Pattern
Like a lot of rides after I've been holed up for a few days, this one started out lousy. I was in a foul frame of mind, because late yesterday I discovered what looked to be a fine network of fatigue cracks in the metal bar the connects the trailer to the trike (it's called the "tongue"), so I was faced with the prospect of yet another major equipment failure just five days after the first one. I was stewing about how to resolve the problem, and just getting fed up. Not having any fun. The day started out with my discovery that the road I needed to take out of Berea was closed...really closed; they tore a bridge down, leaving a twenty-foot gap. Fortunately, they had piled up some dirt into a sort of ramp, and the gap was at the base of a big hill...so I headed back up it, turned around, got up a good head of steam, and managed to jump the gap without causing damage to my equipment or my body.
Or, to put it another way, I backtracked and took a detour so that 45 minutes into the day I was exactly one half mile from where I started. Then, later on, I took a left instead of a right, and then spent some time trying to figure out why the GPS was telling me such crazy things. It was just trying to get me back to where I was supposed to be. The end result of all these wrong-way Norris shennanigans was an extra six miles on the odometer.
As if that wasn't enough, it wasn't flat yet. For the past couple of weeks, I've been holding fast to the "It gets better after Berea" mantra. And it did get better. No real mountains. But not flat, either. And I wanted flat. Needed it, like I needed electrolytes.
By noon, I was in a damn-it-all funk. Not having any fun. Losing all sight of the now, projecting into the future, where everything is always difficult and hot, all the Pop-Tarts are broken, and the water smells funny.
I rigged up the antenna and called Pea, asking her help - she looked up the numbers for Arkel Overdesigns and Burley, manufacturers of panniers and trailers respectively. I called Arkel in Canada from the side of the road, and Customer Service rep Yves (yay, Yves!) got three different recumbent panniers and measured them for me, so I'd have a better idea if my planned solution to the cracking trailer problem would work. The idea was to take most of the weight out of the trailer, putting my camping gear into panniers, and using the trailer mainly as a technology pod for the solar panels, computer, and other gizmos. But I didn't know if the left pannier would fit over the trailer hitch, and I would still need to get a new tongue from Burley, which meant coordinating shipping and all sorts of logistical nonsense.
I had pulled over at the end of a long driveway, and while I was making my calls, a white-haired gentleman came down the driveway in his pickup truck and asked if I needed help. More of the Kentucky hospitality!
After I talked with Yves, I got pissed off. I'd be damned if I'd let another piece of broken metal end this journey. So I put aside thoughts of the trailer cracking off the the back of the trike, rolling downhill behind me and getting smashed by a truck, because right then, and right there, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I powered up hills, my legs infused with the determined energy that, apparently, comes from focusing on what's in front of me.
At the end of the ride: Chimney Rock RV Park. I knew things were looking up when the attendent at the office asked me if I was cycling across the country, and immediately said that I had to sign her book, and that cyclists pay only $10 for campsites with water and electric. On my way to the shower, I stopped to chat with a fellow named Harold who apparently owns the place, sitting at what looked to be a permanent "bar" in front of an RV trailer. He said they get cyclists through here all the time, and were even written up in Bicycling.
There's no cell service here, but I had the toll-free number for Burley, and asked at the office if I could use the phone...not only could I, but I could call toll numbers if I wanted to. So, I spoke with Chad at Burley Designs in Oregon. It turns out that the network of fine cracks I noticed are actually just that: fine cracks, but in the satin finish of the metal, not the tube itself. Burley is a small co-op, and like most of the people who work there, Chad owns and uses the products his company makes. He's toured with the Nomad, abused it, and it's lasted just fine. He gave me some tips on packing it to reduce the bounce caused by hitching it to a a trike with 20-inch wheels, and I made him laugh with my description of "equipment paranoia" following Monday's hub failure.
That bit of business attended to, it was time to tend to the needs of the body. The shower was coin-operated, and well worth the quarter. The soda machine was empty, but when I asked Harold of there was another machine, his wife went and got me two Pepsis out of their own fridge.
Once again, a day that started with a bad case of malaise has ended with me welcomed, refreshed, safe...and with Wi-Fi access. Huz-zah! I am sensing a pattern here...maybe I can tweak it a bit. A little less heavy on the mope, perhaps.
To sum up the day: I saw the horizon for the first time in weeks.
