Hey!…… I found an open connection

I just found a Wi-Fi link at the YHA hostel in Vik, Iceland. Hence here is some “stuff” I have been sitting on for a while.

I have to admit that I lost my zone with regards to writing this blog. Three weeks with Johnnie Boy some what redirected my energies. Certainly the kilojoules of energy I imbibed or shopuld I say the gigajoules of energy I imbibed were directed to farming a rather inconvinient spare tyre around my abdominal tunic. That didn’t make the 165 mileride into New York any easier. Somebody somewhere told me that New Jersey was flat. I had and still have difficulty reconciling that assertion with the hills I climbed. Fortunately I didn’t blow a gasket in my cardiovascular system. As for the bike; well there’s a funny thing. Just after I crossed the Delaware into New Jersey glanced at the shifter sitting in 6th gear, furrowed my brow and stopped. I was sure my last gear change was down two but that would mean I had been in 8th gear? As you all probably remember I lost power in 1st, 3rd, 8th & 10th gears back in Noth Carolina. Now after 600 miles full services had suddenly resumed. Why? The only thing I could think of was that a sliver of metal had lodged in a shim but now it had worked it’s way out? Why couldn’t
that have rectified itself 500 mile ago.
“You rotten b……..d. “
I felt like fetching a large fallen branch and giving her a damn good thrashing! But then I composed myself, fixed a steely determined gaze on the distant horizon whilst adjusting my corpulent lycras an set forth into the 32C, 90% humidity of the American summer. New York civic planners are crap. So too are the encumbents in Jersey city. I found myself staring and muttering in disbelief atspagetti junction post apocolyptic freeway entanglement that leads from Newark across two bridges via Lincoln Park to Jersey city. However there was effectively no provision
made for pedestrians let alone bicyclists. The semi-trailers thundered past I pushed the bike along the almost non-existent verge looking for a respite from the maelstrom of automotive death that was feeding the connurbation
ahead. Grey dust and grit, broken glass, shards of metal and sickly weeds growing amongst concrete barriers channeled me toward a dead end. I dropped the bike in a waist high copse of brush and darted across two lanes of
merging traffic to climb the gutter on the other side. The roads here were converging to cross the first of two bridges but any notion of actually cycling on the road was suicide. As it turned out it looked like there was a trail between the barrier and the weed shrouded embankment which might lead to the bridge. I returned to my bike and waited for a gap in the traffic to push and lift her across the road then began the arduous task of pushing though the undergrowth. My pedal smacked into my bruised shins as I approached the dark grey metal and barbed wire of the first bridge.
So I made it to New York & thanks to Peter & Tamara Mangano I was able to pack my bike co fortably in lower Manhattan before Peter generously offered to drive me to JFK early on the morning of Saturday 16th.

I am going to leave the US here for a while as I gear up for the next part of the trip.

Thursday 5th July 2007
Barmby Moor – Lockton= 62km

Finally, I pushed off from Ian`s place after almost three weeks during which time I waited for my Rohloff to return from Germany, tried to sort out access to my Barclays Bank account, tried to organise my final vaccinations for Africa and booking the ferry trips to Iceland. The weather was overcast but dry as I negotiated a zig-zag of country lanes skirting the western verge of the Yorkshire Wolds with the help of an ordinance survey 1:100000 map ( 1cm = 1km) . This kind of cycling elicits a beaming smile as you move from village to village with hardly a disturbance to compete with the birds and insects flitting around on the breeze. I do like Yorkshire. In Malton I stopped at the level crosssing to check the map and ended up talking to Steve & ? (sorry mate) , two graphic artists from York who were interested in how I managed to organise the expedition. I bumped into them again further into town when I stopped at a bike store to replace the bar tape that was unwinding due to the Rohloff twist shifter and gave them my blog details with a view to meeting up for a coffee at Café Concierto in York upon my triumphant return.

Pickering is a beautiful market town that I visiited 116 years ago when working in Beverley. In fact apart from the tower of London the castle here was the first I ever saw. The YHA hostel is not actually in Pickering itself but instead lies in a sleepy little village tucked away in the foothills of the Moors. Pickering sits at the northern edge of the vale of Pickering; a flat area just south of the Noth Yorkshire Moors. It had always been my intention to head over the top via Eskdale on my way to Edinburgh and then on to Aberdeen. Unfortunately due to the delay with the Rohloff my original plan to ride all the way to Aberdeen had to be scrapped so Edinburgh Waverley station was now my biking destination. As for tonight, I was feeling a little weak due to a lack of lunch; another example of bad planning on my part. Six weeks out of the saddle and I had definitely lost my touring instincts. The Co-op supermarket in town having been built into an historic town with stringent planning bylaws had a main entrance that was as unobtrusive as possible. This also meant that it was not optimised for leaving a fully laden touring bike outside whilst the rider procured food. My situational assessment with regard to bike security was not bolstered by the bawdy loutish antics of school students from the local gifted and talented class. Hence I ended upøeaving town with only the porridge and brown sugar I already had secreted in my panniers. A frugal and un-enticing meal awaited.

The power in my legs began to drain away and my speed dropped as I climbed out of the vale on the main A road north to Whitby. Lockton seemed to be sandwhich in between this and the North Yorkshire Train Line which is these days run by enthusiasts as a living steam museum. However enquiries in Pickering before I left suggested that there was a path across the valley not marked bon my Ordinance Survey Map. Tomorrow would reveal the truth but for now the more pressing need was food as the rain began to sprinkle from the heavy grey skies. Taking a one lane wide road marked “local traffic only” I left the Whitby Road for what I thought must be Lockton. A good touring bike should have good mud guards or as they are more appropriately described “manure guards”. English country roads see a lot of stock movement unlike Australian & US. roads. The back way into Lockton was very shitty but I whooshed down a deeply recessed lane to arrive in front of the only shop in town selling a wide range of local produce including fine apple and pork pies. Dinner was saved.

