TransAm Day #13 Berea, KY - Springfield, KY
TransAm Day #13
June 7, 2018
Berea, KY - Springfield, KY
93 Miles
Ride Time 7:25 Hours
Tour Total Miles 892
Last night was one of my best night’s sleep yet. The bed had an adjustment for hardness, which I couldn’t figure out because I was too tired, and it didn’t matter. I was staying in Roger & Libby’s daughter’s old bedroom, and my stuff was spread all over the place, including an impromptu laundry line. It was a miracle that I didn’t leave anything behind.
The steal-cut oats for breakfast were out of this world. Libby cooked them with apples and then we added strawberries, almonds, and walnuts. You bet I had two bowls!
I loved hanging out with these two. They’re writers, so they’re extremely knowledgeable and articulate. They’ve traveled everywhere, and mine everything they encounter the way artists do. Their house was a treasure trove. The living area had a vaulted ceiling, and the floor throughout the house was gorgeous cork. They had two picture windows so big, that replacement glass sheets for this size are no longer available. Their deck out back overlooked a lawn and wooded area. Everywhere were interesting crafts from their travels or work by local artists.
The plan was that Roger would escort me me out of town on his bicycle. We started out of Berea on a bike path which led to the road towards Kirksville that we had flown over in Roger’s plane the night before. Kirksville ended up being a lot bigger on the ground that it looked from the air. I learned so much from Roger, much of which will filter into today’s report.
Firstly, I learned more about the barn quilts which I am enamored with, and have photographed every single one that I have passed. They’re locally called quilt squares, and it was started by an artist from Paris, KY. He has a catalog of patterns for people to select from. I suspect that he’s not the only artist doing this anymore.
Roger told me about the two finger salute, which I had noticed back as far as Virginia. I thought drivers were waiving their index finger, but Roger said that it was always two fingers to prevent any ambiguity or miscommunication.
He told me about Earle Combs, the famous Kentucky baseball player who had played with Lou Gehrig. I had seen a mural in Booneville. Apparently Earle got injured while running towards the back wall trying to catch a fly ball. He didn’t have any children so he used his wealth for local philanthropy. He continues to be celebrated by the local community.
A key piece of information involved the Kentucky route numbering system. The number of digits indicates the size of the road. For example, Route 27 would be a major artery, whereas 4115 would be a small country road.
I got a text from Brian, who was up ahead and wanted me to know about a closed bridge on the route. Roger could see the wheels turning in my head and urged me not to forge the river and to take the detour, which would add distance and time.
I’ve noticed a lot of Mulberry trees and dark stains on the pavement below them. If the fruit was in reach, I would stop. The squirrels in Western Kentucky are dumber than the ones in the east. They dilly dally in the roadway and don’t get out of the way, which could lead to an accident. My saddle springs are squeaky.
All day long I noticed beautiful stone fences bordering the fields. Rows of rock are carefully arranged like bricks to waist height. Flat jagged rocks are placed vertically on the top layer like leaning books on a shelf. It was hard to capture a photo that could do them justice.
I had a big mean black dog come after on my way to Brantsville. I pulled out my pepper spray but was able to out run him. It was my second Kentucky out of breath dog chase moment. Roger had shared his dog story with me. He got bit on a ride, and the dog was subsequently put down. He admitted that for cyclists it’s a real problem here. It blemishes Kentucky’s reputation.
I always have to pay for a downhill but today I paid double. I was flying down Route 1355 and hit the steepest most exhilarating hill I had yet encountered. It reminded me of skiing, and was a bit terrifying. The uphill on the other side of the valley, lucky for me, wasn’t as steep. I began to notice that I was off track on my Garmin. I had gotten way off course. So I had to turn around, go down the not-so-steep hill, and then climb back up the monster. Oh, and I had passed three different dogs that had chased me, so I got to run those gauntlets a second time. It sucked. I waisted a lot of energy and lost time.
Brian texted me that he was aiming for Springfield, birthplace of Abraham Lincoln. For me to get there was going to be some serious business. I stopped at a Valero station, run by an Indian family, and had lemonade and trail mix. It was in the high 80’s.
Another thing Roger had mentioned was how motorists are reluctant to pass cyclists out of courtesy, or they’re timid. It began to drive me crazy. They’d stay a good ways behind me and follow me for miles. I started pulling over so they could pass. The countryside here is all hay production and livestock. I saw lots of farmers bailing hay today.
Coming into Springfield, I elected to stay on route instead of taking a short cut. The map promised me the Lincoln Homestead State Park, and although I'd already seen a facsimile of Abe’s birthplace when I was a kid, I wanted to see it again. All I saw was the 18 hole golf course. I should have taken the short cut.
Rob, Libby & I were delighted to host you. Glad you enjoyed the stay. We enjoyed sharing adventure stories; also fun to read your writing about the environment we know well. Wishing you safe and exciting travels!
ReplyDelete