Connecticut

There are not many people that I would, without hesitation, take a bullet for  (aside from the obvious family and close friends). But, there are 141 lives that I would have no choice but to protect - my students.

In the wake of the Connecticut tragedies, which happened just over an hour from my home, it had me thinking - could I take a bullet for my students, just like those brave teachers and faculty did? I never thought about it until now, that as part of my job description not listed in the fine print, is to protect each and every one of their precious little lives.

Which reminds me of one scary night I had on the AT, just before I thru hiked. Rocket and I did an overnight, out-and-back hike; it was the week between Christmas and New Years, and, though there was snow on the ground, it was an unseasonably warm night. We were up late into the night chatting in the shelter, giggling like 5 year olds. Without warning, someone popped out in the front of the shelter, shined a light on us, and disappeared swiftly into the night. We never saw the person behind the light, never heard the crunch of snow underfoot, and never saw foot prints the next day. My reaction was to play dead (as per the dumb advice of Rocket) and immediately I buried my head into her shoulder and pretended nothing was happening. My heart raced like a greyhound chasing a fake bunny. To this day, we cannot explain the weird incident.

You're wondering why I'm meshing 2 unrelated things. My point in telling that story is, my typical reaction is to freeze in fear. If ever faced with what those poor Connecticut people endured, I know whole-heartedly I would push fear aside and face up to whatever I had to, to protect those lives. I hope I never, ever, have to face death within the 4 walls of a school, but I know I wouldn't give it a second thought. The children come first.

You're also wondering how this is related to cycling or adventure.

I learned a new acronym recently - YOLO - you only live once. Who knows what life has in store for any of us, so stop dying and start living.

true story

Biking, it is!

This is the time of year that makes me think about thru hiking. At this time 4 years ago, I was preparing for the Appalachian Trail - testing gear, buying gear, shopping for mail drop items, and dreaming about what life would be like on the trail. I can't believe it's been that long since I hiked, and how much living has happened since then.

I often think about hiking another long trail, and I haven't come up with something that tugs at my heartstrings like the AT did. I had this inherent feeling for a long time that told me I had to hike the AT. Will I ever thru hike the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT)? Probably not, but never say never. What about the Continental Divide Trail (CDT)? Doubtful. I think my long distance hiking will be sections well under 2,000 miles.

A gargantuan reason why I don't think I could spend another 6 months in the woods is because the aftermath is ugly, and I don't think I could do that to myself again. Mentally, I was a wreck and it felt like forever before I recovered; post-trail depression hit hard. I was a bitchy pain in the ass to deal with. It's unanimous among thru hikers, there's just no way to ever convey what we go through emotionally, and why we feel the way we do once it's over - it feels like the death of a best friend. For some reason, my TransAm ride didn't emotionally destroy me in the end - maybe because I kept telling myself I couldn't come home an angry mess again. Recently I talked with a friend who hiked the AT last year. He told me he put on his boots that he summited Katahdin in, and immediately cried. I know exactly what he was feeling.

The proudest moment of my life

As much as I yearn for my time on the AT, I will continue to travel via bicycle. I love that it's so accessible and a tour can start right from your front door. I'm not discounting my love of long-distance hiking, I will always have a passion for it, but, well, you get the point.

I think about the TransAm often, and miss the fun that I had, and realize how lucky I was to make such an amazing friend and travel buddy. It's awesome to be able to pick up the phone and say, "Hey, remember the time I pulled over to cry because I was so exhausted, and remember the time we ate brownie sundaes bigger than our heads, or remember the time we had to swing hammers to construct a bed in a teepee, and hey, remember when you went to pedal away and fell in the middle of the street because your tire blew right after we ate lunch at 8 am in that weird restaurant, and took gravel naps, and got chased by that coyote that could have chewed our asses off, and when I taught you how to shit in the woods, and how we used to pretend our loaf of bread had just come out of the oven because the sun was baking it to death on the back of your bike, and, and...?" and giggle as the conversation leads to more current things in our lives. Damn I miss that trip.