Friday 6th July 2007
Lockton – Kildale = 55km

Indeed the path across the valley and train line thus avoiding the main road did exist. But what a path it turned out to be. 30% gradients down and up and down again to Levisham station were endured because of the glorious scenery. The station itself is a vestage of Victorian steam railway era lovingly preserved by train enthusiasts. I chated with some staff as the train pulled out over the level crosssing then made my way down the valley toward slate cutters cottage where I had been instructed to turn left up the track that lead into the wooded slope and up out of the valley. Gravel and mud up hill with a fully loaded touring bike is challenging even when the bike is designed for this kind of work. I believe that this is what actually killed my Cannondale frame in New Zealand. Roads like this aren`t fast but thy are fun. My current girl doesn`t complain unlike me. At the top after an hour of slipping tyres my rear was flat. Everything off, bike upside down, tool kit open, wheel off, and tube out. The puddles lying everywhere on the trail from the month of record rain that the UK has just endured came in useful for locating the puncture. Always check the puncture location on the tube with tyre as the offending objevt might still be there. A group of trail bikers marking out a ralley with orange triangle happened upon me just as I was getting the wheel to sit back in the frame. It turned out that Simon Pavey was going to be on the course tomorrow. I met him in Tasmania when he took the GS riders for a morning of basic off road riding and had since been in the Paris-Dakar with Charlie Borman. What a small world. Once again it would appear that unless the person you ask enjoys cycling as well then their opinions on the terrain ahead are still likely to be way off. I asked if the road ahead was flat. I was assured that ithis was essentially the top. It was not. Not even close. I had to ford two swollen streams and climb a 20% gradients in drizzle before I saw the distant coast before dropping into Eskdale………and my GoreTex jacket was still not totally water repellent.
Eskdale wasas lovely as any valley in the dales but the idea that the word “dale” implied a pleasant ride up the valley beside the Rsk river were ill founded. The road had been laid out across the re-entrants along the southern side of the valley meaning they went up and down like a roller coaster. This seriously sapped my strength and slowed my progtess. As the rain turned to sleet I misread the map turning down the wrong valley. The way out necessitated another climb with the wind in my face. Sprawled across the handlebars gasping for breath while shielding my eyes I stared down at the lifeless body of a star nosed mole in the middle of the road. He looked like a piece of black nylon fake fur stitched around a toilet roll tube. my cat had had a toy just like that when he was a kitten. The poor littlr bugger was dead in the middle of the asphalt expanse (expanse being on a mole scale that is). I tried to get the camera out to take a photo but the rain was now pummeling me into submission and I was getting cold.

Another stream to ford lay in my way. This one was very swollen as the rain continued unabatted. Leaning the bike down I waided in in my lycras and sandals. Assessment was that it was safe so across I went. The spoked wheels alowed tge water through but a car might have had trouble. Still it was a bit touch and go……..yea, that was risky.

Finally I had a long downhill through To Kildale and was able to pick up some speed. Climbing all day withoutvrespite takes it out of you physically and mentally. The map indicated a camping Barn ahead so after only 34 miles in nine hours I called it a day. For £6 I had a roof over my head.

Saturday 7th July 2007
Kildale – Newcastle = 115km

Trying to navigate around Iddlesborough without a map by relying on a compas and GPS is not realy a viable option. I finally gave in and started looking for a map at every service station \I came upon. People in this area obviously don`t travel much because it took two hours to find a decent ordinanace survey sheet from a book store in ……..um? ………I can`t remember. I have since posted the map back to York. Anyway, I wasn`t too happy about the £14 cost but now have to admit that without these two sheets at a scale of 1:100000 I would not have found the most excellent cycleway along the path of a defunct rail line ( thank you again Dr Beeching) that lead all the way to Sunderland and on to New Castle avoiding traffic for a good 40 miles. Serenely quiet with only the birds and the occasional walker sharing this private world. This really is British cycling at it`s best even if it is now enjoyed as a result of the historical rape of the public transport system perpetrated by a short sighted Government in the mid- sixties pursuing a scandalous idealogy. Unfortunately due to the timetable I had set myself I needed to get to Newcastle today so I was once again in a situation where I was racing against the sun. The path to Sunderland swung out to the coast through some socio-economically deprived areas. A group of four “lads” were idly sitting beside an un-registered trail bike on the path next to a style that was very awkward to negotiate with my fully laden bike. The hair on my neck stood up as I approached them thinking this is a great spot for an ambush. The best poilicy here is to push your foreign accent as heavily as possible. “G`day guys, how’s it goin?” They looked stunned as I dismounted to thread my stead through another of these bloody awful styles. My heart was tacing; what was going to be their reaction. They continued to look stunned; “well chaps you have a bonza evening” ( who the hell says “bonza “anymore in Australia?) I was through and powereing away as they turned to each other saying “ya see that…………..”
I wish I had more time but the delays caused by the wheel were now starting to be felt. Sunderlsnd was fepressing and thebtrack I was on though easy to follow wasa circuitous path to take into Newcastle. The quiker option would have been to cut across the suburbia south of Newcastle but that would have necessitated urban navigation which is usually much slower and tyring. Fortunately the sun still lingered in the sky this time of year so that it was still quite light as I made the ferry terminal on the south bank of the tyne st about 10.20 PM just as the ferry left. A 45 minute wait for the next find`t look like a yood option so plan B was the foot tunnel under the Tyne river another 5 miles west. With the help of a toll officer at the entrance to the road tunnel I found the elevator leading down to the entrance ( the escalators were too steep to traverse). It was now 11 PM and I was already late for my hostel reservation . I had passed a nice campground 1/2 an hour before snd now regreted not pitching there for the night. The tunnel looked like part of a London Underground station. Noises were amplified as they echoed around the warren. The film “American Werewolf in London” came to mind as I powered under the river hoping not to meet a band of roving youths looking for trouble.
Emerging from the otherside I started along a cyclewaybthat indicated 8 miles to Newcastle. It appeared that the route followed the historical line of Hadrians wall which used to extend from Newcastle east across Britain to Carlisle north of the Lakes District. Nice fact but again I found my heart rcing as the over growing canopie was so dense that the path was shrouded in darkness and it wws now after 11PM. Another great spot for an ambush I though as I passed a seeding looking black guy quietly walking in the same direction as my bike. The steed was thankfully very quiet so that I would be past anybody going the same way before they new what I was. Hopefully I didn`t have a flat; please God, no flat tyres here please.
Newcastle on a Saturday night looked like a scene from the last days of Sodom & Gamorah. I had heard it was a real party town like leads but this looked like a circus. Hordes of hens & buck parties swilled around in a drunken cavalcade on each others shoulders as bouncers with secret service ear pieces kept the peace outside throbbing night clubs. Sydney is sedate in comparison. …..and strangely enough above all of it towered a 1/3rd scale prototype of the Sydney coathanger minus the end pylons.

Sunday 8th July 2007
Newcastle

Monday 9th July 2007
Newcastle – Belford = 125 km

I ended up actually liking Newcastle. The town centre in the daylight was actually quite nice and I did`nt turn into a pillar of salt. It was good however to get going again after a day off the bike. 125km along gravel bridle paths negotiating suburba streets had been tyresome.
The Northumberland coast was as attractive and level as expected. The whether alternating between cloudy overcast and sunny certainly combined to make this another day of great cycling. I followed the national cycle route 1 all the way along the coast where it favoured quiet bridle paths. Through gates and across fields the route avoided traffic but when it happened upon an actual road the tarmac was very quiet.
Midafternoon on a back lane and my front tyre blew. Fortunately I wasn`t going very fast so was able to catch myslef. Bloody hell, I thought as I stood dumbfounded. Off with the luggage and upside down went the bike. Wheel off, tube out and pump in hand I located the hole to localise the section of perforated tyre. I could see my finger through the hole! This was no ordinary puncture and these tyre are kevlar re-inforced. ………hmmmmmmm……..
I decided to cover the hole with a piece of rip-stop nylon gaffer tape and cut a piece of the tyre liner off one end of the plastic strip. This I also taped down across the hole using gaffer tape. \hopefully the kevlar would stop the hole spreading/tearing and the rip-stop nylon designed for repairing gore-tex jackets and waterproof bags would hold untill I got a new tyre. In fact the new tyre turned out to be only 4 miles away as a coupleòf cyclists on a supported tour stopped to check if I was ok and siadvthere support van should be able to sell me a tyre. After complting the transaction I had a new Schwalbe tyre though not the same model. A beer with my saviours was called for then I was off again on the way to Berwick.

