So Anyway...
...yesterday I was on the road for eight hours in 93+ heat, dig? I was only riding for about five and a half of those hours, the rest of the time I spent trying not to die. I have not yet achieved true knowledge of the Way of Leaving Early. It took me longer than I expected or wanted to leave the Ashland campground, and by the time the sun had completed its transformation from yellow-faced giver of life to white-hot destroyer of all I was well into what turned out to be a very, very tough day on the road. I had 70 ounces of water in the CamelBak, another 6 liters in the big red Dromlite, and a full water bottle. But by 11:30AM, I had sweated out too much salt and other electrolyte-style chemicals...I needed Gatorade, or some equivalent, but there were no general stores to be found.
At one point, I came across the Coatesville Baptist church, a low brick building with a small graveyard and what looked to be a barbecue pit, pavilion, and outbuilding behind it. I pulled in, fearing that I wasn't carrying enough water to get through the day. Success! There was a well spigot out back. I turned it on full blast, filled up the Dromlite, and dumped it all over my head. The delicious shock of that is difficult to describe...a quick, condensed burst, like shivering from long exposure to cold, all at once. "God that's better than sex!" I said out loud to no one. Then I did it again.
Back on the road and once again feeling the red edge of Too Much Sun, I remembered that I had a small shaker of salt with me: three salty palm-licks later, I was in better shape. Then I had to stop fifteen minutes later and boil up a bag of beef stew so I'd have something to run on, because I had burned off my breakfast in just over two hours.
Did I mention it was hot?
I passed by an abandoned general store, with twin Coca-Cola logos faded to bleached pink and flaked white on its signage. Which made me want a big cold bottle of the bubbly stuff...I peered into the store's windows as I passed, hoping that it only looked abandoned, or that there would be a single forgotten Coke machine in the dusty sunbeams, still plugged in and full of chilled glass bottles for a nickel apiece, with Rod Serling hiding behind it.
Then: up the next hill and around the corner, its sign rising towards the boiling heavens like a beacon of not-Coke, I saw it! Verbeeck's Country Store! Run by one John Verbeeck, who keeps a journal for cyclists passing through to sign, dating back two years. All I could manage to write was "Hot. Coke is good. www.astonishedhead.com, Ian Wood." Despite the sign, there was cold Coke, plus Powerade, a box of graham crackers, and a brown banana that was near-mush but delightful anyway. I chatted with John for a bit, he admired the trike, with its shiny solar panels in full deployment, and I headed back out into the haze.
By the time I was within five miles of Mineral, I had nothing left. I was hydrated well enough, but out of muscle fuel. The map indicated free camping on the grounds of the Volunteer Fire Department, and I found the building easily enough - Mineral is literally a one-stoplight town - but I couldn't think properly anymore. There was the building, but no obvious signage. It didn't look like anyone was there, so I sort of drifted onto a side street and made a U-turn, at which point a guy in a PT Cruiser stopped on the other side of the street to get a closer look at the trike. We got to talking back and forth across the road, and he pulled his car around and came over to chat. Our conversation was interrupted as he waved or shouted greetings to every third car that drove past. At one point, someone else pulled over into a nearby parking lot to give him some sort of fundraising letter for their church. There were introductions all around, summarizations of my journey, and an offer to pray for me (which is always welcome...can't hurt).
There was talk of a campground about five miles up the road...I was steeling myself for another five miles that I just did not have in me when the fellow suddenly let out a piercing whistle, summoning a pickup truck that was pulling out onto the road a block or two down.
In the pickup was Hank. Hank is a Volunteer Fireman, and he is like a god to me.
He showed me the grounds behind the firehouse. He took me into said firehouse, which was full of fire trucks and, most importantly, a blessedly air-conditioned hallway that led to the holiest of holies: a shower.
So, I essentially rolled into Mineral out of my mind from the sun, and by staying in one place for a few minutes I attracted curiosity, then assistance, stumbling into a place to sleep and shower through sheer, random hospitality. I even made it to the Almost Heaven Bar-B-Que half an hour before it closed, feeding my salt-starved cells with a pulled-pork sandwich and onion rings.
Today was a bit better, but only a bit - a high of 87 which, by the time I reached Palmyra, didn't feel too much different from 93. No one was answering the phone at the campground I was thinking about using, about five miles away on Lake Monticello. The B&B I was going to use as backup was - surprise! - no longer in business, which led to the Fourth Small Thing I Have Learned: always check the Adventure Cycling website for recent map updates.
But after another phone call, I ended up renting a small cottage at the 1831 Inn and Restaurant - the Innkeeper knocked 10% of the normal rate. Still more than I wanted to spend, but I'm done for the day, and here I am, so I'm not going to fret too terribly much about it. The Restaurant part is only open Thursday through Sundays, so I boiled me up a bag of Spaghetti with Meatsauce, using my camp stove on the brick hearth of the fireplace.
Tomorrow: just 26 miles to Charlottesville, where I'll hole up for a couple of days to recuperate, do some work, and wait out the thunderstorms that are going to blow through here on Friday.
Now I must sleep, having maybe ironed out half of the lumps in the preceding lumpy narrative.
"Ironed out the lumps"?
Definitely time for bed.
