5/5/01
I got an early start on Saturday, foolishly thinking that I was up for the challenge of the Blue Ridge Parkway! I walked the first two curves, which I estimated at about a 42% grade, to warm up. Then I hopped on the bike, shifted into a climbing gear, and rode for 30 whole seconds before collapsing. Woo Hoo! I contemplated calling it a day and rolling back down to the Cookie Lady's house, but instead I pushed onward. Later I would refer to this decision as "Mistake Number One."
After a long, steep climb, I reached the start of the Blue Ridge Parkway (north of this area, the road is called the Skyline Drive.) Here's what the entrance looks like:
To my surprise, the road has no shoulder and runs uphill. I briefly wondered at the lack of diversity among Virginia roads, then I started pedaling. The next 28 miles were pretty incredible -- beautiful scenery, but brutal climbs. Unfortunately, the day was also very overcast, which limited my picture range. However, if you would like to see what it looks like, call me and I'll sell you a bike really cheap.
For those of you who keep emailing me to take pictures of things other than the roadway, I have this to say: I believe that you have a rather naive impression of my photography style. I'm not prowling around waiting for the light to hit the right intensity. I'm not framing my pictures to emphasize any particular aspect of the scenery. I'm straddling the crossbar, trying to steady the camera while sucking large quantities of air in a futile attempt to recover before the next climb. So quit complaining. The road is what I see for seven hours a day, so I think some serious piping down is appropriate. Okay?
Here's another photo for you:
This is where I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple. This area is actually known as 20-minute cliff, because farm workers would watch the cliff in the summer from the fields below. Light would strike the cliff about 20 minutes before sunset, so the workers would know to start preparing for the night. Personally, I think that's horseshit, because I can't see any damn farms. Some forest ranger probably thought that it was a good story, though.
So anyway, I'm walking up one of an endless succession of ridiculous hills, and a couple of bike racers in hot pink outfits zoomed past me and asked if I needed help. Actually, they asked "You need anything?" and I said "Don't I have enough crap?" and they laughed and kept going. Good times. I live for this type of interaction with my fellow cyclists.
I finally made it past the worst of the climbing, only to run into the same group of racers, who congratulated me for making it. Motorcycle clubs were also very encouraging, roaring past me and cheering while I struggled along in my granny gear. At least I think they were cheering.
Anyway, I finally made it off the Blue Ridge and coasted down the scariest road in the world, where I pumped my brakes non-stop the entire way down. Even then, I had to stop twice to let my brakes cool (I could smell them burning.) The road was full of switchbacks, which made my out-of-control speed that much more exciting. I finally made it off the ridge and was rewarded with 10 flat miles through the town of Vesuvius before I reached Mallard Duck Campground. I went through my regular routine then stayed up late to finish a book I was reading (so that I could throw it away.)