Just after Bambourough Castle Infaded and decided to make for a bunkhouse in Belford; a small market town indicated on the map. As I talked to Phillis, the female proprieter I was stung by a wasp on my rigtht fore arm. At least I think it was a wasp as I didn`t actually see it. “Owwwwww!….shit…..that hurt!”….and a small trickle of blood was all I could see.

Tuesday 10th July 2007
Belford – Berwick = 30km

My arm is bigger, itchier and now aches incessantly. I still can`t believe this is all the result of an insect bite/sting? Considering all my bush bashing and “tally ho-ing” at home and abroad it seems quite incongruous that I should fall foul of a simple sting in England of all places. My enthusiasm was somewhat curtailed so after only 30km into Berwick and a coffee in a local cafe I decided to catch the train to Aberdeen today rather than push into Edinburough under my own power.

Arriving in Aberdeen I headed for the YHA arriving at about 7 PM. My arm though was looking even more swollen. And seemed to be getting worse. “that is a really bad allergic reaction” I thought.
Enquiring at the front reception about a doctor or hospital the young attendant Ryan ssid “that lokks really bad, I`ll call you an ambulance”. ….hmmmmmmmm….
” I suppose you`re right”

Two hours waiting in the accident & emergency section of Aberdeen Royal Infirmary and I wss finally through to a room where I waited another 30 minutes to see a doctor. The red sore patch had now reached my elbow & wrist. The young doctor took one look and said you have a cellulitis and we need to get you in.
“Are you sure?” I said incredulously; ” I was expecting an IV antihistamine”…,.? No, he assured me that that wss more than just a sting and that without \iV antibiotics I could lose my arm.
” I see……hmmm…. well make it so. I do agree that it was starting to concern me……..bloody hell.”

I have had to change my ticket to the Shetlands to Friday.
If I don`t make the Sunday sailing from Lerwick then Iceland is a no go…………..bugga.

Wednessay 11/07/07
Aberdeen Royal Infirmary

As the day has progressed it looks like the afflicted area is still spreading. By mid afternoon the erythema was half way up my bicep and all the way to my wrist.. ……….?
The consultant has changed my AB regime from Augmentin to Flucloxacillin as he is sure that I have a strepticcocal infection. He assures me that we should see an improvement by tomorrow evening with a view to making the Friday sailing to Lerwick.

Thursday 12th July 2007
Aberdeen Royal Infirmary

It looks like the change of antibiotic from Augmentin to Flucloxacillin has worked. My arm started the day looking less turgid and angry. It`s also significantly more comfortable. I was keen to stress to the doctor that I would prefer to stay in another day on intravenous therapy just to make sure that the infection was given a good thrashing while it is down for the count. However it was decided that I will start oral prep overnight to make sure that I don`t have a recurrence. I think I`ll keep the cycling to a minimum over the next 5 days on the way to Iceland. Nice sedate walks around Lerwick & the Faroes are the order of the day. So there we go. That’s my NHS adventure concluded. I should be in the Shetlands tonight but alas it was not to be. At least if I leave on Friday I will still get to see them for a day on the way to Iceland.

Friday 13/07/07
Ferry from Aberdeen

The arm looks good though it is still swollen and still a bit “pinker” than the other. I`ve been told I can go and the doctor has given me an extra course of tablets to keep in my panniers just in case. So, I should be out of here by midday, back to the YHA to collect my panniers and retrieve my bike before cycling down into town to meet the ferry for 1700HRS

Saturday 14/07/07
Lerwick; Shetland Islands

At 7 AM the ship disgorged it`s passengers onto a cold, windy and overcast hillock of grass in the North Atlantic. Actually the Shetlands are composedvof a lot of grassy hillocks protruding above the waves and are home to 40,000 people and 250,000 sheep. So the weather was shitty by anybodies standards. I found my way along the water front into town and sat down to a warm and greasy bteakfast at a local café with a couple fom Manchester who also just disembarked. I had just finished my eggs & bacon when I realised that I had left two pairs of underpants drying on a hook in my cabin. Bugga! I had just lost a pair in hospital and replaced them in Aberdeen for £15 ( a lot to pay but they are cycling/hiking jocks that dry fast and are anti-bacterial and….blah blah , blah,……) so I didn`t feel like forking out more money. Bloody hell!. I said my good byes and quikly road back in th rain to the ferry terminal. Th security offocer alowed me bck on board where I proceeded to step over bags of linen & tefuse on my way to the cabin. The underpants were not there? However one of the cleaners said she had seen my underpants but thrown them in the bin. She was certain we could find them in one of the dozen bags of garbage in the foyer. This reminded me of standing next to a pile of dead dogs in freezer bags looking for the one carcass that shouldn`t have been collected. I dove into the first bag. Stale beer cans, used nappies, fish & chip paper & assorted gooey stuff …and then six bags later I had both my jocks. I kissed my helper appreciatively, ran out of the ship, attached them to the back of my bike like a flag and rode to the hostel in the rain with the intention of putting a load through the washing machine ASAP.

The rest of the day was spent sheltering in the deep streets of Lerwick and sorting my kit in the dorm room as the weather refused to improve. That eveing Inteeted my self to tye last decent curry I would taste for two months before boarding the boat to Torshavn.

18/07/07
Torshavn; capital of the Faroe Islands

The boat from Lerwick arrived at 6 AM two days ago. Torshavn was both a surprise and in some ways as expected. For starters it has trees; in the town anyway. The population is around about 13,000 but it would seem that a lot of effort has been put into making the placerather swish, relatively speaking. Of course the working harbour is the main focal point of the settlement with it`s dry dock and a marina crowded wth vessels of all sizes from the wooden row boats up to some very impressive motor cruisers. Torshavn is quaint and attractive but after two days walking around While based at the Bladypi Youth Hostel I have to say that I have probably taken in all the major sights. In saying that though the one sight that one doesn`t tire of are the incredible number of attractive blonde girls. I mentioned this in conversation to Ian; a Canadian teacher who is travelling for two weeks with his mother in celebration of his 40th birthday. I said that the tourist information centre seemed to be even more disproportionately stocked with stunning girls? Makes you want to go in and just ask inane questions for the heck of it. Unfortunately though the beer is 50 Danish Kroners (£6) per pint so any idea of spending an evening in a local bar has been dispensed with.

