I woke up for the fifth or so time to morning light and the sound of a lawnmower. It was ten o'clock. Annoyed with the man on his mower and myself, I hurriedly rushed to pack my things away. Halfway through, the whirring motor engine suddenly cut off. Larry Whithers slowly came into focus with a hand extended.
"I hope I didn't wake you this morning. Don't rush to pack up because of me, take your time."
All was forgiven.
I answered, "Hey no worries buddy, I couldn't sleep anyway. You just reminded me I was late to ride today."
We had a nice morning conversation and once again, I felt charged from a stranger. As I was saddling onto my bike to ride off, I gave a wave over to Larry on his mower. When he raised his left hand off of the steering wheel to wave back, the mower plunged into the thick foilage astray from the green hillside. He emerged laughing and I responded with a wide grin but not so much that it appeared I was laughing at him. I biked back into Berea.
I rode into "Old Town Berea", which was a place where student-created products, and intrinsic homemade arts were made. The Berea College specializes in mountain history and area specific work. The city is one of fastest growing places in Kentucky because of the school. It should be a prime example of what kind of opportunities that investing in education can bring.
So, in Old Town there was a festivity going on and I followed the faint sound of a crudely played violin. On a stage, in front of a medium sized tent were young children performing a recital. I stopped, grabbed a hot dog and watched for awhile. Some of the kids were really talented. Others weren't but it takes a lot of courage no matter what to get in front of a bunch of people like that.
A moment I thought was pretty cool was when these two ten year old girls were middway through performing a Taylor Swift song. One girl was on guitar, the other on violin and the teacher was strumming guitar with them to help. All of a sudden, the Berea train came roaring through the fair and the little girls music faded into the noise. The music teacher didn't miss a beat. She yelled something with an emotion I couldn't pinpoint and ran to the side of the stage. She emerged with two medals that she placed over the girls heads saying, "Sarah and Jessica are our train winners!" They got some sort of prize and the girls were actually smiling. I thought they would've been devastated but the music teacher redeemed them. They continued where they left off after the crashing of the steel dissipated into the distance.
Finally leaving Berea, I ran into Maggi and Kyle. We talked for a really long time on the sidewalk where I learned they were heading 15 miles off route north to Richmond because Kyle had had no brakes for a couple days (0.o). Remember Big Hill? They had to walk down that... 2 miles... but they got a car ride into Berea. Eventually we split.
Leaving Berea, Kentucky geography and community began to appear noticably different. Hills rolled along and I was now in prime bluegrass territory. Driveways had nice cars and families owned gigantic farms. My ride seeing these lovely scenes was shortlived as I missed a turn. Choosing between going back a mile or continuing on a route that brought me through two cities; I chose the cities.
The ride into Lancaster (pop.3000) was nice. I had a huge shoulder and I comfortably stayed inside my own zone listening to music while staring ahead on an endless straightaway. In Lancaster, I asked for the safest route to Danville (pop.16000). Upon the advice of two Subway employees, I was told to take the longer but safer route through Stanford. Ensue disaster.
The ride to Stanford was awful. No shoulder, no white line for the side of the road, and the end had a rumble strip with a 75* ledge into grass. I rode on this rumble strip, shaking like a jackhammer for a few miles until I lost control. A sharp gust of wind slightly turned my wheel over this ledge and my bike slid out from under me. I huddled my body into the fetal position as I rolled across the pavement into the center of the road. Now, I was only going about 8-10 mph so I was fine but I was incredibly lucky not to have one of the many speeding motorists on my side of the street. Shaken, I collected myself by the side of the road for a minute. The road would not get better.
I would later turn onto Route 157 where the "shoulder" again was a rumble strip with debris everywhere. Sweating more from anxiety than force, I suddenly felt my back tire start to slide to and fro: a flat. Pulling over, I yelled all my stress out and flipped the bike over. As I started the long forgotten procedures on how to change a bike tire, someone pulled over for me.
John Stevens was the coolest, most helpful guy. Hell, I didn't even change the tire, I more or less just watched. He had been an accountant, a mechanic, and an overall working man. From just the thickness of his hands, I could tell he'd been a hard laborer. He didn't leave until he made sure the bike was riding and I was set to go. He wanted to give me a ride but there was no room for the bike. With his wife and child waiting in the car, he finally went back to resume the role of driver in his vehicle but not before sharing a valuable life lesson with me. Thank you, John.
No more than 10 minutes later, I thought I felt my tire losing air. "Nah, couldn't be", I thought to myself. Pulling over for a 50 cents ice cream at Burger King, I surveyed the tire. It was in fact, FUBAR. For the next 12 miles to this godforsaken park in Harrodsburg, I stopped every three miles to inflate the damn thing. I had pinched the new tube. I fixed it at the park (I think) and it should be good tomorrow.
Eh, it wasn't a terrible day, just not the best. Without the tire problem, I wouldn't have met John. Without crashing, I wouldn't have... nah, fuck that crash.
;)
Berea Children's Music Recital w/ comunity eats.
The old Berea L & N Passenger Railroad station. It's last passenger was taken in 1959.
Ken-tah-ten as it was called by the Iroquois indians meant "rolling meadows or prarielands." The roads are basically like your local "Crazy Mouse" rollercoaster.
Stopping to pump my tire for the 3rd time since the flat.
Watching a baseball game in Anderson Dean Community Park where I'm camping.
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