[at-l] Day Two, or so...

[athiker at smithville.net (Felix)]

Well, where was I?  Oh, right over there...

Day Two started out clear and breezy. Not too chilly, not too warm. We were 
about 4 miles from the restaurant at Otter Creek, so we didn't spend much time 
around camp. I made a cup of hot tea, only to find my mug was full of ants. 
Damn ants. 

We packed up and walked our bikes back to the Parkway. The morning was 
beautiful. As I mounted my steed I noticed a new thing. A pain, it was. A new 
pain is what I noticed. The pain seemed to be intense and centered, roughly, 
right where my legs meet. "This isn't good" I said of the new thing I noticed.

Oddly enough, it last only about 10 seconds and I never had that particular 
pain again on the whole ride. I was glad of that, too. 

The four miles to Otter Creek restaurant was very pleasant. Downhill or level, 
no cars, crisp air and that orangeness that a rising sun brings to the trees. 
It is times like these that make people do things like this. 

We got to the restaurant shortly after they opened. I was dismayed to find out 
that they didn't sell newspapers there. My dismayal was quickly alleviated by a 
cup of coffee and a breakfast menu, however. 

Our server was a very pleasant black woman, well beyond middle-aged. I asked 
her if the hash browns had onions in them. She tried to describe them to me. 
Finally she just went to the kitchen to get me one. She brought me a single 
hash brown to look at. It was a solitary square of potato, about 1/2 inch on 
each side. There was no onion. I ordered hash browns on the condition that I 
got more than one 1/2 inch square potato. I did. 

We had a fandamtabulous breakfast, we did. There aren't enough people like our 
server that morning. That's easy to say. 

We struck up a conversation with a fellow from Boone, NC. He was riding a 
motorcycle home from Maine. He had been, ironically, at the Gathering. With a 
woman whose name I can't remember. Something like 'Racely', or some such. She's 
thru-hiked and has done climbing in Nepal and about the world. He asked me what 
I thought of the new 'ATC'. I told him I wasn't none too thrilled with it and 
briefly why. He said he didn't think it was moving in the right direction. 

We said our goodbyes and Pilot and I bought snacks. We mounted our steeds and 
headed to the James River knowing the just beyone is where 'the big climb' 
would begin. And, it did. 

We climbed 3000 feet in about 13 miles. I have no idea if that sounds like a 
lot, or not...but, it was. This is the place that I figured out that cycling is 
harder than I thought it would be. 

It got to a point for me that I had to stop every mile. I had carrotized the 
mileposts. I needed to make a milepost to get a break. Sometimes it was all I 
could do to get to the post. Sometimes, I didn't. This is one place that 
cycling differs greatly from hiking. When hiking you can simply slow down if 
you need to. In cycling you have to keep a certain pace or the bike tends to 
fall over. My legs were screaming. My shoulders and arms were screaming. My 
lungs and heart, however, felt really good. I was surprised by this. 

So, we rode on. A break every mile was on the menu. This little girl I was 
with, bless her heart, had to stop and wait for me every mile. I know I was 
cramping her 'go up the hills like they're not even there' style. Too bad!! If 
you want to ride with me, you have to ride slow. Damn ants. 

At one point, nearing the top, two guys on bikes flew past us like we were 
standing still. It was comical to see. When I first saw them they were so far 
behind me that I wasn't even certain they were on bikes. So, I turned again and 
got another look. This time they were much closer. I chuckled to myself and 
said "Who ARE those guys?". As they rode by I said something like 'Be good' and 
they were gone. They were pannierless and obviously weren't making this climb 
for the first time. I liked them for that. 

When we got to the end of the climb, which is where the AT crosses the Parkway 
just north of Thunder Hill Shelter, I was muchly happy. A southbounder happened 
to be crossing the road right as I got to the trail, so I stopped and talked to 
him for a minute. 

The next ten miles were gloriously downhill. Watching the mileposts go by one 
every two minutes or less helps the psyche...not to mention the average. I LOVE 
the downhills. I love flying with the wind whistling in my helmet. Nearing 50 
miles per hour at times can be exhilirating when minutes before you wondered if 
you were going to fall over for lack of momentum. 

The downhill ended, at least for us, at Peaks of Otter restaurant. I was 
needing to be off the bike for a while. After just a few minutes in the 
restaurant I wasn't sure if that was the place I wanted to be when I was off 
it, though. The restaurant just had a very snooty feel to it. No one was rude 
to us to speak of. It just felt pretentious, or something. We couldn't get out 
of there fast enough. I did buy a newspaper. So, that was good. 

After we left the restaurant, we stopped at the campstore to get some snacks. 
Snacks are very important part of cycling. So are bikes.

>From the campstore we rode about 4 miles to highway 43 at Bearwallow Gap. We 
were sitting on the stone bridge/overpass there looking at a map to figure out 
where we were going to stay for the night. I looked down the road that goes 
under the overpass and saw an old, gated fire road where I thought the AT used 
to be. We decided that was a good place to look, so we did. 

I remembered the AT going under the overpass and turning onto the fire road 
in '98. It was obvious it didn't anymore. There was a signless signpost with 
double blazes painted gray. The road/trail was slightly overgrown and 
definitely unmaintained. We pushed our bikes along, lifting over blowdowns 
occasionally, for a few hundred feet, out of sight of the roads. We found a 
decent spot and set up camp. 

Another pleasant evening, if not a bit too windy. This night's campsite wasn't 
as attractive as the previous. We WERE camping right on the old AT. So, there 
was something feeling good about that. I adjusted one of my cleats a little as 
I'd started experiencing a nagging pain in my knee. 

I went to bed early as my old body was tired. My thermarest would only hold air 
for about the first hour before it was pretty much empty. So, I tried to get to 
sleep before that happened. I usually woke up soon after the last of the air 
was squeezed out. This night was no different. 

A hoot owl hooted for a while. I liked that. 

Good night, John Boy.  

-- 
Felix J. McGillicuddy
ME-->GA '98
"Your Move"
http://Felixhikes.tripod.com