If you read that wrong, keep your clothes on. This isn’t a naked boxing match.
My first big breakfast of the ride comes at the behest of my most generous host Charlie. We hit Cathy’s Kitchen Cupboard again and I’m the only man not wearing a hat. After eggs and bacon and grits, I fill up on water and head north, without any set destination. If I stay on course, I’ll be 70 miles toward a town called Bardstown, with no campground or hotel anywhere nearby – so I’ll be crashing behind the nearest fire station or library I can find as the sun sets. Charlie tells me it’s bible study night and an Episcopalian church would be most likely to let me camp – but avoid the Baptists.
As I penetrate the Bluegrass State, I wonder if it’s a coincidence that this is the only state in the union whose initials are a brand of personal lubricant. Also, Arrested Development never made a song called Kentucky. But I sure wish they they had.
Heading up 31E, I notice a trend that would continue the entire day: the same 2 foot shoulder I had in Tennessee is still there, but it now has 18 inches of rumble strip smack dab in the middle of it. What a stupid thing to do! Why not put the strip on the actual stripe?! Who’s the head of the KYDOT and why did this person’s mom get knocked up by her own brother? Fantastic, I guess I’m taking the lane on this winding truck route. I’m greeted by an all out nonstop pounding of Dollar General semi trucks. Come to find out I’m passing one of their major warehouses. Fun wow — the hills and headwind alone just weren’t enough. A sign I pass asks, “if you died today, where would you spend eternity?” Sensing cheap religious overtones, I send a quick prayer up to the holy spirit of Rick James, “please don’t let it be Kentucky”! New Zealand would be nice though, especially since I wouldn’t have to worry about the high cost of living – because I’d be dead.
It’s one of those cool and cloudy days and I’m literally in the middle of nowhere USA. Seriously the hangout spots are Marathon gas stations and – you guessed it – Dollar Generals. Then suddenly, I realized I must have somehow teleported because I’m just 5 miles from Buffalo…
…Buffalo Kentucky. What the hell? There’s no sign of any beautiful river or American bison here. Space and time are still making us all their fuck toy. I decide to keep pushing. If I can get to Bardstown, they have cheap motel rooms, and knocking out another century ride would would make a room worth paying for. So I do it. And it hurts. And I arrive and come to find out Bardstown is the Bourbon capital of the world. No bourbon for me this trip but I did eat a truly gourmet dinner.
Day 11 is an off day. I wake up. Make some coffee, and dig in on planning the next week. I really didn’t plan anything for the section of my ride from Nashville to Cincinnati, and now I’m eyes deep in paper map and google map work, figuring how to best get out of Tennessee and through Kentucky without getting lost or coming upon an unclimbable hill. Three hours later I’ve got a plan to take 31E to 62 to 25 over 6 days and I’ve got 3 offers of hospitality along the way and I’m out the door to grab some dried goods for the next week and then meet some Nashville friends. Actual life now feels so luxurious compared to just a couple days ago.
Charlie and I go for a ride in his truck and he shows me the town. He tells me about the work he does with the food pantry and the almost-finished homeless shelter that he helped to build. Charlie’s a minister, so he tells me about some of the issues facing the town and it’s residents. He treats me to dinner at the local home cooked food spot and it’s clear everyone knows and loves Charlie. It’s also clear what a positive impact he is having on the community, a fact he downplays, but that I can see clearly in just an hour. I’m inspired to be a better person just listening to him talk over dinner. I’m glad to have met him. The best part is that by the end of the night we’re watching Slow Roll clips on YouTube and I’m sipping strawberries and cream Tennessee moonshine distilled by the retired local police chief.
The hard part about hauling yourself, your 45 lb bike and another 40-50 lbs in gear, tools, food and water 444 miles through the rolling hills of through Mississippi, Alabama and Tennessee isn’t the bicycling day after day.
Hoping for a Tail Wind 