Next summer should bring more bicycle adventures, and I have a few ideas brewing. Stay tuned, if anyone is out there still reading my nonsense.

Cheers. Now go have an adventure, 2-wheeled or otherwise.



Photos: A recent section hike on the AT with my thru hiker friends. (Rocket and I hiked the whole trail together, and we befriended Beav somewhere in Virginia). And yes, we call each other ONLY by trail names still.

Angry Beaver, Rocket and me (Storm)

Critical Mass, and the Best Surprise

Last weekend, I rode my first Critical Mass in Baltimore. When Andy first mentioned it a month ago and asked me to join, I thought, "What the hell is critical mass?" He told me to just come, it would be fun, and so I agreed - after a little research to see what it was.

Critical Mass started in San Francisco 20 years ago, so my first ride was on the 20th anniversary. It started as a loosely organized mass ride of cyclists of all types. The purpose: fun, and a middle finger to cars. It now happens all over the world, and is typically on the last Friday of each month.

So I packed up my car and took off for Baltimore, having no idea that the best surprise EVER was waiting for me. When I got to Andy's,  he immediately ripped Beast of Burden off of my car, and then insisted I sit on the couch - he was being rather pushy and I couldn't understand why, but after 10 minutes of chatting, I finally sat. Next to a big puffy blanket. And 2 feet poked out and attempted to wiggle under my butt. And then McKinley sprang up from that blanket! (On the road when her feet were cold, she would wedge them under my butt to warm them, so her thought was I'd immediately know it was her - I didn't. It scared me, and I thought an animal was under there.) I screamed, then had the pre-cry face, and couldn't stop hugging her. Confused? Yes. But excited as all hell? Absolutely! They had been planning my surprise since the minute I agreed to ride the Crit.

The ride from Andy's to the meeting point was, I realized, the reason that motorists hate cyclists. In the interest of time, we rode like wild, uncaged beasts for 10 miles. We barreled down city streets, weaving in and out of cars at red lights to get to the front. We hauled ass the wrong way down one-way streets. We hopped on the sidewalk to cut a corner or two. Never the way I ride - I respect the rules and act as motorist - but holy crap was that ever so fun! It also made me realize how much I miss riding with a cycling partner that I'm so in tune with. McK and I rode wheel-to-wheel in draft style, as per usual, and we giggled and chatted about how much we miss riding together. It sure is great to have someone to talk to and point out the debris. She even threw out the "Hitler Arm," a hand signal we crafted for when there's a very, very long stretch of debris or pot holes. It immediately brought me back to the TransAm. I miss it.

Critical mass was some of the most fun I've ever had on 2 wheels riding that slow. There were 700 cyclists clogging the roads, ringing bells, and whooping and hollering. I think the ride back to Andy's was even more fun at 2 am, whizzing through the crisp, fall air at 20 mph. And then McK snapped a chain. It's never a legit bike ride if something doesn't go wrong.

Wagons and Bicycles

Just when I think I live in assholeville (as far as cycling conditions go), a 3 year old girl shouts at me from the blue wagon her dad is pulling her in. She excitedly shrieks, "HIIIIIIII BIIIIIIKE" as I fly by. Right back at ya, kid.

And that is total redemption for the 2 guys who screamed, "Get out of the road, asshole!" 

It's not always bike friendly around here, however, there are moments that make my heart smile. Thank you, blue wagon-rider, for making my day. 

Gratitude

So many of you left comments, and I received each and every one of them. I didn't have time to respond individually, which is why I'm dedicating a blog post to all of you kind souls.

Thank you so very much to everyone who left kind words; the small gesture meant so much to me. Some days I wanted to kick my bike, and when a happy comment would pop up in my email, it always made me smile. And to those of you lurkers who never left a comment, thanks for following along.

With gratitude,
P

What is a Cyclist?

When I first crafted the idea of cycling across America and started this blog, I wasn't even close to being a cyclist, and never thought I'd ever consider myself one. A cyclist is someone with a lean body wearing an ugly outfit on a road bike, riding at lightening speed. If you didn't fit that description, then you were not a cyclist...or so I thought.

Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there's all types of cyclists: there are those fast people on lightweight bikes, and there's mountain biking enthousiasts, or day riders on beach cruisers, or bmx punks, or those who, like myself, travel long distance on a bicycle - not that I don't like to move fast, but I like the travel part of cycling.

I wear bike shorts, paired with an awesomely ugly jersey, tank top, t shirt, button down, wool shirt or a wind breaker. My legs may be lean and muscular, but I don't have a typical cyclists body. I love my inefficient bike sandals. I want to ride lightening fast, but prefer a steel frame. I carry a frame pump and have a heavy Brooks saddle. My handle bars have a double wrap. Sometimes I don't wear gloves. I wear fast sunglasses, and I wear fun neon sunglasses. Beast is outfitted with a bell that just begs to be rung; I ring it with such joy. I will own a road bike one day, but right now, Beast is my pseudo road bike; I ride it hard, pretending it's a feather weight. And I have bar-end shifters that click loudly into place.

My name is Patrice, and I'm a cyclist.

Photo: Beast and I in Sisters, Oregon

Stats

Some fun facts and stats:

4,000 miles biked

86 days on the road. And around 10 of those were rest days.

10 states, 11 if you count the 2 miles through Tennessee to get into Virginia.

0 flat tires, though I had to change a few tubes from snapping or bending  valve stems. McKinley had 7 or 8. Stupid stock tires.

1 rear tire replaced in Berea, Kentucky, from a gash in the sidewall. My tire never actually went flat.

1 hard crash. Result: an awesome  knee scar.

3 chains

0 broken spokes

2 pairs of spd shoes - Keen spd sandals are amazing!

2 pairs of shorts that are totally falling apart

3 or 4 cries, from utter exhaustion or saddle sores

Countless laughs

And 1 new lifelong friend. That apparently is my twin. And I wish didn't live 2 weeks away by bicycle.

I thought this trip would be a quest for the best ice cream, but as it turns out, it was a quest for the best chocolate milk. Sorry to disappoint you, Lucy. Almost daily, I drank a bottle of the brown stuff, testing all of the local brands along the way. Contrary to populated belief, Nesquick is not the tastiest; my favorites were Highland, a local dairy in Missouri, and Borden, which carried further east into Kentucky. They were creamy delicious, since they are both made with whole milk. Yum!

My favorite convenience store ice cream was the Toll House chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches, ringing in at 20 grams of fat. Double yum!

Best meals: veggie lasagna, one by ws hosts Jeff and Bettina, and the second by Beth and Garry, containing ingredients from their farm in Kentucky.

Favorite beer: Moose Drool, from Montana

Best coffee: Mojoe's in Damascus

Favorite self-made roadside sandwich: tomatoes and cheese on whole wheat with mayo and fresh cracked pepper. My mouth is currently watering. 

Favorite thing about bike touring: meeting the locals in small town America.

Will I tour again? Without a doubt; I can't wait to see what turns up next on the bucket list. Stay tuned.

Lastly, I'll probably keep this blog going for a while. I think I'll write only TransAm thoughts, or about other cycling adventures, since this is a cycling blog.

It's the journey, not the destination, so go on a journey, no matter how long or short.

Life

I've been on the road back to my non-traveling life; it's been a week since I returned home and I'm  missing riding with an intended goal each day. Waking up in the same place every day is still a little odd, but it sure is fantatical to wake up and stumble to the kitchen to my beloved french press; coffee on the road is horrid.

Things I learned: gas station coffee is better than hotel coffee, why washboards were once used, that rednecks do not scare me, diaper rash cream is a life saver, shooting a dog with a water bottle is enough to get them to back off, sun block can only do so much, riding with the sunrise and sunset is gorgeous, cows can run quite fast, there are a lot of dead armadillos in Missouri, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are still delicious, even after several loaves of them, Pop Tarts still make me gag, it's easy to break a lexan spoon in a half gallon of ice cream, riding uphill even on an unloaded bike can still be a grind, 110 degrees makes for a very unproductive day, there is a lot of oil in Kansas, make sure you're carrying the right size adjustable wrench to fit your lock ring tool before you actually need it, you can keep your bike in perfect running condition if you just degrease and lube the chain often, and it's always more fun riding with a friend.