Outside of Torshavn the country side is bleak, wind swept & treeless but allegedly spectacular with fijord waterfalls and thousands of sheep. I am going to leave exploration of the interior (though nowhere is far from the sea) to my return trip when I have to stay 3 nights on the way to Bergen. \I don`t think I coukd spend another day in Torshavn………though I do have a number of inane questions I could ask at the tourist information office.

I´m in Iceland

……………..however it is very difficult and expensive to get the internet. $8US for 30 minutes!!!!!!

Thats Iceland all over I suppose. if i can get a Wi-Fi connection I´ll do an upload from my PDA but unfortunately no pictures. America is really an internet connectivity wonderland.

Aas for Iceland; big glaciers, gravel roads and big hills. Very quiet & not many towns.

It´s not really easy going by any standard. Heading toward Vik today 135km from Stafafell. Not sure if I will make it though so will probably camp.

 running out of time………..ciao. 

Where have I been………………?

After three weeks in Mountain Top, Pennsylvania with my good friends John & Marla Prince it is with a heavy heart that I have packed my bike for an early departure tomorrow. 137miles to New York should see me arrive Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately Marla was admited to hospital yesterday which has put a dampner on the end of sojourn events.

I will miss Jonnie Boy.

The three weeks has absolutely flown but I have seven hours on a flight net Saturday to Manchester and as such will have ample time to write a blog update now that I have solved the PDA keyboard problem; “what a bloody rigmarole that was” I now have a soft fabric bluetooth and aplug in folding so there should be no more excuses for not writing.

The map is up to date on the follow the route page and Flikr has some new nice piccy’s.

I am also alot fatter after three weeks and a few cases (yes I mean three cases at least)……each of fine yeasty beverages complimented with numerous DVD’s & computer game carnage. Time to earn mykeep.

Beer…………………….it shows that God loves us & wants us to be happy

Mike, Kevin, John, Joe, Roy, Deborah & Bob……………………..I have been a lazy boy……………………I should write something…………mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Saturday 5th May 2007

Saturday 5th May 2007
Location: near (10 miles west of) Lexington, Virginia

The frequency with which I am taking days off from the ride is increasing. So too the distances I am covering each day are concomitantly decreasing. Johnnie Boy in Pennsylvania was correct when he said that you might find this part of the US has more to see. It does but I am just getting a bit tired of the daily grind. However, I have just under two weeks left until I roll into Johnnie’s place ready for a fortnight of anything other than bike riding.

From where am I typing this entry? Well, after rolling into Lexington two days ago looking apparently a little miserable I did a circuit of the town centre (very English in appearance and layout) I approached a couple of local ladies to ask them if they knew if and where there was a purveyor of hot caffeinated beverages. Indeed it seemed that in my hypothermic state (once again my feet were numb) I had cycled right by a coffee shop. Thanking them, I headed off to recuperate inside with a good sandwich and my usual order of a large / Grande / venti latté.

I had just given up on trying to call home because the Skype phone was dropping two out of three syllable when the bemused girl behind the counter approached with the phone claiming;
“it’s for you; the Australian cyclist?”.
I gave her an incredulous look “”huh?…..what?….hello??????”
“g’day mate, how are you?”
“…..ummm??…??…….ok???”
Tony was the husband of one of the ladies I had approached half an hour earlier asking for a café. They assumed I would still be there so rand to ask if I would like to stay the night at their place. I laughed aloud and gratefully accepted. Being ten miles out of town to the west Tony said he would be there in 20 minutes. The US is an astounding place for travelers such as myself.

Tony, Betty & their son Eric live on a beautiful 100 acre property 10 miles outside of Lexington. Betty who is an Arborist working for the local council is serenely calm and always smiling. Tony is, amongst many other things an ER Doctor. He & I sensed a kindred disdain in each other for the failings of the human species and as a consequence allowed ourselves to lapse into a cathartic four-hour “venting of our spleens” yesterday after breakfast. Three months of well-practiced politeness and tempered speech evaporated in an enfilade of vitriol & laughter. I suddenly remembered all my vet stories that could be entitled “it bloody well does happen to a vet; the anti-herriot Almanac”. Betty’s early return home from work saved us from spontaneous combustion and turned our attention outward to the beauty surrounding us in Virginia.

We took a walk up the hill through the forest looking for scat and animal tracks with Luke his dog (of no particular lineage) scouting ahead for quarry. Bears, deer, turkey and bobcat inhabit the forest that blankets the hills around. Meanwhile Betty was preparing their guesthouse for the imminent arrival of a family for the weekend.

M

Monday 23rd April 2007
Asheville to Lake James State Park
Distance = 68 miles

Yesterday was a day of recovery after two days with heart breaker hill climbs. My constitution is obviously improving as today felt eager to get back on the road even with my Rohloff failure. Ben decided to take the morning off and escort me out of Asheville along the river to the city limits & beyond. Through Swananoa & Black Mountain to Ridge Crest we paralleled the Hwy 70 along quiet country laneswhich are apparently very dangerous. One pick-up truck driver lent out a window to ask Ben if he was a local. “This is one of the most dangerous roads in the county& you’re an idiot for riding it.” I suggested we should stop the next few cars that came our wayto tell them the same; just pass on the warning along with the “…you’re an idiot” addendum.

After taking morning tea at a very nice café called the “dripolator” in Ridge Crest, Ben decided to turn back at the 28 mile mark before the road began the descent to the Piedmont. I don’t know if ben was aware of this or not but soon after the road turned to gravel. I hadn’t seen a gravel road like this since New Zealand. “surely this isn’t right?” I thought as a car came up behind me. Flagging down the driver I asked him if this was the correct route. Sure enough it was; a true test for the 2 inch wide Schwalbe Marathon XR tyres I had shod my girl with. .and the answer was = good. Four miles of winding downhill, looking for the best track through the gravel as stones popped out from under the tread. Much better than a 700C wheel with 38mm wide Continental Top Touring tyres. I just wish the Rohloff had been working fully.

That evening I headed to Lake James State Park to camp. The ranger office was already closed when I arrived so I set up in a manicured disability site near the amenities block. There were no other campers though a few day hikers passed nonchalantly by. The quiet was broken when a hotted up hatchback spun in and out of the car park close enough to see me and the tent ion the middle of setting up camp. I always hate being seen before dark when alone. What happens if he comes back with a couple of his bad-ass friends? Grumble …grumble…I cogitated upon this occurrence and whether I should leave.

The showers where adequately warm and strong so much so that I was surprised by the Ranger when I finally emerged. $15 for the night and I asked about the park boom gate. He asked why and I told him about the cruise by visitor. That is exactly why they lock the gate but you should be ok. ……………………..should be???…………doubt started to eat me from the inside…………………a disturbance in the force.

