June 13, 2023
Day One: Henderson, Kentucky to Marion, Kentucky
I had trouble sleeping, which is typical for me the night before starting a bike tour. I woke up around 4:00 and noticed that I hadn't received some of the automated early-morning emails that I rely upon to tell me if the server that hosts my customers' software is alright. Something was wrong.
I spent the next couple of hours trying to figure out what had happened, eventually determining that a change I'd made seven days ago had caused the problem. I was a few minutes away from deciding I'd have to postpone this tour yet again when I figured it out and fixed it. Maybe I should buy this t-shirt to help me remember next time.
I finally rode out of our driveway after 7:00. It was still pleasantly cool. Wind appeared to be out of the southwest, as it almost always is here, but it wasn't terrible yet. I didn't bother looking at the forecast to see how strong it was supposed to get. I didn't really want to know.
The first twenty miles today were of course very, very familiar. I took a few photos of the familiar scenery anyway.
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I stopped in Cairo, a tiny unincorporated community, where there's a nice country store / café. This was a comically early "second breakfast", since I'd eaten oatmeal at home only twenty miles ago.
There was a friendly couple in the café who asked where I'd come from. I sheepishly told them that this was the first day of my trip, and I'd only ridden twenty miles. It's a lot more fun tell people how long you've been on the road, and where you started on a tour, when you've done 2,000 miles instead of 20 miles.
I left, fortified by my two egg-and-cheese biscuits, and rode onto some country lanes I hadn't tried before on my day rides in the area.
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10 months ago
I was stopped, standing over my bike and looking at the map on my phone, when a friendly man and his grandson rode up on an ATV. I'd now ridden about 25 miles, which was obviously not something worth bragging about, but the two seemed extremely impressed anyway. Before I rode away, the man insisted on hearing the list of country lanes on my route, at least the next ten miles worth. He nodded approvingly as I listed them. "Yep, that'll work. That's a good one", etc. etc.
Back on the road. I was feeling pretty good. Maybe my three-week bout of COVID in February hadn't completely wrecked my fitness after all?
I turned onto a series of increasingly rough gravel roads in a successful attempt at avoiding traffic in an around the bigger town of Morganfield. I was annoyed that it was getting hilly. I hadn't thought I'd see any hills until I arrived in Sturgis.
I was starting to get tired. I wasn't seeing a lot worth photographing the last hour or so, and was reduced to taking a picture of one of the omnipresent Kentucky historical markers. I stop and read almost all of these things on bike rides, for some reason.
I rode through Sturgis, population 1,898. I'd worked out a route that I thought would allow me to avoid traffic in the busy main drag through the town, but it required me to ride through the small airport and an industrial area. I stopped and read a sign that informed me that traffic was for authorized personnel only, but I quickly rode through it anyway and onto a state highway for a few miles, and then into a state forest on a gravel road. I'd now done 50 miles, and was tired.
The road was pretty good gravel, with only occasional washboard sections. But, it was hilly.
I pulled off the road and poked around an old cemetery. If I needed to stealth camp in a cemetery (something I've always wanted to try, but haven't done yet), this one would have worked.
Back on the road. I was perhaps unreasonably annoyed at the hills on this gravel road. I used to like climbing. Was I a "weenie" now, one who complained about hills, and was tired after 50 miles? Possibly.
I hadn't seen a single vehicle on this gravel forest road so far. But the chirping of birds was suddenly interrupted by a siren. It felt like I was in the middle of nowhere, and I was pretty sure I was miles from a paved road. How was the sound of a distant siren penetrating all the thick trees?
The siren got louder. Then I saw a cloud of dust ahead, and immediately pulled off the road, as far as I could get. A pickup truck, at a ridiculously fast speed, was approaching, fishtailing all over the place on the gravel. At first I was infuriated at the dust he was stirring up, and made the usual rude gestures. I yelled variations on "You stupid motherfucker! What the fuck are you doing?!"
But I quickly realized he wasn't paying attention to me, because soon the source of the siren appeared: A cop car (or rather, cop SUV), also careening and stirring up dust followed him.
I was dumbfounded by this scene, and, frankly, a little shaken. I just don't expect to witness a high speed police chase on a gravel forest road in the middle of nowhere while riding my bike. I mean, I tour on a mountain bike and seek out quiet gravel to avoid things like this.
A few minutes later I heard another siren. It was a second cop car. This time I got out my camera, but the photos I took aren't really that impressive. You had to be there, I suppose.
Maybe it was because I was a little shaken up by all this, but I dropped my chain twice in the next few miles, and got my hands greasy putting it back on. And then I unwisely used some of my dwindling supply of water to clean my hands.
By the time I left the gravel forest road, I was feeling the onset of a bonk, s I stopped and ate a Payday bar. But I needed more water. I'm carrying a water filter on this trip, but it seemed ridiculous to use it here - I was carrying it for when (if?) I reached the rugged mountains in Arkansas. It seemed dumb to use it in what is practically my backyard.
As I rode, I looked for a house where I might be able to walk up to the door and request a water bottle refill. The one closest to the road featured a "Guns, God, Trump" flag, the usual No Trespassing signs, and what appeared to be a gun range in the front yard. That didn't look promising, obviously, so I kept on riding.
A few miles later, I rode into an Amish community.
Several Amish women were sitting on the front porch of a house. I wasn't sure if they would be offended by a strange "English" man talking to them, but I was getting desperate, so I stopped and asked if they could give me water. The older woman went into the house and returned with a jug of ice cold water. She gave me a wry look and said "That might help you", then walked back inside. Her mannerisms and voice reminded me of my (deceased) grandmother Gertrude.
I mixed the water with some of the Pedialyte that I'm carrying, and rode on. I was ready to be done for the day, but I had about ten miles to go. I really am terribly out of shape, by my previous standards anyway.
I ground out the last few miles to Marion, population 2,848. Marion is one of the towns on the TransAmerica Trail, and people are accustomed to seeing touring cyclists riding through.
I stopped first at the busy 24-hour convenience store in the middle of town, where two different friendly people asked me about my trip. I was afraid this would happen, since people in Marion are accustomed to seeing cyclists who started in either Virginia (impressive!) or Oregon (even more impressive!) I had to tell them I started in Henderson, Kentucky, a town so close to Marion that Marion residents could almost commute to work there every day.
I called the pastor of the Marion United Methodist Church, which has hosted touring cyclists for years, then he arrived and let me in (after first asking me "Where did you start your trip? How long have you been on the road?")
After that I walked to the Mexican restaurant for dinner, then retired to the youth room at the church.
Today's ride: 74 miles (119 km)
Total: 74 miles (119 km)
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10 months ago
10 months ago
https://www.westkentuckystar
com/News/Local-Regional/90-minute-high-speed-chase-ends-in-Crittenden-Coun
The article mentions the road I was riding on.
10 months ago