A few photos from life lately:

The moment I returned home and surprised my mom

Bryant Park with Promise and Whitney

McKinley on Skype!

Yorktown to DC to Home

380 miles. In a car.

I've made it home, the official, official, for realsies end to the adventure. Well, the physical part is over, but the journey always continues, so I've learned.

Yorktown was a delight. It was filled with grandparents, grandchildren, and 3 very classy young adults. The night we finished, we listened to a live jazz band on the town green with all of these sophisticated grandparents; I felt a little out of place in my spandex pants, but I fully enjoyed a relaxing evening before the madness began.

McKinley and I thumbed a ride from Yorktown to Newport News to avoid a 15 mile bike ride. Sure, it was only 15 miles, but our bodies were just over it. Plus, I didn't want to get all sweaty if I didn't have to. So we picked up the beast of a rental car, boxed her bike, shipped all of her worldly possessions back to Tennessee, met up with Stephanie and Brian for lunch, in which I twice had to drive over the 4-mile wide James River because Stephanie was too interested in our stories to be a good navigator, and then headed up to DC.

DC was great! Andy came down from Baltimore to spend the evening with 2 fabulous biker chicks. In tow was a gigantic bag of Maryland crabs, and some sauteed fruit and brownies to celebrate our kick-ass adventure. We played an epic long game of Jenga, which proved to be an intense match of 3, learned about the "trap door" on crabs, and had a feast until 3 am; I don't know how I didn't have a raging stomach ache after all of that food. Andy is a 24-7 party, meaning, he's always ridiculously silly, so it was a perfect second ending to the TransAm.

I woke up in the morning with a slight feeling of dread; McKinley and I were going our separate ways. Ugh, I always hate this part. Anyway, we navigated the city streets to get McKinley to one of the many museums. We hugged tight hugs, and of course, I cried. By the way, crying is not conducive to driving around DC, if you didn't already know that. An overwhelming sadness poured over me as I drove away. I never noticed her sunglasses go down over her eyes as I pulled away, but apparently they did. The closet crier strikes again. I just hope, for the benefit of strangers, it wasn't the ugly-cry-in-a-random-gas-station-in-Kansas cry. (Sorry McK, but I just blew up your closet spot)

I cried some more on the way home. The terrible news arrived of a semi-estranged friends dad who had just passed 2 days prior, and already being so sad, I sort of lost my shit. But I rallied well with a superbly awesome jam session; DC has some fantastic radio stations, and I clung on to them until I was listening to fuzz. I never thought I'd be so excited to blast Rolling in the Deep, and didn't realize how much I needed that alone time before getting home.

My plan was to surprise my mom; she thought I would be home 2 days later. After returning the rental car, I biked home, in a DRESS, and got a million looks. As I began to pedal away, I went to point out pot holes, forgetting I didn't have a riding partner behind me. Habit, I suppose. Once I arrived at the top of my street, I set up my camera and was able to video the whole surprise; my brother, Frankie, answered the door with a look of shock, and I bum-rushed my up the stairs and hugged my crying mother. Poncho, the best dog in the whole world, was also insanely excited to see his awesome momma once again.

So, that's my story. I am home and still riding my bike every day. I was so sick of riding, but I knew once everything was taken away from me, I'd want it all back, and that's just how it goes. Yesterday, I did a short 15 miles, but I cranked it hard in a high gear and went up hills fast; Hills that normally I went up at 4 or 5 mph, I was rocking it at a breezy 8 or 9. As sick as I was of being in constant transit, I miss my cycling life, and of course, my cycling partner; I have plans to visit in the fall.

Some favorite photos from Virginia:

Williamsburg to Yorktown

13 miles. The end of the line.