Typing on the PDA at the picnic table beside the tent I was absorbed in thought; the trip budget, distance data and some trip diary when I heard a noise. The park was pitch black, the air was warm with hardly a breath of wind but I had allowed my attention to become totally focused on a bright 4 inch screen. I turned it off and sat quietly allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark. For forty minutes I sat at that table without moving, listening to the sounds of the forest around me; the creak of the trees in the intermittent breeze, the fall of a branch, the scurry of an animal, the snap of a twig? My eyes scanned the dark looking for movement on the periphery of my vision where my dark vision was most acute. Was that a movement? Could I hear a pattern that could be somebody creeping up? I was on the verge of leaving, packing up and heading for town and a nice safe motel where I could prop the door with a chair. ……………….. SUDDENLY………………………….nothing happened.
“this is absurd. Unless the SAS is taking an hour to cover 100m silently through the undergrowth there is nobody out there.”

I went to bed and woke up without a knife in my back.

Tuesday 24th April 2007
Lake James State Park to Wilkesboro.
Distance = 67 miles

Around midday, I rolled into Morganton after a nondescript morning past green countryside and rolling hills. Coffee was on my mind so after much criss-crossing of the CBD I came upon a nice outdoor seating area in the old part of town. The next two hours of slow coffee drinking passed whilst talking to Teresa who ran this temporary establishment (until the permanent address across the street was refurbished). Morganton looks like the quintessential small American town as one would imagine them to be after seeing movies like that in “Back to the Future”. Actually this part of the States is covered in towns like that. Old enough to look like they have seen a lot of history but still strangely familiar like the towns at home.

Wilkesboro was again another similar such town. The girls at the Kangaroo gas station directed me out toward the sewage works where there was a cheap camp ground. Sure enough I could see a few RV’s in amongst the trees of the expansive grounds. The main office was a new brick structure with a foyer displaying a guitar.
“Can I help you?”
“yes, how much for one night camping? One person, one tent.”
“only one night?”
“yeah.”
“why only one night?’
“why not?” I only want one night”
“what about Merlefest?”
“????…….what s Merlefest?”
“how far have you come?”……so I told him todays distance and my start in San Diego on the 1st of February. I think he was somewhat impressed. It was at this point that Mike Testerman said “look I’m not going to charge you. Just wait a minute and we will find a place around the back of the building for you to set up”
“great. That sounds excellent.”
So around the back of the building we went , I could use the showers inside and I assured him that this spot would give me enough shelter from the wind and storm that was brewing. Out came my tent and down went the ground sheet. Mike returned with a map of the Blue Ridge Parkway for my perusal then said,
“I tell you what, if you like you can sleep on the lab floor if you like rather than get wet out here & we can store your bike inside too.”
“great, sounds even better.”
So up came the tent and ground sheet and now I was in the sewer works lab. One office was already claimed by Kerri from Finland who had made the guitar being raffled in the foyer. Mike introduced me to his wife Karen and asked me if I would like to accompany them to dinner. I gladly accepted and headed for a shower to freshen up. I may be almost 40 but I felt like I was a kid again as I got in Mikes car for the drive into town. I think the hardship of the last weeks riding was making me acutely aware of how we take fore granted the luxury of a car.

The Sagebrush restaurant offered an excellent steak with blue cheese sauce lubricated with a couple of Caronas. The budget was blown but I needed the protein and repartee. Mike however at evenings end had other ideas and refused to let me pay. “….it was our pleasure”. I was to say the least a little startled but very thankful for his generosity. He also decided that I had to stay for Merlefest and that he was going to get something I would enjoy?

Wednesday 25th April 2007

Mike and I headed over to the Fire Brigade Station where he was also the local volunteer fire chief. Why unpack my bicycle when he could lend me one of his knock around bikes. What a bargain. XT & LX Shimano components all round meant this was actually quite a nice bike. I spent the day exploring Wilkesboro and checked out the ground preparations for Merlefest which promised to host 100,000 people!

Late afternoon and again I decided it was time for a latte and a newspaper. The coffe was forth coming but apparently nobody reads any national newspapers in Wilkes county. “How do they know whats happening in the worl then?” I enquired at the local book store. It would appear they simply don’t…………..?……………hmmmmmmmmmmm.

That evening I was invited for a few drinks by Steve & Alan whose family tents where located on an upper terace of the campground. Steve was a doctor and and Alan a contractor from Asheville. I cant really remember much of what we talked about but the beer was good. At some point alan & I pulled a little red wagon down to the campground office to retrieve either fire wood or ice? I’m not sure which but I clearly remember my surprise when Mike turned up and gave me a blue glittering VIP wrist pass for Merlefest.
“you are going to enjoy this.” I looked at it in astonishment before carefully securing it in my wallet. “bloody hell, thanks mate. This is unbelievable” Alan was rather impressed as well.

Thursday 26th – Sunday 29th April 2007 : “Merlefest”
An annual tribute to the music of Doc and Merle Watson. Held in Wilkesboro, NC.

Merlefest started at midday. Because I had a VIP pass I walked to the front of the queue and was through in no time. This felt like the Easter show. Merlefest is apparently one of Americas main music festivals directed primarily toward bluegrass music with a touch of country and contemporary folk. Ten stages distributed around the grounds of the Wilkes County community college host bands and performers from all over the US over four days. This is it’s 20th year since it’’s inception to celebrate the life of Merle Watson who was killed in an Agricultural accident on his farm. Who is Merle Watson I hear you say? Well he was the son of Doc Watson, the blind grandfather of American Bluegrass music. The main stage is named the Merle & Doc Watson Stage (? Have I got that right? I need to check my photo’s) Doc Watson was one of the leading acts. He has a purring voice and looks a bit like my Dad. Accompanied by various artists and friends he was unpretenscious in his delivery, somewhat humble and really rather good. I think I like bluegrass music. The best example I can think of is the theme song to “The Beverley Hillbillies” and the dueling banjos from Deliverance. However the festival was not just bluegrass for there was some country and almost celtic bands as well. These are just some of the performers I really enjoyed but there were others too numerous to mention.
• Elvis Costello
• Alison Kraus & Union Station
• The Waybacks
• Donna the Buffalo
• The Duhks
• The Carolina chocolate Drops
• Crooked Still
So, through Friday until 11Pm and again on Saturday I spent the entire day moving back and forth from stage to stage and into the VIP area for free coffee and food. I managed to find a seat 5 rows back from the front on Friday when Elvis Costello was on. Apparently he does a lot of work in Nashville. Saturday I wasn’t so lucky with Alison Krauss but nonetheless had a good seat in the VIP section.

I think I might look into attending the Country Music awards in Tamworth next year.

Sunday evening it finished at 6PM. I returned to the sewage works deflated. Christmas was over. I had to saddle up tomorrow and head out. Mike thought that was funny but he was sure I would be back. Hmmmmmmmmmmm ………? …… I wouldn’t mind but it is an awfully long way from Australia to North Carolina.

