May 14, 2015
Day 9: Radford to Rural Retreat; The Kindness of Strangers
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(Note to readers regarding the elevation profiles; the profile is calculated from Point "A" on the map to Point "B" on the map. Since I am traveling east to west on the first half of this transcontinental journey, my route of travel is usually shown on the map as being from right to left. However, the elevation profile is shown from left to right, so it must be "reversed" in your head to understand it.)
Climbing Today; 3,820 ft -- Total So Far; 21,873 ft
The morning air was actually quite cool as I left Radford, and my fingers got chilled such that I pulled on some cotton gloves over my cycling gloves. I knew the chill wouldn't last long and soon I would be laboring in the heat. I saw this interesting sign as I crossed into the next county.
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I grew up in Pulaski County, Arkansas, so maybe this sign was an omen of good things to come. Many communities along the route go out of their way to encourage cyclists to stay there; although cyclists probably are a bit more careful with their coins, they do spend a little money as they pass through. And maybe this is just a Virginia thing, as these folks are just outstanding hosts and the most polite people I have ever met. Passing the Newbern Post Office, I was delighted to see that the window was open at 7:30am, and I shipped home a package weighing 2.5 pounds. That's the 2nd package I have sent home, so I have now offloaded about 5 pounds of gear. And that's common; most every other cyclist I have met has made a Post Office stop. Something about the labor involved with crossing the Blue Ridge makes you want to dump everything that isn't a real necessity. Of course, I thought I had it all whittled down before I left, but one can only truly learn some lessons via experience. I cycled along and came upon this Methodist Church.
Since the time I left Yorktown (Atlantic coast), most every church I have encountered was a Baptist church, and many of those were built in the mid 1800 period. This is only the 2nd Methodist church I have encountered. Jumping ahead a bit in my journey, as I traveled farther westward I eventually encountered a Presbyterian Church and a couple of Church of Christ, and then started seeing a variety of churches simply named as "(blank) Christian Church" where "blank" might be the town name or other descriptor such as "Holiness." Just an observation. While traveling at bicycle speed, you actually NOTICE things, as compared to whizzing past them at light speed in a steel cage. But I digress, so let's get back to the story sequence.
I needed a place to stop and set up for a conference call, so I pulled over at the Draper Mercantile in the quaint little town of Draper.
It was 8:20 a.m., and they didn't open until 9:00, but a lady saw me outside, unlocked the door, brought me in, set me up in a comfortable seating area, and then they brewed a pot of coffee just so I could have a cup - and they weren't even open! They like cyclists here, but it's more than that; these people are just polite. It's the very definition of southern hospitality, and it's real and genuine. These people act the way our mamas told us to behave, but most of us have forgotten those lessons. I recalled my first day of cycling in Virginia, when I stopped at the Courthouse Grill in Charles City for lunch. Several of the locals were seated nearby and were discussing an ongoing road-widening project. I had just biked down that road so I was listening in. A couple of them espoused what might be called a conservative viewpoint; they didn't want taxes to be used for this unnecessary project, and they weren't happy that a new bridge had to be built and that a bike lane was included in the project cause they thought these were extravagant expenses. Others in the group argued what we might call the liberal viewpoint; they said it was needed for future needs, the bike lane helped bring cyclists out their way, and the money being spent aided the local economy. What struck me about the conversation though, was how polite and respectful all of the folks were. They had genuine disagreements on this issue, but they said "Sir" and "Mam" to each other and they never interrupted one another. In stark contrast, most folks today simply dismiss the "other" folks' point of view, and denigrate each other by name calling. They take sides by saying "I'm a Republican" or "I'm a Democrat" without giving the issue under consideration serious thought. Well, the fact is, good ideas originate from both viewpoints, and I take pride in trying to be an independent thinker and support good ideas wherever they come from. I'm actually getting choked up as I write this; I love these Virginia folks and their southern politeness. In future journal entries you will see more examples and perhaps understand my feelings. Cresting a hill, I stopped for a brief rest in the shade and was overwhelmed by the pleasant aroma of honeysuckle vine.
