leader Mary Baker Eddy from her publication The First Church of Christ, Scientist, and Miscellany was posted by a friend during this time. I thought it made a good summary of some of my own thoughts during this ride and the encounters with others that I consider fellow travelers on a journey of life. "We should remember that the world is wide; that there are a thousand million different human wills, opinions, ambitions, tastes, and loves; that each person has a different history, constitution, culture, character, from all the rest; that human life is the work, the play, the ceaseless action and reaction upon each other of these different atoms. Then, we should go forth into life with the smallest expectations, but with the largest patience; with a keen relish for and appreciation of everything beautiful, great, and good, but with a temper so genial that the friction of the world shall not wear upon our sensibilities; with an equanimity so settled that no passing breath nor accidental disturbance shall agitate or ruffle it; with a charity broad enough to cover the whole world’s evil, and sweet enough to neutralize what is bitter in it, — determined not to be offended when no wrong is meant, nor even when it is, unless the offense be against God. Nothing short of our own errors should offend us. He who can wilfully attempt to injure another, is an object of pity rather than of resentment; while it is a question in my mind, whether there is enough of a flatterer, a fool, or a liar, to offend a whole-souled woman."
BIKE STATISTICS TOTAL CHEROKEE, NC to CHESTER, IL
1,800 miles
33 ride days
54.5 avg miles per day
8 off days (plus 3 visiting children in Durham)
22 indoor nights (only 4 were motels)
22 tent nights
172 hours in the saddle
10.5 average mph
127,500 feet of climb
4 days when I got wet from rain
This includes riding the Blue Ridge Parkway from Cherokee, NC.
BIKE STATISTICS TRANS AM CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA to CHESTER, IL
1,187 miles
22 ride days
54.0 avg miles per day
4 off days
11 indoor nights
15 tent nights
111 saddle hours
10.7 average mph
74,836 accumulative feet climb
3 days when I got wet from rain
BIKE STATISTICS BRP CHEROKEE, NC to CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA
613 miles
11 ride days
55.7 avg miles per day
3 days to go visit children in Durham
4 off days
11 indoor nights
7 tent nights
61 saddle hours
10.0 average mph
52,664 accumulative feet climb
1 day wearing rain jacket
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