It's not always about the ride

April 23, 2024

It's about the journey

TODAY WAS PLANNED as a short-mileage day. I'm abusing the hospitality of a friend, whose home is less than 20 miles from where I stayed last night, so I have the luxury of time to spare.

It has occurred to me that, apart from whatever serendipity and fortune have placed directly along my line of travel, I have thus far seen little of any town I've stayed in or passed through. Unlike many others who keep journals here, I haven't explored any farther afield than it takes to find dinner in the evenings, and I haven't even done that every night.

So, as I set off today, it is with a certain resolution to see at least a bit of Hillsborough before I move on.

My attention is caught first by the old red brick courthouse in town. It's the focal point of a complex of buildings which, taken together, are the justice system in the county, and a prominent landmark.

The historic Orange County, NC courthouse.

Across the street that runs behind it there's a large park. It lies on the bank of the Eno River, and the Riverwalk Trail runs through the park.

Among the features of the park are a large open area that was once a thriving African-American neighborhood, relocated when a new bridge was built to carry U.S. 70 across the river, and a recreation of an Occaneechi Native American village. Inside the palisade are a few huts made of native materials.

A recreation of the palisaded Native American village that once stood near this spot.

An additional hut is being constructed by Crow, with whom I enjoy a few minutes' conversation as I watch him at his task. He tells me he learned the craft as a boy, from his father. As such he represents the most recent in what I suppose is a line of such makers stretching back through uncountable generations.

Moving on, I'm quickly out of town and back in the open countryside.

Horse country. I pass miles of four board fences enclosing large pastures.

A mysterious cairn. Does it mark the final resting place of a beloved pet, or the location of family treasures buried to keep the safe from marauding Yankee soldiers? My money is on a trove of pirate booty.

It's a beautiful day and the road is excellent, so the miles roll easily by under Serenity's tires. A half dozen miles before I arrive, I stop long enough to text my friend that I'm about a half hour away, and send him a Google Maps link he can use to follow my progress in real time.

As I pull up to the house, Nick steps out to greet me with a hearty cry of "Welcome!" and a big hug. The house, garage, workshop, shed, and yard are all immaculate: testimony to many hours of hard work.

Nick and I share a virtual cup of coffee most days. It's a special treat to do it in person.

After I've showered we have lunch and I get The Tour. My friend is a tractor buff, and has spent much of the last three years reviving and restoring "Mr. Tractor" as he lovingly calls his machine. I've read bits and pieces of the ongoing effort, that he has shared in the online motorcycle forum through which we became friends.

With Mr. Tractor, which Nick has painstakingly and lovingly brought back to health after years of neglect and abuse by a previous owner. Happy Tractor!

I learn a number of other interesting tidbits as well. He has a fleet of remote control airplanes and helicopters, for example, and also flew full-scale planes for a while.

While we are in the work shop his wife arrives, returning from a dental appointment. Diane is a pleasant, friendly woman, immediately putting me at ease with her low-key demeanor and high level of hospitality.

In the afternoon Nick and I drive over to the place where he flies his model aircraft, but that's not why we're there today. He's brought his .22 caliber target pistol, and we enjoy killing old spray cans and punching holes in paper targets for an hour or two. In between, we simply sit and enjoy the place, the day, and each other's company.

On the way back home, Nick pulls into the grounds of an historic church and its accompanying graveyard, because he has noticed in my journals that I enjoy such places. He tells me about several of the families with members interred here; among them are many names of prominent local citizens and one former Governor of the state.

Returning home, we find Diane has made us dinner. She'll eat later, when a dozen and a half other women come for their monthly book club meeting, but she joins us for conversation over a glass of wine while we eat.

One of the book club ladies is accompanied by her husband; they were the previous owners of the house. While the ladies occupy the living room we three gents remain in the sunroom, a cheerful and pleasant space. We talk of woodworking, tractors, computers, the history of the telephone system, and numerous other topics.

Two hours pass quickly and enjoyably before the book club breaks up and the other guests depart. Tomorrow's a longer mileage day for me, too, so I thank my hosts and retire for the night. I'm delighted with the day, and with the chance to spend quality time with my friends.

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Today's ride: 17 miles (27 km)
Total: 199 miles (320 km)

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