We are here in Yorktown, and wheels have been dipped in the water. It's official, we both have biked across the United States.

Just like last night, Yvonne rode behind us in our girly peleton. No big deal, just 2 girls on bicycles and one on a motorcycle. It sure was a badass way to enter Yorktown.

The ride in was a lovely end to this grand adventure; lots of wide road with a large tree canopy. And traffic going into Yorktown wasn't all that bad either.

I can't say I was feeling too emotional, but when I saw the York River, I had a lump in my throat. We pedaled alongside it for a while; just long enough to lose the stupid lump. I think it was the excitement of hitting the coast, and a sigh of relief that I can finally rest my tired body.

We hit the victory monument and high fived on our victory. And Yvonne snapped a million photos for us.

To officiate this journey, we rolled our hogs down to the water to dip our wheels. Success!

Kevin, McKinley's friend, came to take photos and spend the day with us. We all chatted, had celebratory beers, listened to a live jazz concert in town, and toasted with champagne. It was a relaxing day and a fantastic ending.

Right now, I still feel like I have more riding to do, so I'm not feeling too much, emotionally. I'm sure once I'm traveling home, sans McKinley, it will hit me like a ton of bricks. For now, I will enjoy our night in Yorktown.

And...that's a wrap.

More adventures, visits, and surprise over the next few days as I travel home.

Photo: Victory, at the victory monument.

Lynchburg to Farmville

60 miles. Dinner and a show.

Today we landed at the home of McKinley's relatives, Gary and Cinda, and Cinda's mother, Ginnie. McKinley hadn't seen these generous spirits in about 10 years, so they had lots of catching up to do.

We were treated to a fabulous lunch of fresh salad and tomato soup; It was a soup kind of day, since the rain dumped from the sky. Did I ever mention how I hate being stuck in the rain? Well, I just did.

Lots of relaxing, chatting, and tv watching. A perfect day out in the country.

Cinda cooked such an amazing, healthy dinner, it certainly ranks one of the best of this trip. We had an assortment of roasted veggies and potatoes, faux chicken lettuce wraps, portobello parm, mozzarella and tomato salad, and hot, fresh bread. And a glass of red wine, to boot. Does a meal get any better? I can't wait to be a vegetarian again, the eating is so damn good.

Ginny told us a few choice jokes, one involving a coal miner on his honeymoon. It was slightly naughty, so I'll leave a bit to the imagination. Oh, and Ginny is a witty, soft-spoken woman in her 80's with a dry sense of humor, what a pistol! I asked her if she would join us for the rest of the trip to tell us jokes when we need a pick-me-up. I'm not sure she was convinced.

For the third time since leaving home, I used a computer. I did a little research on car rentals; turns out, it costs an arm and a leg to return the car to a different location. Looks like I'm pedaling home for free. Juuuuussssst kidding. I think I'll be ready to chuck my bike into the Atlantic when I see the water.

Thank you Gary, Cinda and Ginny for taking us in and feeding us 2 delicious meals! Now, for a cozy nights sleep...

Farmville to Williamsburg

115 miles. Peleton with a motorcycle.

After a delicious smoothie breakfast with Cinda and Gary, Cinda drove us back to the route. We took the brand new High Bridge rail trail out of Farmville, and had an easy 10 mile jaunt before dealing with cars again.

I think the only think that kept me focused today was knowing I'd hit my first century, and knowing Yvonne would be meeting us somewhere along the route on her motorcycle. Yvonne, a friend from home, was already planning to ride down to Virginia today, so she took a detour to visit.

Yvo and I shared a bunch of texts to track each other, so I knew just about when we would see her. At the 20 mile countdown to Williamsburg, she came rolling in behind us beeping her horn. I was so excited!

Yvonne escorted us the last 20 miles; she blocked traffic from behind and lit up the road ahead. McKinley has been feeling sick and fatigued from a mystery disease, and I wanted to hammer out the last 20 miles fast, so she drafted me as I pushed and pulled the pedals harder than I ever have. I felt like my legs would tear off of my body; I have no idea where I had the strength to turn the pedals like that for 20 miles. We stopped once to take sunset photos, and my legs cranked steady for the rest of the time.