Monday 30th April 2007
Wilkesboro to Fancy gap
Distance = 38 miles

I cheated. Mike gave me a lift up 2700ft to the Blue Ridge Parkway. I just couldn’t be bothered especially since I have lost my lowest climbing gear and 3rd as well. I spent the morning saying goodbye to everybody especially Mikey, Mikes son whom had been working behind the scenes at the campground all weekend. I really didn’t want to leave and that lab floor was so comfortable.

I am a dopey linear SOB however. Just as we reached the summit I realized that I had left my two main water bottles on the bench back in Wilkesboro. Mike was unfazed as we headed into the restaurant for lunch. So long as I stayed on the Parkway he would drop them off to me late that afternoon. I felt like a jerk. He then paid for lunch. Mike is a champion.

The Blueridge Parkway follows a ridge along the Appalachian Mountains for 460 miles from North Carolina to the Top of Virginia. In the south the climbs would have been just too hard with the load I had after the climb out of Gatlinburg. However this section was actually good with the climbs ascending only a few hundred feet at a time. Rhododendrons lined the road and formed a secondary canopy below the taller forest trees. I don’t know there names but the flora was distinctly different from that on the lower plain 2500ft below. And the views……………………wow. This was worth it. I’m glad I didn’t forego the chance to see it.

Mike turned up at about 5,30PM just as I was becoming a little parched. The temperature in Wilkesboro had hit 93° F today with over 90% humidity. No wonder it was still hot up here. “I’ll just check ahead at the camp ground for you” Mike said as he drove off ahead. A campground was the likely option and I was sure I was going to sleep like a rock. Ten minutes later Mike returned and deposited a key in my hand.
“You didn’t pay for a motel room did you?”
“Yes.” he replied.
“oh shit I can’t believe you………..”
“why shit?”
“mate it’s overwhelming. You’re a legend”
“good”
“when are you going to get a passport?……………………..and so we parted ways.

The hotel had a great shower and a comfortable bed. I checked in at the restaurant next door to find that breakfast was also already paid for. Unbelievable. The US is full of amazingly generous people and Mike Testerman is one of them.

my Rohloff Blues

Saturday 21st April 2007
Cherokee – Asheville
Distance = 55 miles

In the early hours of the morning I thought;
” I have food in my tent…………oh God”.
……..as much as I could try I couldn’t ignore this gnawing fact or the idea that at any moment a bear could be gnawing on my leg. Sleep was impossible so I got up, gathered all the plastic shopping bags of buscuits, bannanas, rice, fish, dried fruit n’ nuts & fudge and walked over to a picnic table 50m away where I deposited it and voided my bladder. “Right, that should do it” I uttered to myself and went back to my sleeping bag.

I didn’t want to get up, my bike was broken but a 8AM with the sound of engines reving in the camp ground and people talking I stared throwing my worldly possessions out of the open fly. Everything was secured and ready to go within an hour which is actually pretty good time. Being focused and unhappy seemed to help. Carefully I selected a functional gear 9 and started moving. The ride was as smooth as ever and my spirits lifted. “this will still work,…..I can get to Johnny’s in Pennsylvania if nothing further goes wrong.” Sipping a latte in the morning Sun I found a WiFi network emanating from the Best Western across the square but it was too weak to call from the cafe. Cherokee looked like it was going to be another Gatlinburg with the addition of a Casino since this was the Cherokee Indian Reservation. I should add that although the rampant, tasteless commercialization was overtly cheesy, the surrounding forested mountains and ski fields were a saving grace. I just hope Queenstown in New Zealand doesn’t stoop to this level; it’s still tastefully developed and the food in New Zealand isn’t sugary plastic like in the US.  Standing in the car park of the Best Western I eventually got hold of St John Street Cycles (Thorn Bicycles) in Somerset before they closed. The wheels were in motion and I am inside my warranty period. Adrian remembered me from my previous dealings and assured me that it would be fine to keep riding for the final leg of the trip.  So it looks like the possible visit to Santa’s Workshop at Thorn Bicycles (so to speak) has become an imperative detour upon my arrival in the UK. I’m going to drop her off whilst I have a month off from cycling through June and July visiting friends and possible taking in Paris. Hopefully my girl will be back up to scratch before the big push around Iceland.

I felt slightly better so now I could think about breakfast hmmmm, a salty savoury breakfast beckoned. Not much choice in the US unless you want Fast Food so today I acquiesced and ate at “Hardees; Charbroiled Burgers” . Apparently an independent reviewer of Hardees faire is quoted by Hardee’s as saying “Hardees gives America what it wants….” Wow, I’m convinced. These guys must be good corporate citizens with a real zest for flavour and quality ingredients like prime (thats right Prime) Angus beef in all their hamburgers.

It tasted like the same old crap.

The climb out of Cherokee was gentle for the first 10 miles as I passed the casino toward the mountains. Starting at just over 2000ft I needed to get to 4340ft. However the forest was thinner and the temperature higher. I cannot do a climb like this two days in a row. Thinking back I can’t recall ever doing two multi-hour climbs like this on consecutive days ever in my cycling career. The Alps in Europe or the Southern Alps in New Zealand are essentially one big climb after slowly working your way to a high point over many days and then whoosh down the other side and normal terrain again. Takaka hill out of Motueka on the top of New Zealands South Island is a 750m (2200ft) climb from sea level in four hours but that was it. Here I am doing another serious and now boring climb without having recovered from yesterdays. The Blue Ridge Parkway is apparently more of the same. Hence I am going to change course especially in light of the drive train problem.

Six Hundred feet elevation short of the top at around 3700ft Janet stopped in her SUV and offered me a lift to the top. I accepted. She was a retired nurse out of Waynesville who was very interested in getting back on a bicycle after 30 years of working. Dropping me off at the top we said goodbye and I started the “whoosh” downhill to Maggie Valley. There was no guilt. This day had been harder than I expected and as Clint Eastwood says in Magnum Force; “a mans got to know his limitations”.

Definitely a Swiss/German influence in this part of the Smokies. The rding after descending down to 2200ft was a selection of 10 minute “standing on pedal” hills and some fast flat sections as I made good time again north to Asheville. America is starting to see the error of it’s ways as regard automobile dependency but Asheville still has some major transport design problems. Route 19 along the valley is an acceptable road with tolerable traffic that I can live with having grown up in Sydney. In places it was actually quiet as the cars joined the Interstate 26 (I26) but as you enter Asheville and approach the river the only bridge suddenly changes to freeway I 26 and there is no option to get across that I could see. It reminded me of certain levels in Half-Like 2, a computer game set in a post apocalyptic world where you often have to search around the 3D terrain looking for the way across a barrier whilst fragging alien zombies. Perhaps this bridge was one of the game designers inspirational vista. I tentatively started to roll onto the bridge but a few drivers angrily blew their horns so I pushed the bike across a median strip to a side road which led under the southern end of the high bridge and up into the car park of a local shopping mall. It was 7.30PM and the sky was orange. I was getting frustrated and worried. A moped rider who looked like Cat Weasel greeted me as I rode out and up from under the bridge with;

“man your chain is flat”.
“yeah…just a little???”…..hugh?………. great, a wacko homeless person on a moped………. I thought.
Circling the carpark and looking through a wire fence at the opposite river bank where I wanted to be I found myself back at Mr moped.
“I have one question for you…”
…here we go……I thought……..shoot away Cat Weasel.
“I have one question for you; do you know what you’re doing?”
“no”………………..clear and simple…………”I want to get across the river but how the hell do you do that?”
“well you could break the law and take the bridge; I wont telllllllllllllllll”………………….. and he was gone zooming away.
“wonderful.”

