What you're looking at is Clinch Mountain (4,208 feet). I rode up it.
OK, I didn't ride up all of it, I topped out at 3,130 feet. To get an idea of what that means, check out the map. See that evil squiggly bit across the top there? That represents a climb of 1,470 feet in 3.7 miles. This was accomplished with one Powerbar, five Clif Bars, and four packets of Gu20. I neglected to take into account that by making powdered electrolyte replacement drink with my Camelbak water, I'd go through it faster, and I ran out somewhere near the top edge of this map-slice. Fortunately, Gu20 has almost four times the Sodium that Gatorade does, otherwise I would've been in more serious trouble than I was. Sucking the salt out of my jersey helped me through the rough spots. Then, at the bottom of the wicked downhill on the other side of the mountain, the guy driving the sag (supply) wagon for the three blissfully unencumbered cyclists who passed by me on the way up stopped and asked if I had seen his people up there. Turns out they stopped at the campsite on top of the mountain, while he thought they were heading for one in the valley. We chatted for a bit, and he gave me a bottle of water, which I turned into more Gu20 and chugged posthaste.
Damascus was a tough town to leave. Bob and Diane, proprietors of the Dancing Bear, were excellent and unobtrusive hosts...Diane knocked quietly at my door the afternoon I arrived bearing wunnerful homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and Bob - an Appalachian Trail through-hiker - was happy to share bits of hiking lore that were applicable to my venture. The room was nice and cozy, Mount Rogers Outfitters had so much nifty stuff I went back three times (hence the Gu20), and, all in all, I was low and sad when I pedaled out of town this morning. Homesick, for lack of a better word, and seriously questioning my self, my journey...just everything. Very blah.
My mom's a big John Denver fan, and I grew up listening to alot of his music. So, reaching for anything to keep me from collapsing into a ditch in numb despair, I put JD on the iPod...and sailed through the day on the aural wind of my youth (although I did put on Led Zeppelin III for the big downhill later). I hooked up the big cell antenna and called Pea from outside the elementary school in Hayters Gap, just prior to the big climb, and it was good to talk to her for a bit, rekindling my sense of connection to something other than the road, the mesh seat of my trike, and energy-dense foodstuffs.
Altogether: 31.3 miles, at an average speed of 7 miles an hour, which, considering the climbs involved and the weight I'm hauling, is pretty damn good. My maximum speed was 43.7 miles per hour, no doubt achieved on the way down from the peak on Route 80. The climb, as brutal as it was, as hard, sweaty, and hot as it was, was less a matter of faith than of assurance. I knew I'd make it. At one point, after a steep switchback, I confronted another set of switchbacks stretching up the mountain and out of sight, and I burst out laughing. "It just won't stop!" I yelled into the trees, then stopped in a patch of shoulder-gravel to rest and eat some energy before pushing on.
At the end of the ride: the Elk Garden Methodist Church, which opens its doors to cyclists. I'm here alone, and the pastor hasn't stopped by. I've stuffed myself full of ramen, and I'll sleep on the nice flat floor with my sleeping pad and bag, happy to have a roof over my head. Shortly after I arrived, a thunderstorm blew through, so intense that a pair of motorcyclists took shelter under the church's front porch until it let up a bit. There's a chance for more of the same tomorrow, but I'm going to push about 44 miles to a campground near the Kentucky border. It's mostly downhill from here, with one or two 500-foot climbs, so I should be OK even if it decides to rain a bit.
What a day. It started off so dreary, headwise, and as I climbed the mountain my spirits rose even as my body strained and pulled against gravity and the heat. Now, sitting here with only the sound of a ticking clock for company, I feel content. I am able to do things, apparently, that I didn't know I could do. I can look at the contour lines on the next few days' worth of map panels and know that I will be able to go up those mountains. The ease of mind and soul that comes from that knowledge is simply sublime.
This last photo is the first thing I saw after I shot out of the downhill between the mountain peaks and the fields opened up on all sides of me. The picture doesn't do it justice, of course...the digital image has made more out of the haze than was actually there. But seeing that mountain splashed across the horizon was a wonderful bit of joy for the eyes after being closely surrounded by trees and steep hillside for much of the afternoon.
You know, there's really only so much dampness a guy can take. I put in a good faith effort: two nights camping with the gear I hauled up the mountain. In the rain. In lots of rain. And when there wasn't rain, there was mist. Thick mist. Mist you could make a sandwich with.
In order to get online, I had to solve a vexing technical problem: I accidentally turned on the Black Box switch that powers the cellular amplifier, and drained the big battery over the course of my stay at the campground. No power for the amp! Because I had only designed the Box to charge the battery with solar panels, the cloudy weather meant that I would be without a crucial piece of communications gear for several days, just as I was entering a state where cell signals are elusive. However: I have a big bag of AC adapters for all of my various gizmos and gadgets, and after a few minutes of experimenting I discovered that the adapter that powers my AA battery charger fits into the sockets on the Black Box that accept solar panel input. Success! Now I'm charging the battery, and powering the amplifier. The big antenna is actually outside the motel room door, with the cable running through a gap at the door's bottom, and with that setup I can eke out the bare minimum signal required to get online. There's a certain satisfaction in that.
