On the Blue Ridge mountains, etc

May 18, 2006

I am in a town called Damascus, having ridden from Wytheville over two minor mountains that each topped 1,000 metres. The Appalachians are junior versions of the Pyrenees, or perhaps more like the Massif Central. But they are easier than both. If the hills are steep - and they can get to 15 per cent in stretches - then they are short. If they are long, as yesterday, they can be ridden on the middle ring, even with camping gear, with occasional if lengthy drops to the 30-ring.

For non-bikies who consider all this to be technical gibberish, I apologise.

Anyway, the Appalachians are a series of ridges with valleys between them. We have cleared two of them - the Blue Ridge a couple of days ago and Mount Rogers yesterday - and word has it that we're in for a tough time tomorrow before heading into the descending foothills that lead to Kentucky.

By then, we will have spent close on two weeks crossing Virginia, which is longer from west to east than from north to south. Or, if it isn't, it seems that way.

The countryside has turned more to farmland and forest and, while there is still some ribbon development along the lanes (although the houses are generously spaced), I am in the sort of rural surroundings that I know.

Something else that has changed is the prosperity. Closer to the coast, and especially south from Washington, the place had the air of the richest regions of Switzerland, as though everything had been mown and no two blades of grass left to the wrong length, that the houses had been freshly painted and the cars newly polished. And that done, all the people had gone inside and hidden so they wouldn't turn up in the pictures that their creations begged tourists to take.

Now, heading west, the houses are smaller, the farms scruffier, the vehicles more likely to be pick-ups than saloons. Now and then I have ridden past places with gardens full of thrown-out refrigerators and partly dissected cars. I am longing to find a place piled high with rusting junk and boasting one of the frequent calls for God to bless America.

One reason you need Adventure Cycling's excellent maps is that this guy has stolen all the signs (and possibly also a hair dryer). To my surprise, the place turned out to be a working gas station.

Those who know the geography better say this is all preparation for Kentucky. We are about to ride into a land of marked poverty, where few locals have left the county let alone the country, where culture goes no deeper than Jerry Springer and NASCAR racing. It'll be fascinating to see if it turns out to be true.

Another thing that has changed has been the number of American flags. For American friends, I should point out that flying the French flag outside your house would be considered extremely odd. To the point that you would become the talking point of the area. To fly the Union Jack in Britain would suggest you're one of those people who look daily through the papers to see if they've got India back. And to fly the English flag - the red cross on a white background - is such a symbol of white supremacy that most would feel happy doing it only during international soccer tournaments. And soccer is hardly a sport for lisping, bleeding-heart liberals with leather patches on their sleeves.

Virginia and the beauty - often arduous beauty - of the Appalachians

In America, on the other hand, flags are everywhere. In fact a woman that I met a few days back said she felt such social pressure to join the neighbours in flying one that "my husband and I had to talk it through, because we didn't want a flag but we were afraid our neighbours would think we weren't patriotic enough." Why do Americans feel such a need to stress their patriotism? It would be an interesting study for anyone who goes with the theory that there is something suspect about people who protest too loudly.

The most flags I've counted in a day is 127. That was on the 160km hike from Ashland to Williamsburg. I've been keeping a total since the ride started and I'd hoped the number would rise rapidly. But now we're further west, the flags have thinned out. Near Washington, they were averaging one for every 300 metres, which considering I often rode through rural areas was saying something. On the day to Williamsburg, the average was still close to one flag per kilometre. Now I am down to one flag every two kilometres.

The question is: will rural, red-neck Kentucky (as it's been portrayed to me) be more likely to fly the flag, or less?

I'll keep the count going and let you know.

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Keith AdamsIt's far too late now, of course, but as you traveled through rural Virginia, Kentucky, and Missouri you'd have been almost as likely to encounter the Confederate battle flag (the "Stars and Bars") as Old Glory. Perhaps even both, flown together without consideration of the obvious irony.
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