We rolled in drenched in sweat and craving carbs. The 3 of us chatted over pasta and beer. It was a jam-packed day filled with lots of excitement. And I'm so thrilled Yvo was able to draft in our peleton :)

As my second to last day on this adventure, it has been epic.

Photos: antlers we found on the roadside, mileage, and sunset on a bridge near Williamsburg

Christiansburg to Lynchburg

I am done riding my bike.

Lynchburg is an armpit. If there's a historic or nice section, we did not have the pleasure of seeing it. We pedaled through a semi ghetto, and was yelled at by a bunch of young hillbillies in a pick up to 'get out of the !@#$ing road.' Somewhere else in America I would have revolted back, but I didn't feel comfortable, so I just shook my head and teemed with anger. McKinley grunted through clenched teeth.

This is a photo of me attempting to hitchhike while napping at Dollar General. It was rather unsuccessful.

Marion to Christiansburg

71 miles. Another brush with the law.

Yes, that's right, we had our second brush with the police today. We accidentally followed signs that led us on to an interstate, and before we knew it, it was too late to turn around. Just as we decided to pedal on to the next exit, I heard a siren. We were getting pulled over. On bicycles. Secretely, I loved it. What's funnier than being pulled over on a BICYCLE? The officers laughed, but made us wiggle under a barbed wire fence to get on the right road, which paralleled the highway. We pushed all of our gear under the fence, and he passed us our bikes above it. Off we went, and giggled about what just happened.

Today we sang all sorts of made up songs to pass time. Also, we are trying to learn some Virginia songs to up our karma level. There's one by Louis Armstrong, something about "Carry me back to old Virginnie." If we sing that over and over, that should get the good karma covered. I love Virginia!

We crossed the AT in Atkins today. As soon as we hit the trail, I threw my bike down and went running and screaming down the trail. Excited much? McKinley and I took an extremely short "hike" to say we walked on the trail, and short as in, 50 feet. I remembered the section perfectly as if it were yesterday. It's so weird that I can remember exactly what a lot of it looks like, after seeing 2,000 miles of trees. Lucky for McKinley, she will be back in that exact spot when she thru hikes.

One thing McKinley and I just agreed we definitely will not miss doing: washing our clothes in the shower every night. Soon enough.

Damascus to Marion

30 miles. The last "rest" day.

Since we are closing in on the final leg, today is considered a rest day at 30 miles. It sure was restful. There are no more short days or off days left.

We didn't set alarms and woke up when we woke up; It's one of life's simple pleasures. Alarms make me angry.

The laziness continued at Mojoe's, where we drank coffee for a few hours and relaxed in big leather lazy boy chairs. I love hanging around cozy coffee shops, there haven't been many on this trip. So we just chatted, sipped, and avoided the day. Neither McKinley or I ever seem to be in a hurry to move, which is probably why we make such great travel partners.

The riding was easy and beautiful today; everywhere I looked, the southern Appalachians surrounded us. Though we're still in the mountains, the number of hills are becoming less and less as the days pass. I'm not complaining. And I'm loving being in the Appalachians. Each day gives us Skyline Drive-like views, it's just astounding.

We decided to cut the day short in Marion after landing at a cozy cafe for dinner. This just makes tomorrow longer, so we will have less loitering time. Dang.

A reunion of all of the friends I have made out here is in the works since we all seem to be finishing around the same time; DC is where it's at. First there's Ross and Bob, who I rode with for a few days in Oregon; they rode the TransAm to the Northern Tier. Then there's Kim, who ended up also hopping up to the Northern Tier to ride with Randy. And Leslie, who I met in Mitchell, then saw again in Baker City; she stopped riding due to a knee injury, but will be in DC for an internship. And of course, McKinley, who is staying with her friend Kevin for a few days. Also, the great Andy from Baltimore is coming since he was never able to ride with me. I'm so excited for this reunion and hope that all of the pieces fall into place. The players who will be missing: Whitney and Promise; they will be headed up to the city for a while, so I will see them in a few weeks. And of course, Pete and Lauren, who are now in Boston preparing for grad school. A Beantown reunion is also up for discussion; I hope to visit them in the fall.

