What a great day

April 20, 2024

Hard to improve on, really

"HERE'S THE CUP for your water, sir" the waitress at the Mexican restaurant said, ever-so-slightly emphasizing "water" as she deposited a very large styrofoam cup on the table. She had a twinkle in her eye and a slight smile in her voice as she did, then turned discreetly away so as not to see what happened next. Somehow, the remains of the biggest margarita on the planet ended up in the cup, instead of water. Those remains comprised probably 80 percent of the original portion, which weighed in at probably 48 ounces or more.

This is easily the biggest margarita I've ever seen. What a monster!

I liked their sense of humor. Between that, the good food, modest prices, and great service I'd be a regular if I lived here.

Our mutual conspiracy helped put a nice gloss on the finish of a fine meal, and was the end of a very good day.

Let's rewind to the start of the day and recount what made it so good. Joanne and Jeff, my sister in law and her husband, were the excellent hosts I knew they would be, but I also know they are not generally early risers.

With not quite fifty miles to cover today, I could afford to linger a bit at their place before setting off. We went out for breakfast, then headed back to their house where I changed into riding clothes, got packed and loaded up.

Joanne's a high school math teacher. Can you tell?

Ready to roll, right at the crack of 10:15.

Setting off in mid-morning meant that the the temperature had already begin to rise. It wouldn't attain the steam-room levels of true summer, but it was definitely on the warm side of my comfort range and I was to wish later in the day that I had been out earlier.

Traffic at mid-morning on a Saturday was surprisingly light, and what drivers there were gave me a courteous amoount of space as I rode east through a light commercial area then entered a neighborhood of older homes, strongly reminiscent of certain parts of my town.

Once a gas station, now a pizza joint with a name that hints at its past

Lovely street in an older neighborhood. The street's a little wider, and the lots are a little larger, but the homes are strongly reminiscent of areas of my town. I'd not be surprised if they were of the same age.

Yard decorations always interest me, as they express something of the owner's taste and personality. This one appealed to me particularly.

After riding fewer than ten miles, I've left the city behind and am out in the country.

The first sign I noticed, that there are established bike routes in the area. I'll pick up and follow US BR 1 later in this tour, but for today I'm content just to know it's there.

Under the watchful gaze of a trio of ponies.

This house bears the name of the owner of the store for which the road I'm following is named ("Flowes Store Road") and the number 1881. I doubt that's the address.

Across the road is a building I'd bet was the original (and only) Flowe's Store.

This small cemetery stands alone, with no church or other edifice nearby. Who will remember these souls 100 years hence?

The terrain through which I'm riding is gentle, easy rolling with no killer hills. The drainage is set far enough apart that I don't even get closely-spaced descents and climbs. I muse as I ride about the difference between "country" life in the east versus that out west. In the east, plots measure in a few acres to many dozen; out west they seem to start at several hundred and go up rom there. So, although I'm in definite rural surroundings, I'm never really far from help should I need it.

At about mile 26, a small lightly shaded patch of grass provides the perfect spot for a breather and a couple handfuls of trail mix by way of sustenance. Lying on my back and gazing at the sky through the tree branches which are providing me some shade, I notice that there's enough human activity that it's never entirely silent. There are just enough vehicles on the road, and their sound carries far enough, that before one fades entirely another has begun to approach. Or, I can hear jets overhead when the interval between vehicles is longer.

It's time to be off again, though, so I remount and continue.

An unwelcome sight: an unpaved road that I can't conveniently avoid. Happily, it's less than a mile and emerges onto lovely pavement on the far end.

Someone on the county road crew had a moment of fun with the tar dispenser.

A half hour later, and another five or so miles down the road, I've begun to take note of the amount of water I have remaining. I'm not out but what's left is not enough to see me through to the end of the day, so I resolve to stop at the first credible opportunity for a refill.

That chance comes just moments later, as I pass the Georgeville Volunteer Fire Department. The lone pickup at the side of the building tells me there's someone in attendance, so I pull up and lean the bike against the side of the building. Before I knock, though, I do a bit of scouting to see whether there's a hose bib available. There isn't, and as I return to the front of the building the firefighter on watch duty opens the door. "Can Ihelp you?" he asks, and I produce my empty bottle. "I'm hoping for a refill." I tell him.

He ushers me inside and we enjoy a few minutes' conversation as I fill, empty, and refill the bottle. He tells me they respond to about 40,000 calls a year throughout the county, a surprisingly (to me) large number.

The Georgeville VFD: right place, right time to see to my needs.

Proceeding, I pass the first cotton field of my tour. I'm a tiny bit startled, having somehow assumed in my ignorance that "The Cotton South" had more-or-less disappeared. Clearly not. Ruminating on that, I recall past rides in southern Vigirina that have taken me past similar scenes, so obviously I'm delusional.

Falling into ruin. Tucked away on the open side there's an ancient horse (or probably mule)-drawn farm wagon.

My final shade-and-rest break occurs somewhere around mile 40. I'd spotted a small stand of trees with fairly dense shade close to the roadside, and was resolved to plunk down there.

The homeowner happened to be pulling out of his driveway just as I was passing, though, so out of politeness I stopped to get permission. "Can I use some of your shade, please?" "Of course. Set down here in the front yard, so you don't have to be right next to the road." came the response, in a classic and genuine gentle Southern drawl.

Fifteen minutes or so later, feeling refreshed and ready for the final roll into Albemarle, I was again on my way.

The only country church I recall having passed, all day. Perhaps there were others that I simply didn't notice- hard to imagine the NC countryside isn't dotted with them. This one was only 2.3 miles from the end of my day's ride.

My hotel is at the south end of town, and after a shower and some light housekeeping I was disinclined to do any more exploring than to cross the highway to the Mexican place for dinner. I'll probably ride through town tomorrow, on my way east. There's a 95 percent chance of day-long rain though,so the carms of Albemarle may have to remain unexplored in the name of getting to my destination and out of the rain as quickly as possible.

My only regret for the day has to do with dinner. I wish I had left a bigger tip.

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Today's ride: 49 miles (79 km)
Total: 73 miles (117 km)

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