But………………is that a foot bridge on the left side on the bridge? ……………..yes. It was actually a 200m long cage that I assessed for ambush potential……….lets go.

Clearing the other side The path ended at a steep 100% gradient set of stairs leading up 40 ft to a foot bridge over the motorway. There was no was I was going to unpack my bike in this area and ferry it piece by piece so onto the grass beside the freeway I proceeded……………….untill it enede in a dead end. I was funneled and hemmed in by freeway, wire fence separating me from a housing estate and unbroken crash barriers and I was trying to move against the traffic. …………and it was getting dark. With a heavy sigh and muffled cursing I headed back to the stairs as my only choice with thewire fence now on my right. At any moment I was going to step on glass, a used syringe, a headless torso of a man in his late 40’s; this was a really shitty area. The wire fence continued around the top of the embankment that the stairs actually mounted so I followed it around hoping that it might actually get me to the gate. The ground was littered with more and more refuse chucked over the barrier from what was obviously a housing commission area. Sawed off stumps of bushes in a tangled morass of dead herbicide soaked grass now pulled at my panniers and dislodged the front left one as the amount of width I had to traverse between the wire and the fall onto the road way was less than 1 metre. “If I lose my footing and fall here I’m probably going to be impaled on one of those stumps” I thought grabbing the bike and wire fencing as my goal came into sight. At this point a shoe less black man stepped out onto the landing at the top of the stair and looked at me. I felt a chill for no other reason than prejudice but rationalized it and kept going. Making it onto the concrete I mustered my best Aussie accent and said;

“G’Day mate”
(Think Eddie Murphy) ” dand boy you sure is loaded. You dropped something here” as he reached for my bottle of suncream.
“thanks mate.” I had also lost my insect repellant & spectacle wash but thought better of going back top get it not knowing how far back that was. Again the lesson of unsecured equipment was not learnt. If it’s open on a bike and not strapped down you will lose it at some point. = bugga.

Through the gate and down a lane my suspisions were confirmed; I was in a black ghetto. My friend Gazza Briggs does the accents better but as I clicked in to my pedals and put on my helmet I could hear a voice from a veranda exclaiming “check out the white boy?”. Speed was on my side and it was after *PM with a setting sun. The streets were alive with people running everywhere and hanging out of car windows. “G’day, hows it go’in” I said numerous times aspeople stopped and stared. The hairs were up on the back of my neck and I was on guard……………though in all honesty it was probably unjustified…………….it’s just that this is America which has 15 times the rate of Gun related crime than Australia. (this fact came off the Sydney Morning Herald web page 4 hours ago while I was checking the home news & email)

So here I am on Sunday 22nd April at the home of Ben, Emily Nathan & Clara after enjoying some bears and an excellent stir fry last night. Ben is on the warmshowers list. I’m having a day of rest then out again tomorrow on my attenuated steed looking for a flatter way north to Virginnia.

………..oh bugga.

Thursday 19th April 2007
Maryville – Gatlinburg
Distance = 45 miles

The trip has taken a multifactorial slant toward the arduous. It seems that every day now throws up another obstacle. I left William & Jaquilla’s place on Thursday morning, the 19th April heading toward Gatlinburg via a back route through Townsend. William had set me on a beautiful riverside road devoid of traffic for a good 10 mile. The forests though predominantly grey were starting to bud with the fresh green of spring & the temperature was also concomitantly warmer at around 20 C. This part of the world in eastern Tennessee almost feels Swiss due to it’s German immigrant heritage. Mind you that could apply to a lot of the states including Texas.

By mid afternoon I was deep within the Smokey Mountains National Park after following the river valley to a point where the road finally veered away and up to clear the ridge line. Hanging over the handle bars staring blankly up the hill my abdomen felt like it had been scraped out with an ice-cream scoop and my lips drooped slackly. A moment of dazed reflection lead me to the conclusion that perhaps I was not yet over the deli-belly. Gatlinburg coasted into view around 6 PM after a 40 mile ride. William warmed me that it was “a Las Vegas ” but as I said to the lady in the tourist info office “I wasn’t expecting Disneyland”. Talk about cheap and tacky, talking and singing animatronics guarded the entrance to such authentic venues as; “Ripleys Believe it or not experience”, “Star Cars” and a multitude of “Mini Golf” choices. Tacky souvenir shops adorned with Indian paraphernalia jostled with people and Corvettes as the rain started to settle in. That finished the notion of camping for the night. I hate setting up a wet tent in the rain. In fact I have only ever pushed myself to do this when there is truly no other option. The old faithful MacPac tent is fine and waterproof if it’s up before the rain starts but you can forget a comfortable night if the precipitation beats you. Hence as I passed a motel advertising “special low rates” I pulled in to enquire “how special are your low rates?”, $36 was the lowest Najebah could go (plus state Tax at 8%) . Now Najebah was an interesting lady; ethnically Iraqi, born & schooled in Bhagdad, a sunni arab, married an American Serviceman, adopted a Korean boy with learning difficulties and now as a single mum helped her Dad run this motel in east Tennessee whilst studying at college in Knoxville. America is really a incredible land of diversity though as she lamented during our conversations, her fellow Americans still displayed a dismal degree of ignorance with regard to people such as herself.

Secured in my room for the night I decided to go for a wander and check out what all the loud music was emanating from a huge crowd I passed on the way to the motel. The”ribs & wings” festival was in full swing with people donning orange plastic disposable raincoats while cheering on the contestants in an all you can eat “hot wings” eating competition. One gentlemen was almost throwing up in his hands as the portly Texan (cowboy) beside him chewed his cud in consideration of the best tactic to overcome his oponents and his gastric limitations. The paramedics were on standby with difibrillators and a pump………just in case. I heard the triumphant cheers of a winner as I negotiated the crowd swarming around this high class spectacle on my way to the music that abraded across the entire crowd. The band was actually quite good due in large part to the Willie Nelson look-alike on lead guitar accompanied by a dazed Uncle Fester and vocals bellowed by Andre the Giant. I was captivated for a good 15 minutes. Americans bands seem to be more proficient and polished that ours. Willie especially displayed some enviable skill in his solos. Bands at home mostly seem to be producing a wall of noise that at best might keep the mozzies at bay.