As I entered Wythe county, I came upon this sign proudly announcing their connection to a signer of the Declaration of Independence.
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Either the hills are getting steeper or my legs are wearing out earlier each day. But the scenery is magnificient.
I found a shaded area for a brief rest before moving on.
I must say that I have been impressed with the Virginia roads. The pavement is great, even on the back roads that are my route. Whatever it is that Virginia does to get money to maintain their pavements, Oklahoma needs to copy. My concept of rural roads and county roads in Oklahoma consists of numerous patched areas and lots of potholes. Virginia rural roads are smoothly paved with few imperfections. I came upon a sign warning me of a "Pavement Break" and slowed in apprehension; turns out that the "Pavement Break" was merely a 2-foot wide cut across the roadway that had been smoothly repaired such that I hardly noticed it, even on a bicycle. Virginia highway officials thought it deserved a special warning; in Oklahoma this would be considered an example of a pristine roadway. Jumping ahead a bit, the farther west I cycled in Virginia, the more pavement imperfections I saw; but this is a relative thing, and the pavements in western Virginia are still far superior to Oklahoma.
Looking for a re-fueling stop in Wytheville, I spotted the Italian Gardens restaurant and wheeled in. I noticed another loaded touring bike outside, and when I went in I met Robert, another Brit touring the U.S. by bike. Robert is traveling light and trying to stay in a hotel or otherwise inside every night. That was my idea when I first conceived of this trip, but others convinced me it just wasn't feasible as the route is designed to miss the larger cities and there just aren't motels located at all the places you will need to stop for the night. So I'm bearing the added weight of camping gear, and my experience to date is that it is necessary. But I wish the best for Robert and hope he can make it all the way inside.
Leaving Wytheville, I set my sights ahead and cycled on to the small town of Rural Retreat. There I picked up some food at a grocery store so I could camp that night if necessary. I had hoped to stay at a hostel in Troutdale that night, but no one would answer the phone. Instead, a recording simply gave directions. For a cyclist who may arrive after dark, the directions need to be pretty straightforward; and I would have also liked some confirmation that they had space for me. So I was a bit apprehensive as I was leaving town at 5:45 with 25 miles to go which included a 1,000 foot climb approaching Troutdale. The sky had darkened as an evening storm was moving in, and I wasn't feeling very secure about my immediate future. I was prepared to camp in the wilderness, but there really wasn't any wilderness for at least 14 miles. Now 14 miles may not seem like much when you are in a car, but for a loaded touring cyclist who is headed generally "up" into the mountains, it could be 2 hours. As I struggled uphill leaving town, I exchanged pleasantries with a fellow who was doing yardwork beside the road. One of the joys of cycling is that you can actually talk to folks as you slowly move pass. When I got to the top of the hill, I did a map check and realized my dilemma. So I needed a place to camp in Rural Retreat; surely there had to be some place to camp. I rolled back down the hill and engaged the gentleman I had passed earlier, asking if there was a city park or other such place I might camp. He suggested the campground out at the Rural Retreat lake; I told him I had already called and was told they would not open for the season until the following weekend. Then he offered; "Why don't you just camp in my yard?" I was very happy to accept his offer, and his backyard was the most incredible campsite ever.
The gentleman's name was Craig, and Craig treated me royally, introducing me to his wife and family, providing me with water to refill my bottles, an extension cord so I could recharge my cellphone, and even a lawn chair to add to my campsite. His lawn was perfectly manicured and the grass was so soft I probably didn't even need my sleeping pad. I had a campsite under a large oak tree, and slept peacefully that night despite the occasional whistle of nearby freight trains. I arose at 4:30 the next morn, packed camp, and left a note saying "Thank You!" in the lawn chair, along with the url for this journal. Maybe Craig will read it and realize how much I appreciated his hospitality. Hey, have I mentioned that I really love the people of Virginia?
Today's ride: 59 miles (95 km)
Total: 463 miles (745 km)
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