Elk Garden United Methodist Church

I'm staying inside the church, but went out back to take photos of the cabin we stayed in 25 years ago.

Breaks to Rosedale, Va. - Aug. 6

This morning it was raining pretty hard as I was still in my tent. My hoped-for starting time of daybreak came and went with it still raining and me still waiting. I didn't feel like starting out in the rain and was hoping things would clear up.

After rinsing off my muddy tent, I finally got packed and left around 10:30.

At first, it wasn't raining, but then it started drizzling and pretty much kept drizzling all day. Once when it really poured for a while I sheltered under an abandoned car wash.

I wasn't rained on for the last 15 miles and got to a church in Rosedale at about 4:30. I had been hoping to go about 30 miles more to Damascus, but decided just to stay.

In 1987 the church had bikers stay in a cabin in the back, but now I'm right in the church. It is nice to be inside and completely dry. The sun has actually come out and is drying my tent stuff.

Tomorrow I'll have some climbing to do but hope to at least make it to Troutdale, if not beyond.

Hindman, Ky., to Breaks, Va.

Well, I made it to Virginia, although today was something of a struggle.

I had been watching the weather and knew there would be a good chance of some rain. I had ridden 37 miles when the first showers came ... just as I was pulling under a convenience store awning. The timing was absolutely perfect; I didn't get hit by a single drop.

Further up the road, a pavilion appeared just as another shower was starting. Unfortunately, this good luck wouldn't last.

I was climbing one of four, steep 1-to-2--mile hills when it started raining again. I had nowhere to go and put on my poncho and thought of just kind of standing under a tree. But then I just decided to ride, knowing the town of Lookout was not far ahead. I got to the top of the hill and began descending very, very slowly.

Then, it started going rough, and lo and behold I discovered that I had a flat tire in the back. Now, I've never actually changed a flat tire in my life, and I wasn't too concerned about this lack of experience since dad had changed scores of them in his life.

The conditions were not ideal for my first attempt. I was on a really steep downhill slope and it was raining and there was no shoulder on the road. Initially, I kind of leaned my bike against the side of the slope and took off my packs. After much struggle, I found that the leak was right at the valve stem, so I just decided to put in a new tube.

After struggling to get the tube in correctly and the tire back together, I pumped it up. But in no time, it was flat again. So I took it all apart again, and found there was a small hole in the tube. Maybe I pinched it. I briefly tried to patch the tube, but then abandoned that idea and just used the other spare tube I had. It was hard to wedge everything back together and once I had pumped it up, I didn't feel too confident. (How can you be sure you're not pinching the tube when you pry the tire back in place with those little pry bars?!)

At least an hour had passed during this process, and a couple people stopped to ask if I needed help. Both times I was on the verge of apparent success and declined. I finally got everything back together -- it had stopped raining by now -- and headed on. At the store and at several points along the way, I stopped to see I it was still holding air, and it was.

I stopped in Elkhorn City at about 2:30 for a huge meal of chicken and dumplings, waiting inside while it started to rain again outside. Since the forecast was for more rain in the evening, I wanted to get to my destination as soon as I could.

After Elkhorn City, I crossed into Virginia and took some pictures at a point when the sun had actually come out and I was sweating like crazy. I made it up some annoying hills to Breaks Interstate Park and got a site just as it was about to start raining again. I hustled to set up the tent and threw my stuff in as it started to pour.

It has been raining off and on for the last little bit as I've been sitting in my tent. My stuff is mostly dry, so that is good. The weather report is calling for more rain overnight, but clearing off somewhat in the morning. That's good, since I have an ambitious goal of making it to Damascus, which is about 80 miles away, over some good-size hills.

Today's terrain wasn't actually that bad. There were those four hills, but then there were nice, long downhills and them narrow valleys where it is possible to really motor.

I was glad to hear that dad's surgery went well today. I missed him in more ways than one, wishing that I had watched more closely when he was changing his flat tire in Pueblo, at the Subway, where there were nice tables and shade.

Booneville to Hindman, Ky. - Aug. 4

Today was the first day of riding without dad. I talked to him tonight and described the riding day.

The hills were tough, but came in several section of summits, with some breaks in between of riding in sorts of valleys. Plus, the longer climbs usually mean an equal and opposite downhill, which quickly eats up miles. I hadn't started quite as early as usual, but was in Hindman, 64 miles away, by 2:30.

It felt familiar to be on the road, riding, but it also felt strange to be riding alone. While I had planned to ride alone from Yorktown, Va., to Lancaster, I wasn't supposed to be on my own now. It makes me sad to think about not being able to complete the trip with dad.

However, I was also thinking that the point of a trip like this is not just getting to the end. While we had been looking forward to the last day --especially recently -- the last day would have come and gone just like all the other days. It's hard not to focus on the end of the trip, but the trip is so much bigger than just one day.

For example, when I think back to the 1987 trip, I think more often about the experiences along the way than I do about what it was like to actually get to the end. Don't get me wrong, it is a real disappointment that dad won't be able to finish the trip, but it doesn't change the point of the trip: to build some bicycling memories with my dad while reconnecting with the 1987 trip.