Friday 20th April 2007
Gatlinburg – Cherokee (North Carolina)
Distance = 36 miles

I arose late and talked with Najebah and her father for quite a while before finally leaving the motel around 10.30 AM. There was no supermarket in town; great American car centric planning at work again, so water would have to do but I needed a sugar supply for the day ahead. Fudge factories along the main drag plied their wares so I chose the best looking one (how?…. just a feeling) and ordered 3 pieces.

“….you get a 4th free Sir”
? “oh great………I’ll have a vanilla”
“that will be $25 dollars Sir”
I paused, frozen on the spot and looked at the price list behind her……..
“holy s#*t!”…………. I mumbled to myself…..”oooooooooook, I’m sure that its very good fudge”
….and I parted with $25USD (plus 8% state Tax)…………………………………………………………………………shit.

Every mouth full was as sweet as honey cakes in heaven as I hauled myself out of Tennessee to New Found Gap and the drop into North Carolina. A beautiful blue sky spread out above the canopy, the temperature rose to the mid twenties Celsius and the road went on and on. Fifteen miles in 5 hours; need I say more. That amount of climbing is not fun. At least the scenery was glorious and the bears feeding off to the side of the road were……um……….exciting……….um…….. unnerving. The Park Ranger drove by slowly with a loudspeaker informing thos whose cars were parked in such a way as to obstruct the road would be issued a ticket. “Return to your cars now”. I felt secure in the knowledge that all these fat Americans provided ample tastier decoys than I if one of them decided to supplement their diet. Good on ya Yogi.

Five PM and I reached the pass. “yall be glad to know it’s all downhill from here” a couple of guys informed me as they passed. “Thank God for that” I quipped back . They laughed loudly as they walked off to check the plaque commemorating the opening of the Park in 1940? by Roosevelt and it’s dedication to the mother of a Rockefeller. The descent was every bit as fast as I anticipated but through careful modulation I kept it below 30mph so I could appreciate the scenery. Changing up gears toward the bottom I felt something go wrong with my shifting.

hmmmm…”that was a bad change” I thought. …………..”surely not?”……………………………but surely yes. In the car park of the park visitors centre my worst case scenario had happened. I had lost 4 gears in my Rohloff Speehub. These things are supposed to be bullet proof. “How can this be?” I stood staring at the bike as a gentlemean who was testing the closed office doors of the information centre approached with; “hows it go’in?”

My reply was born out of despair; “bloody awful”.

The remaining ratios seemed to be working fine so I pushed into Cherokee looking for a camp ground. Insult was about to add to injury. Donning a hunting cap, the cross-eyed attendant at the Riverside Campground checked his price list, looked up over both my shoulders and said; “that will be $23.”

(deja-vu) I paused, frozen on the spot and looked at the price list behind him…….. “holy s#*t!”…………. I mumbled to myself…………”oooooooooook, what do I get for that?
“electricity and water hook up…..blah…blah…..blah…..(in a Carolina accent)
….my knuckles went white as I slowly clawed the counter and I pursed my lips; “but I’m on a bicycle so wont be using any of that. Are you sure that’s right?”
“for $24 you can have a riverside spot”
….blowing air between my lips; “are the showers any good”
“good showers”
………..slowley exhaling……..”oooooK” with an affirming few nods of the head.
“The gal who runs the office will be back at eight to collect your dues”
“…………..ok”

The ground was hard gravel and the showers were rudimentary though hot. Overall assessment was: RIPOFF = catering to the fly fishing crowd from the rish cities. = Bugga.

After pitching the tent I turned to the bike. I have lost gears 1, 3, 8, 10 out of 14. Just free spinning.

Just after eight my friend and his helper visited on a golf cart to summon me to the office so I could pay.

“$23 seems a bit steep, are you sure there isn’t any cheaper as I’m on a bicycle?”
“I’m sorry Sir but you do get Electricity & water hook up…..”
……knuckles whitening and swallowing ‘great but as I just said I’m on a bike so wont be using that?
“I’m sorry Sir. that will be $25 dollars total”
“what?!……………….I forgot the state Tax.”

I was not a happy camper.

Food Poisoning…………….a mild case at least.

Well I have been laid up for a day & a half at William & Jacquilla’s place outside Maryville after my tummy decided to rebel and my core temperature rose. Thirty six hours later and the malaise has virtually passed except for the gas which is anything but virtual. Probably picked it up on the way out of Kingston. Bought some chocolate milk at a road side store. I knew that fridge was too wet but I dismissed my concerns and drank it anyway. Bad move.

The Smokey mountains beckon but I feel somewhat intimidated. Tomorrow I head for Gatlinburg and then over the pass on Friday. Today I bought some leg warmers in anticipation of cooler temps at altitude. The Blue Ridge is looking………….um…………..hard. I think I am dragging my feet which is strange considering I’ve ridden over 4500km’s so far. ………………….but those climbs look bad.

William has been doing the hard sell on recumbent bikes and I must say that I am toying with the idea of adding one to my bike repetoire. I like these ones in particular:

http://www.ice.hpv.co.uk/standard_trikes/t.htm

………..but I had better finish this trip first.

……..its cold…….very cold.

14/04/07
Crossville – Kingston
Distance = 36miles

Rain, lightning, thunder, cold, mist, puddles, strange looks from behind frosted car windows; that about sums up todays ride. I didn’t see much but rather felt it all go by. The forests are predominantly conifer…..I think…..but this unseasonably cold spell has killed off the initial flush of spring growth & plunged the north east into winter again. It was about 5°C and my feet were numb when I pulled into Kingston at about 3.00PM. An awning to stand under provided a welcome respite but after 10 minutes I was starting to get even colder if that was possible. It was at this point that I realised there was no way I was leaving this town to push on and I needed food so I could warm up.

The local Subway seemed to be a hangout for a bunch of friends on both side of the counter. I interupted their club as I walked in like a rat flushed out of an aqueduct. Chelsea-the bubbly “I dream of Jeanie” look alike exclaimed; “oh my God listen to your accent. Where are you from?”
Needless to say my celebrity status took off like a rocket when they found out about the bike. Jordan said; “man that is so cool, have a free sub on us; whatever you want. Do you want double meat?” I said yes to everything and allowed them to exercise their better judgement with the choice of bread & sauce. So ensued an hour of regailing my adoring fans with stories of a land down under in the best ambassadorial mode I could muster whilst my hypothermia subsided.

I stayed in a motel as the temp dropped further and the volume of rain rose higher.

15/04/07
I spent the day holed up in the same motel as the outside temperature dropped to around 3°C. After leaving the room with every intention of cycling away, a 5 minute change of brake pads, front & back, turned into a 90 minute ordeal in the cold. My hands & feet were numb before I had even started the days ride so when I dropped off the key and started talking to the Indian proprieter I suddenly decided that watching television in bed for $45 was a much more attractive option.