Fried.
Like bacon.
I made it where I was going, but the last 15 miles or so were interminable. Got caught in the heat, too, because I didn't leave as early as I would've liked. I'm pretty sure I drank enough (70 ounces from the Camelbak, two 16-ounce water bottles, plus another 32 ounces of Gatorade, salty snacks, and so on), but it was a very long day, and I'm barely able to muster up enough energy to cook dinner. "Cooking dinner" basically consists of boiling water, pouring it into a pouch, and waiting ten minutes, so that should give you some measure of my exhaustion.
And - typical for the region - the weather forecast has changed since this morning, and now indicates a good chance of showers tomorrow. Mainly after 9AM in Troutdale (tomorrow's destination), and after 3PM in Wytheville (where I am now), which means I'll be heading right into the rain...if I go to Troutdale. There is a string of (wauugh!) motels about five miles from here. There was no way I could've gone that extra five miles today, not to mention the fact that it would've cost me my reservation deposit here at the campsite. But I'm not at all sure I can do 40 miles and handle a rainstorm as well.
Tough call.
But - having experienced the roadside siren song of not one, not two, but a good half-dozen motels as I sweated and strained the last eight miles up hill to get here, I expect that my resistance will be low.
Mind you, it wasn't a steep hill. But it was long, it was hot, and my legs had died eight miles previous. A grind, I tell you!
Whose idea was this, anyway?
When I pulled in to the KOA office parking lot I met Mark and his young son, Will...Mark told me that some friends of his had done the crossing America on a bike thing eight or nine years ago, from west to east, and they told him that Virginia was the toughest part of the whole trip. Which is encouraging, or would be if I weren't a giant crispy onion ring.
So, it's pretty much official: I do not like Virginia.* It is trying to kill me.
Case in point: as I was starting to write that line, a branch big enough to make a distressing thump was knocked off of a tree in the next campsite by the wind.
See? Threats. There don't seem to be any widowmakers above my head here at my site, but the message was clear enough.
I will not yield!
*Yeah OK, the Blue Ridge Parkway was way cool. Maybe the problem is that there is too much gravity in Virginia.