Tonight, I'm staying at a bicyclist hostel in Hindman, Ky., up a very steep, but short hill. Currently, I'm sitting outside, under an umbrella, on a soft chair, with some cold drinks, watching men's Olympic volleyball, surrounded by slumbering cats.

Tomorrow, I plan to ride to Breaks Interstate Park, which is in Virginia. There seems to be the possibility of some rainstorms tomorrow, so I'll have to watch for that. Hopefully, I can start early and hunker down at the end to weather any storms. Or, there will be some places where I can duck in for cover along the way, if need be.

Booneville, Ky.

We had an easy morning of riding from Berea. We went over some good-sized hills, but also enjoyed some nice downhills. It started to rain slightly when we were getting into Booneville.

We both got the catfish special in town (deep fried, of course) and then went back to Booneville Presbyterian Church, which lets bicyclists camp in the back.

I rode up first to the church, going around it up a sloping hill, noticing that my tires spun on the slippery pavement and then discovering a dead-end that forced me to loop back around, down the hill. I eventually got to the back and found a nice pavilion and grassy area for camping as well as a shower. They didn't have that 25 years ago.

Dad was slow in coming so I went back to check on him. He was sitting on the driveway, right by a sharp left turn that came down the hill from the church, right at the "Cyclists Welcome" sign. His bike was also laying on the ground. I asked if he was OK, and he said, "I'm not sure."

He had fallen on the slippery pavement while making the sharp left turn. He said he couldn't put weight on his leg, but also said it didn't seem as bad as when he had broken his other hip a couple years ago while shoveling snow.

At first we tried having him hold onto the bicycle while I wheeled it back to the camp. That didn't work. Then we tried just having him lean on me and try to walk that way. That didn't work either. At one point he started crawling, but it was clear pretty soon that this wasn't the kind of injury that would be OK following a long afternoon of rest. So I called 911 and was patched through to the local ambulance service, which sent over an ambulance to take him to the hospital.

The hospital was in Jackson, about 30 minutes away. I wasn't sure what I should do, but we decided I'd stay and just wait to hear how serious it was.

Well, he did, indeed, break his hip. He said the doctors wanted to take him to Lexington to have screws put in. In the meantime, mom had been called. She was at some kind of music workshop in West Virginia and was headed for Pennsylvania, but turned and headed toward us.

After more than two months and 3,500 miles, dad and I had settled into a way of life that had come to feel routine. We'd get ready when it was still dark and start riding as soon as it got light. We'd been riding for so far and had gone through so many places that the beginning of the trip had started to seem like another trip, it was so long ago.

We were both thinking more and more about getting to the end. Two nights ago we got out all of our last maps, spread them out on the table and calculated how far we would ride each remaining day and where we'd stay. We figured out that we could finish with a short day into Yorktown, Va., on August 13. Things were wrapping up.
The end was in sight.

Now, suddenly, there's a very different end in sight. I plan to continue the trip from here, and if I don't see dad in Yorktown, I'll see him when I ride up from Virginia to New Holland on the final leg of my trip.

It's hard to believe that this is how it is going to be. It's depressing, actually.

We made a pretty low-key bicycling duo, having similar ideas about how and when to ride, moving along with minimum hardship.

We were so comfortable together that I took him for granted. I'm going to miss him the rest of the way.

Lincoln Homestead to Berea, Ky. - Aug. 2

It seems like the very first westbound biker we met went on and on about how tough the Appalachians are. "They're so steep," they said. "They're much harder than the Rockies," they emphasized.

Well, we'll see if these hills can live up to their incredible hype. I suspect that since the Appalachians are the first hills that westbound riders climb, they make an oversized impression on these cyclists. I mean, we've climbed hills of every shape, size, steepness and length. What could possibly be so hard about the Appalachians?!

We biked about 70 miles to Berea, which is considered the route's "Gateway to the Appalachians," and which brought on my earlier comments.

The riding was pretty nice. I did notice the hills getting steeper, but it wasn't so blazing hot, which helps. We also started out riding when it was still foggy, which made everything look cool.

The camping options are spread in the next map section, which dictates how far we can ride. For us, this means a couple shorter days ahead. Tomorrow we'll probably go to Booneville and camp at the Baptist church. We did this in 1987, an event that was memorable because grandma and grandpa Umble met us there.

Double L Grocery to Lincoln Homestead Park - Aug. 1

Starting out from the grocery store after coffee and sausage/biscuits with the local farmers, we headed straight to the bike shop in Elizabethtown. I got a new tire there and dad rotated his, so we are both set.

After that we just kept riding, passing through Bardstown and then finally about 20 miles out of town to a park marking where Lincoln's parents grew up. In all, We did about 70 miles.

We were chased by a couple dogs and I was glad to be able to get a video of the one chase and post it on my Facebook page. If you see it, note the point where the dogs almost collide.

I set up my tent under a tree on a gently sloping hill.

Tonight we got out the maps and were sketching out our days for the rest of the trip. We may be able to have a short, last day on Monday, August 13. It's been a great trip, but we're both thinking more often about the end.

Tomorrow, we plan to ride to Berea.