The day started off with some easy riding and beautiful weather. Savor this next picture, since it may be the last you see that doesn't have HUGE FREAKING MOUNTAINS:
It was a great day for riding, with perfect cloud cover, so that I wasn't roasting in the sun all day. Because I am always heading west and the sun passes to the south, sunlight shines directly on my left leg, which has developed a mean tan, but my right leg is still New York pasty white. It makes for a pretty exotic look, but I think the farmers appreciate it.
After an easy ride into Wytheville, I crossed I-81 and headed into Mount Rogers National Recreation Area, which proved to be a heavily forested area. The hills began again, but fortunately the road was a very tolerable grade (about 6%).
The afternoon passed easily until I left the forest, when I once again
heard the painful twang of a broken spoke. The wheel developed quite a
wobble, but since I had quite a way to go before I reached a bike shop,
I pushed on. I had to disengage the rear brake to prevent the warped wheel
from rubbing on the brake pads, so that was fun on the downhills. I was
pretty annoyed with the mechanic that had just fixed my wheel, since he had done as much harm as good, but at least I didn't have to hitch a ride.
I finally rolled into Damascus, a small town that hosts "The Place," a hostel for Appalachian Trail hikers and TransAm bikers. The Place was crawling with AT hikers, which are a bit of a strange group. They create trail names for themselves, such as Rooster (a redhead,) Caboose (a slow hiker,) Stormy Sky (???,) and Mailman (a mailman. (Some nicknames are more creative than others.)) They were also fairly clique-oriented, so I set up my tent without too much conversation. I did talk with a hiker named Jon and we discussed the differences in gear for the two types of trips. Since I was the only biker at the Place, I was something of a novelty, but I got the impression that the hikers didn't think that was a good thing.
I headed over to Quincey's, a local pizza hangout. The place was going pretty strong, with drunk hikers staggering around telling jokes, two waitresses desperately trying to fill orders, a few locals shooting upset looks at the most obnoxious hikers, and a particularly old, particularly drunk, particularly smelly hiker that kept going up to strangers and laughing hysterically, never noticing their frightened expressions. A jukebox belted out country songs from somewhere in the back while hikers filled the rear bar, puffing away on cigarettes like it was their last chance for a nicotine fix (which, of course, it was.)
I saw Jon in a corner table and he waved me over and invited me to join him. We talked about the trail and the bike route and everything in between. Jon is retired from the military and is hiking the AT for the third time. He's a nice guy and a bit more down-to-earth than the rest of the AT group. We drank a few beers before Jon headed out, then I worked on my journal. Just before I left, I heard a few hikers asking about the TransAm trail, so I wandered over and introduced myself, then told them to look me up back at the Place (my tent was easy to spot, since it was about four times the size of even the largest hiker tent.)
Back at the hostel, I ran into Jon and we compared maps, then the couple from Quincey's showed up. They introduced themselves as Ross and Tracy, two hikers from Boston who were considering leaving the AT and switching to the TransAm on a tandem. I spent about an hour talking with them before I finally crashed out on the lawn.