5/1/01
Day three got off to a good start, with my new packing system dramatically reducing the amount of time it took to break camp. Still, the process took about 45 minutes before I was actually on the bike. I stopped at a small cafe called Arthur's Country Cafe (Breakfast Anytime!), where my waitress asked a lot of questions about my trip. She wrote down the cafe's address and asked me to send a picture of myself when I reached the Pacific. I agreed, and began pedaling.
The terrain got progressively hillier as I moved further inland, and temperatures shot into the nineties again. Average temperatures for this time of year are about 15 degrees cooler, but the deplorable condition of my cardiovascular system virtually ensures a heat wave, indicating that God (and possibly even the baby Jesus) hates me. Yes, I mean me personally. I passed through the railroad town of Ashland, which has a pleasant atmosphere and still feels like a railroad town. Steps are built to allow pedestrians to cross the tracks that run down the streets, and Randolph Macon College offered me a nice place to take a break and relax.
Unfortunately, after leaving Ashland I managed to take a wrong turn that sent me a few miles in the wrong direction. Virginia doesn't designate its state roads with East or West distinctions, and my GPS compass had run out of juice earlier in the morning. Since my spare batteries were packed at the bottom of my saddlebags (my goodness, but I am brilliant!), I went on without the GPS' help. The result, of course, was that I ended up heading east and cost myself about 90 minutes before I was able to retrace my path.
Shortly after, I took another wrong turn due to a map error. My maps list the turns according to distance, and are accurate to within half a mile. Unfortunately, one of the directions said to turn right half a mile into a particular section of CR 685, on the way to Scotchtown. After going just under 1.5 miles down that stretch, I decided that I must have missed the turn, and I retraced my path to the original turnoff. I couldn't find the turn again, and I was becoming more than a bit frustrated with the waste of my time. I continued onward, only to find the proper turn off at 1.5 miles rather than 0.5 -- in fact, the turn was about 50 yards from where I turned back, though out of site because of a hill. Muttering under my breath, I continued onward. (I later learned to check the annual updates, which I had printed out. The update mentioned the map error, and it could have saved me a lot of trouble. I'll give you three guesses as to where the printouts were packed in my pannier...)
By the end of the day, my "easy" day had transformed from 65 miles into something approaching 80 miles. To top it off, I (foolishly) relied on an outdated book to choose my campground, only to find that the campground had closed four years earlier. The clerks at a store near the now-defunct Lake Anna Campground gave me directions to another camping area five miles further. Exhausted, I continued onward, and somewhere during those five miles, I managed to pull a muscle in my right quad. I thought I was in trouble for a few minutes, since I couldn't put any weight on the right pedal, but the pain subsided and I was able to limp downhill into the campground.
I arrived just before dark and the office was closed. The drop box listed the cost as $19 -- outrageous, but I was in no condition to go elsewhere. I paid the fee then hurriedly cooked dinner before darkness fell. Then I conducted my nightly routine -- eating, washing the pots, showering, hand-washing my clothes, and then settling into the tent.
I slept rather well that night.