Here's to the next few hundred miles, there isn't much time left here.

Duffield to Damascus

73 miles. Creepin on the Creeper.

Ahh, it feels good to be home. And home, as in, Damascus, an old favorite AT town; it feels like I was just walking in to town. That was over 3 years ago.

The morning started out horribly, and I wasn't sure there would be any redemption. We began in a downpour on a highway with no shoulder. That's a scary combination that I don't wish to experience again. We had to pull over and jump behind the guard rail to take cover under some trees, which wasn't that much of a rain block anyway. The rain poured off of our heads and salt ran in my eyes. I ate a jelly sandwich while we waited. Just livin the dream.

Knowing Damascus and the Creeper Trail was at the end of our day was the only thing that kept me going. And shortly after the downpour, the sun came out and the sky turned a powder blue. There's always a silver lining.

We stopped in Abingdon, an adorable, quaint historic little town with outdoor cafe's and delicious restaurants. Dinner was at 128 Pecan, where I scarfed down a big bowl of a spicy shrimp pasta. It isn't often that we have access to good food; usually our meals come from gas stations, fast food joints, or convenience stores. Elva, our spunky waitress, was so excited and impressed by our trip that any time she asked a question, her reaction to our answer was, "Shut up!" She was a pistol.

The Creeper Trail was awesome! An easy, gradual, 16 mile downhill ride from Abingdon to Damascus. The trail was beautiful and had plenty of areas where it opened up to the rolling Virginia hills; we passed farms and homesteads along the way when not riding the magical tunnel of trees. Both McKinley and I grinned all the way to Damascus. And agreed that the TransAm should include more rail trails, or at least present them as alternate routes.

I am loving me some Virginia.

Middlesboro to Duffield

60 miles. I feel like I'm home.

Attention, attention...is this thing on? We've made it to the tenth state, Virginia, the last on this journey. I feel like I'm being comforted by an old friend, as I make my way through the Appalachians. I love these mountains, they are home to me.

McKinley and I were both extra spunky today, so we sang songs and chatted most of the day. Maybe it was because we are getting so close to finishing? Maybe because we are in Virginia? Or maybe it was that gigantic Cracker Barrel breakfast.

The southern Appalachian mountains are so beautiful, and we were lucky enough to have a million views of them today. Layers upon layers of purpley mountains, just like the views from Max Patch outside of the Smokies.

One hill was just so long and tiring, that we decided to push the bikes for a bit. Well, being that we were moving so slow, we met a friend. I heard a faint meow, and all of a sudden, the most adorable kitten came rumbling down the hillside and onto the highway. She was friendly and purring and craving attention. And because she was so persistent and in need of love, I pushed my allergic reactions aside to love up on her. She crawled all over me, and underneath my reflective vest. I have no idea where she came from since there were no houses around, but I think she was lost; she was bony and hungry. We tried to shoo her back up the hill and away from traffic, it didn't work. I was distraught, thinking of the alternative; we couldn't take her though, neither of us had any way to carry her. So we left her with a bunch of crackers to distract her, and she began to gobble them up immediately. Kitty, I sure hope you found your way back home, because I can't stop thinking about your adorable little face. Oh, and she was part siamese with the classic crossed, blue eyes. I loved that kitty.

I am so tired, my body hurts, and my shorts are becoming thread-barren and see-through. New muscles are beginning to hurt. I never get enough sleep, and climbing short hills now sucks all of my energy dry. At 30 miles, I'm ready to pull over and call it a day, when 2 months ago, 30 miles was one third of my day. We are in the final leg, and my body is saying, "Thank you, now please stop." Hold on, body, we are almost done.

And a big thank you to the employee at the IGA that bought our groceries, that was too kind.