Wheel-Poppin' Brutality
Today was supposed to be a simple 40-mile run from Booneville to a motel in Irvine. The map looked good, maybe a little up-and-down climbing here and there, nothing major. A dewfall across the field behind the church meant that I had to put the tent away damp, which isn't a good thing because it's starting to get some mildew growth...I'll have to remedy that when I've got some time and access to the requisite "mild detergent."
The day started innocuously enough...a bit of a climb out of Booneville, and then onto smaller roads bordered by forest and overhanging, eroded cliffsides, topped by trees with exposed roots clinging to the cliffs' edges. At about mid-morning, I encountered a brief, steep climb. Then another, and another...damn! There's a mountain between me and Irvine!
The altitudes on the GPS waypoints for this stretch didn't have any indication of such a climb, and I guess I just misread the contour lines on my route map. As the sun climbed higher into the slate sky, I found myself on what seemed to be the steepest climb of my journey so far. The pedals moved like I was pushing through thick mud. As I climbed around the curves, I kept passing small cemeteries on the sides of the road, all sparsely populated with newer headstones, some dating from the 90s, some dating from earlier but carved in the same style and with the same new-granite sheen. One of the larger cemeteries, mostly empty, was bordered by the road, curving around it and heading upward in an ever-steepening incline. Frustrated by the repetitive short climbs, I stopped there and downed some water, noting with concern that the Camelbak was getting sloshy and empty. Not thinking I'd have to deal with climbing in the day's heat, I hadn't brought any extra in the Dromedary bag.
I mounted up and attacked the hill. Throughout yesterday and today, I'd been hearing a grinding noise in the rear of the trike, which seemed to have something to do with my pannier pressing against the DualDrive hub's switchbox...when I lifted the pannier away from the box, the grinding stopped or lessened. I just needed to adjust the switchbox or the derailleur, I thought, but not now: the pedaling was so tough that I was reduced to counting off twenty strokes, resting, then counting off twenty more. It was the only way I could get up the hill.
At the top of the hill, it became clear that something was terribly wrong with the drivetrain. The pedals spun, but the rear wheel wasn't turning - in fact, I would start to roll backwards! I set the brake and got out, to be confronted by a rude sight: the bolts on either side of the rear axle had come entirely loose...the wheel was no longer attached to the trike's frame. I checked to make sure that both bolts were still present, then pushed the rig over to the side of the road into a gravel patch that marked the entrance to yet another small cemetery.
In one sense, it was a relief...I thought that I had completely stripped the internally-geared hub, which would have left me stranded on top of a mountain dozens of miles from anywhere. Bolts...those, I could tighten. I broke out the toolkit and got to work, removing the bungies that secured the Black Box and the solar panels to the rear rack, and taking off the pannier so that I could access the rear wheel. Sweat was pouring from every pore, and as the sun beat down on me, I suddenly realized that I was getting a little woozy. I needed to get out of the sun, immediately.
The cemetery plot was bordered by trees that offered shade, so once I got the bolts tightened and everything strapped back into place, I rode across the grass to seek shelter. I mixed up a bottle of Gu20 and drank it down, sitting in the trike's seat and resting for about twenty minutes. After eating a Clif bar, I headed back out into the hated sunlight.
After another few miles of riding along the undulating ridgeline, I sucked the last of my water out of the Camelbak. I had twelve miles to go when I finally began the descent off the mountain, so I steeled myself for a thirsty couple of hours until I reached Irvine. As I reached the flats, I passed another inspirational plate (thanks, guys!), strapped to a telephone pole with electrical tape. Encouraged, I forged ahead. At one point, I passed a ditch with water in its bottom, and I thought of my water filtration system...but I wasn't really at that point, not yet.
I passed into farm country, and the landscape opened up into fields bordered by steep, pyramidal mountains, more open land than I'd seen since central Virginia. I began to pass the occasional house, and I thought that it might be time to start knocking on doors. Then, I passed by Ron Sparkman, standing out in front of his house on Yon-Side farm. I pulled over to chat, and soon Mrs. Sparkman bought me a big styrofoam cup of icewater. Ron said that they get quite a few cyclists passing through, some of whom camped on his property across the road.
We talked about how isolated the communities are in this part of Kentucky, and about how, generally, folks here are good folks. But he told me a story about three young men who pushed a pickup truck up to the barn across from the house one night. One got out and knocked on his door, looking for gas. Ron only had diesel, for the tractor, and when it became clear that no gas was forthcoming, the man rejoined his companions in the pickup...then started it up and drove off. So it's good to be cautious in the mountains, and my sense of unease in some of the more isolated areas is not entirely unwarranted.
We chatted until it was time for Ron to go and "roll up some hay." Refreshed, with a newly-filled water bottle and Camelbak, I struggled through the last few miles into Irvine, stopping to ask a local out in front of his house whether I was headed the right way to get to the Oak Tree Inn where I'd be staying. He asked me about my trip and about the rig, seeing me off with "I can't say I understand it, but brother, more power to ya!"
Well, that makes two of us. I got my butt kicked today, but I made it, and now - as is only appropriate after a butt-kicking - I shall sleep. Tomorrow, it's on to Berea.
