May 18, 2017
Roadside Science
As soon as we hit the city limits sign for Berea we return to the countryside. Gone are the strip malls and fast food joints and cheap freeway-side motels. In their place it's fallow fields and placid livestock and hills covered in lush grass that looks softer than soft. Just as it all should be.
A few miles from town we leave the TransAm again. This time we're headed south toward Danville, where I can pick up a new crank arm and a new tire to replace the ones that are already failing. We also want to dial in Kristen's rear derailleur a little better if we can. The route we picked might even be better than the TransAm itself, full of one-lane bridges and roads with no center line and riding beneath the cover of trees that stand just off the pavement.
| Heart | 1 | Comment | 0 | Link |
But mostly we talk about how our bodies are not as they should be, and how they haven't been for more than a week. It's not a lack of sleep; we get seven to nine hours every night. We're not eating food all that different from what we've always eaten; if anything we're eating healthier. We rode almost 700 miles worth of mountain passes and rugged rural roads in the Southwest before heading out to Virginia, so it's not like we're suffering because we're out of shape. Yet I've never felt so worn down at any point, on any trip, at any point in more than 25,000 miles of touring. And for as bad as I feel, Kristen is worse.
Our best guess is that it's something we're eating or drinking.
After a few minutes of roadside science sitting on a stoop in the silent town of Paint Lick we decide it's our water bottles. Back in Virginia, more than a week ago in Troutdale, Kristen got sick after dinner. We figured it was something she ate that day. But the fatigue and weakness started soon after and never left. Our theory is that there wasn't so much bacteria in the Troutdale water to knock us out, but that just enough stuck around in our unwashed bottles to keep us down.
In a grand show of defiance, I pour out all of my water on the ground right next to us and say something offensive.
Heading into Lancaster I see up ahead a yard sign where white block letters spell out a few words set on a black background. Wow, I think to myself, That's the first time I've seen a Black Lives Matter sign since we left Portland. But then I get a little closer and I see that the sign actually reads LIVE BAIT SOLD HERE.
We take back roads to Danville. They are among the most peaceful and secluded we've seen so far. The hills roll low and slow and we celebrate all that is good about Kentucky. That includes feeling less like we're going to pass out at the edge of the road in front of some unsuspecting farmer's house.
The new crank arm has arrived in Danville by the time we show up. The tire is a few hours away. And even though we're feeling a little better, we're still sick enough that we often find ourselves staring off into the distance at nothing specific with a glazed-over look on our faces. Cranking on to points west makes no sense, so we grab fat plates of Mexican food and a motel room instead. In normal life these are simple pleasures, but out here they bring us to the edge of giddiness.
Soon we crash over that edge and fall headfirst into a nap.
Our bikes are a perpetual disappointment to anyone who works at a bike shop. They are forever dirty, with sagging chains and worn sprockets, old-style components, friction shifters, weird racks, and bottle cages in strange places. This often leads to conversations where things get explained in basic terms, like we're foreign and don't speak the language, or just slow-minded. Mentioning the tens of thousands of miles we've traveled never seems to matter much.
Yet somehow we always get where we're going. And we always seem to have grand adventures along the way. With the crank arm sorted and Kristen's ragged derailleur dialed in a little better by the shop in Danville, we hope to ride a few thousand miles before we confuse and disappoint the next bike mechanic.
After an hours-long process of cleaning and scrubbing and rinsing and drying, we think we've got water bottles that won't kill us. Over and over throughout the evening I come back to the same thought: I can't believe we just cranked all the way across the Appalachians while sick. Where we thought were weak, we were in fact very strong. I don't know what we'll pull off for our next trick, but I can't wait to find out.
Today's ride: 40 miles (64 km)
Total: 829 miles (1,334 km)
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 4 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |