Supplemental Post: Lost

I wrote this post 8 months after leaving the relationship to try to explain what I was going through at that point. Even though I knew that I could never go back to Him, I was finding my new life without Him very hard to handle, and couldn't make sense of anything. I post this to try to explain the long-lasting effects abuse has on a victim and the conflicting feelings they have trying to move forward.

*** 

Sometimes I feel so lost that I fear I will never find my way ever again.

It’s not like being lost on the road, where there are signs and passers-by. People to ask for directions, to check in with again to find out if you’re on the right track. To exchange a smile and a wave and a nod. Because generally when you’re on the road, you have some idea of where you’re going. Your destination is clear, even if you have several possible routes. And somehow you know that if you point yourself in the general direction, you’ll get there eventually. You might take a longer road, or one with a poor surface that slows you down, but you’ll get there.

The way I feel is quite different to that. It’s like being lost in the middle of a jungle. Where there are no tracks, or identifying landmarks. Like I’m buried in the undergrowth and every direction looks the same. I’m there alone. I have to decide how to get out, or whether to stay. But it’s dark, and it scares me.

I don’t really understand how I got there. When I look back, I question whether it was actually me that led him by the hand, our eyes wild, glinting in the half-light. Maybe I thought that it was going to be exciting in there, exotic, unknown. Perhaps I realized that I was getting myself, and him, deeper and deeper into the wilderness but somehow it didn’t seem to matter because I always had him as my point of reference. Or maybe I only took us in so far, to the edges of the forest, where light was still coming through. A place where I still knew how to get out. And then he led me in the rest of the way, told me that knowing how to get out again was cheating, not giving enough of myself, not committing.

Whichever it was, I went right to the heart of that forest. And even though sometimes he was scarier than the snakes hanging off the trees, I felt safer with him there. But now he’s not with me anymore and I’m still in there.

I know that I chose it. I thought that it would be less frightening, that I had a real chance of getting out. I also realize that there are people waiting around the edges, reaching towards me, ready to help, even if I can’t see them from where I am. But I have to take the first steps into the darkness on my own, and have faith that I am walking towards them, and sometimes I can’t bring myself to do it.

Because on some days, I don’t want their help. They’ve never been to the heart of the darkness. Only he has been there, and I still want it to be him that I find. Even though I know it’s not good or right, it just hurts too much being apart from him. Then I have to grit my teeth, bear the darkness, step towards the edge and wait for the sun to rise. 

Supplemental Post: An Evening Out

Warning: I am posting about my experiences of domestic abuse in the hope that it will help others to a greater understanding of what goes through a victim's mind when these things happen. And in the hopes that, by describing my experiences, I can help shift the stigma and provide support to those still in abusive situations to know that others have been through this and survived, that they are not alone, and that it is not about them - it is about an abusive situation that hopefully they can move away from when they are ready to do so. 

***

I know how to handle waves.

We live on the beach in the summer, my mum, my sister and me. Building sandcastles, eating ice-creams, crabbing.

We swim in the sea long after the holiday season is over. Once it starts to get cold outside, there’s only one option. You have to submerge yourself in the water as soon as possible, and stay there.

“Warmer in than out,” we all say.

And when a big wave comes, my Dad has taught us the drill. We know that the worst thing you can do is let it catch you unawares. You face it head on. When you see its crest, you dive straight into it, swim through it, stay beneath the water until you know it has passed.

But sometimes you pick a wave that’s too big. When you dive under, you get trapped in its roll, its power unstoppable. You end up tumbling in the sand, over and over, coughing up seawater, and feeling the sting as it pours out of your nose.

It’s days like that when you realise that you should never have stepped into the water in the first place.

***

It’s the height of summer and I arrange a night out with some friends of mine, let’s call them Josh and Lucy.

I guess I know that He doesn’t really like Josh, but He and Lucy seem to see life in the same way, to share a connection, and a sense of humour. I think it will be enough to assure us a fun evening. But when it comes to the night, He is reticent.

We are late setting off but I stay positive, calm. On the bus, I put my hand proudly on His knee, smiling, breathing in the scent of his aftershave in the air. He looks straight ahead, a flat expression on his face, his body motionless.

We’re half-way there when He utters his first words for the journey.

“I think I’ve left the side gate open, I’m going to have to go back.”

***

And so it’s time to make a disclosure, this time about Him rather than me. He is obsessed with security. At times, it borders on the OCD, but most of the time it’s just another quirk, a further reason to love Him.

As part of the works we have done on the house, we have a full alarm system installed, plus a giant-sized, double-locked side gate, which prevents access to the alleyway along the side of the house. We hang new fire doors on every room in the house, and He decides that each should have a lock on it.  Any time we leave the house for more than a night, He walks round the house before we leave, locking every single door with its separate key, jangling the bunch like a jailor. He is the one to lock the front door and set the alarm whenever we go out. He feels more comfortable that way.

Despite all of this, He still sleeps with a metal bar under his side of the bed.

***

Although we’re late, we get off our outbound bus and head back home.

It’s after He’s checked the gate, while we’re standing again at the bus stop outside our house, that I can’t help myself.

“I knew it would be locked,” I say, with a false smirk on my face, making light, pretending that I am simply finding it endearing. But He sees straight through the veneer. 

“Don’t you fucking speak to me like that,” he spits. “One more word out of your mouth and I turn around and I’m back in that house, you understand?”

His body tenses. I do nothing, say nothing.

“You understand?“ he repeats. “You think you can do that?”

My body is frozen and yet I force my muscles to nod.

“You f*cking answer me or I’m turning right round and walking back into that house,” he shouts.

“No, please don’t do that,” I beg. “I’m sorry, we’ll have a good evening.”

Something about the exchange cuts straight through me. But it’s the faces of the young couple at the bus stop I remember. Her features tight like those of a wild animal on high alert. His arm around her, protecting, but still his expression fixed, head turned away, in submission. 

When the bus arrives, we get on it. The couple at the bus stop stay where they are, only daring to sneak a glance once the bus has started to pull away.

We trundle and rumble back towards central London in silence. I let my mind wander, trying to force-feed it with positive propaganda before I have to speak again. An idyllic picture enters my head. An emerald green meadow, dew glistening on the blades of grass, bright sunshine sparkling off the deep blue stream that cuts across its middle. A roe deer with a white tail, its slim neck extended down, drinking. 

It’s too perfect , too innocent. I know that it’s just waiting for a man with a large shotgun to streak into the scene and blow it to pieces. But at the same time, that seems too obvious.

***

The evening is unremarkable, save that He flirts openly with the waitress. It’s as if I don’t exist but I’m not going to challenge it. Josh and Lucy clock it but say nothing, which suits me.

He and I carry on drinking when we get home. It’s becoming a well-worn routine. But that night, with each drink, I’m gaining in confidence, becoming more indignant.

“I want to see a picture of that girl you slept with after we were together,” I tell him. “That ex.”

“Why?” he questions. “How is that going to help?”

“Because I need to see what she looks like,” I say, bolstered by a cocktail of wines and spirits.

“Otherwise, I just walk around thinking that everybody is her,” I continue. “Like the waitress tonight, or somebody I pass in the tube. I think that they could be her, and it rips me apart.”

And so he goes upstairs and gets out his photo albums. We sit on the sofa and we start at the beginning, right back to when his boy was a baby. He’s energised, in his element as he walks me through the pictures.

There are loads of them. Girls that He’s never even told me about but that now he describes, how He met them, how long he was with them, why they split up. He’s not insensitive about it, He keeps it factual, doesn’t wax lyrical. If anything, He’s dismissive of them. I feel like it’s helping. Until we get to the end of the albums.

“You’re kidding,” I say. “Where’s the other one?”

“What other one?” He asks, and looks at me like he’s truly puzzled.

“The one with her in it,” I say.

I’m expecting Him to produce it magically out of nowhere, but that’s not what he does.

“With who in it?” He looks at me blankly, but I’m not buying.

“So let me get this straight,” I fire at Him. “I ask to see her, and you take me through everyone else, I have to listen to all this sh*t about all these other girls that I didn’t even know about, but I still don’t get to see a picture of her, which is what I asked for all along?”

“I don’t have any pictures of her,” He replies.

 “Why then?” I ask. “Why did we just do this? Why?”

He shrugs.

“I didn’t realise what you were looking for.”

And I know I am not going crazy. I remember how it started, and I know what He has just done.

I lean in towards him calmly and deposit the contents of my drink over His head.

The image of the deer and its pretty little neck is fleeting, as my sub-conscious registers it instantly in the base of my stomach. The crest of the wave approaching. And the realisation that I have made a gross miscalculation.

On the Trail of the Lonesome Pie

Day 72

Lexington, VA to Charlottesville, VA

Distance: 76 miles

Climbing: last serious climb of the trip

Views: spectacular

In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, on the trail of the… well, I am no longer the lonesome pie, for a couple of days, at least.

Tonight, I met with Ed and his wife, Holly for dinner. I was working for Ed in London just before I left for this trip and was thrilled when I found out that my route took me through Charlottesville, which is where Ed and Holly live.

And as today approached, I realised that Ed would be the first familiar face I had seen since I left Valerie and Paul’s house in Portland, OR on July 21, waving goodbye to Paul with my blue surgical glove-covered hand, two of my fingertips dripping with blood, after a disagreement with a sharp knife…

It seems a long time ago.

Since then, I have covered around 4,000 miles, seen amazing scenery and wildlife and met some truly wonderful people. And each day has brought a new start, with different and unexpected happenings, and chance meetings with folks I would never have met had it not been for the fact that I am doing this trip on a bicycle, and on my own.

But, as I have said before, I have missed seeing friends, family, loved ones and having the continuity that comes with everyday life. At least I will be not be taking it for granted so much when I return.

Today, I was keen to get an early start from Lexington, but as is sometimes the case these days, my planned departure time was at least 45 minutes before the time at which Steed and I actually rolled out onto the road.

I had woken up early and ventured out in Lexington town centre in search of breakfast, only to find everything closed. The coffee roasters, which sounded great, somehow seem to get away with opening at 10am of a morning, which sounded very civilised, but not much use to me.

Instead I camped out on the porch of Macado’s, the sandwich chain to which Vince and Joanne had gone when getting that fantastic grilled ham and cheese sub for me in Marion, VA, and was first in through the door as it opened at 8am. The guy there was great and stepped to it for me when I explained the situation, whipping me up a delicious BLT and coffee in the shake of a lamb’s tail.

When I did eventually set off, it was a warm but overcast morning, and I was a little disappointed as I knew that I would be climbing to the Blue Ridge Parkway at around 25 miles into the ride, and I was looking forward to the views. It runs 469 miles from the Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina to the Shenandoah National Park In Virginia, although I was only on it for 20 miles or so...

The ascent to the parkway was one of the longest and steepest of the trip so far, which is in some ways ironic, since it was also my last big climb of the trip. From here to the coast, there is some rolling terrain, but nothing to rival what has been the bane of my legs for the past few weeks.

And as I was climbing, I could see through the trees that the sun was coming out, like it was beckoning me, ready to show off its vast, spectacular views rather than shroud them in mist.

When I reached the top, just as I was about to join the parkway, I met Karel, a Dutch cyclist on a recumbent bike who is also Eastbound. We stopped and chatted for a while, and by the time I headed out onto the Parkway and continued to climb (what was that all about?) I suddenly realised that I was seriously pressed for time. Having made arrangements for dinner, and knowing how long these mileages actually take me, I was a little anxious.

I was also running out of water. The climbing had been more strenuous than I had expected and continued for longer on the parkway, and the last grocery store marked on the map was nowhere to be found and/or had closed down.

As I looked from side to side and out to the blue mountains in one direction, and a spectacular valley in the other, instead of taking it all in in a leisurely fashion, my brain was thinking… you really should get a move on Kat – oh, and you should have woken up earlier, been quicker at eating breakfast, managed to get through the railroad crossing before that long train came along and made you wait over 5 minutes, not spoken to Karel for so long, and why oh why did you get so cocky and think that you didn’t need to bring an extra bottle of water… have you learned nothing?

But gradually, I convinced myself to relax and realise I had some downhill in hand, and that I would find a way to make it work. It always does work out, even if it’s not quite as expected, and it was just remembering that and having faith in it which then allowed me to soak up the beauty of my surroundings, and even manage to stop and take a couple of shots (which really do fail to do it justice).

Descending from the parkway, and flipping over the map, I found that I was expected to do a huge loop around on some back roads to get to Charlottesville. I had seen a sign on the main highway saying “Charlottesville 19”, but by ACA-man’s route planning, this was around 24 miles. Sighing but setting out to follow ACA man’s advice, I found myself on the crappiest road surface for some time, going up and down small steep hills past loose dogs, and still with some traffic on the road. When a sign told me to turn directly away from the direction I knew Charlottesville to be in, I had had enough.

Muttering “bugger this for a game of soldiers” as I spun Steed around, we headed for the highway and made our way, quite safely, into town on that.

My B&B is right near the University, which has some beautiful, historic buildings and monuments, as well as a little area of hopping bars, cafes and restaurants, which I am looking forward to trying.

Holly and Ed told me all about it after swinging by to pick me up and taking me for a fantastic meal at their Country Club (which is also the place where they got married).

It was a lovely evening, with great food and wine, and even better company.

And tomorrow, my lovely friend Julia is driving down from Washington DC to spend the day with me in Charlottesville.

As I said, lonesome, not I…

Me x 

Holding Blog

Made it safely to Charlottesville, VA, a great city and home to the University of Virginia. A blog is in the works but will post tomorrow morning. Me x

True Colours

Day 71

Christiansburg, VA to Lexington, VA

Distance: 91 miles

Climbing: 5, 738 ft

Railroad tracks crossed: lost count, but at least 10…

Steed and I rode out of Christiansburg into a damp and misty morning, slicing through the Virginia colours like a pizza wheel cutting through a topping of slow cooked red, orange and yellow peppers, the oil oozing and glistening on their surface.

There’s something about a grey blue sky, and a coating of rain on the leaves that seems to make the contrast between the shades all the more vivid and unbelievably beautiful. And with views like that, I couldn’t be upset about a few raindrops, and the need for the wet-weather gear to come into action.

I’d been thinking over the last few days that, even if it rains on me every day between now and the coast, I would still count myself incredibly lucky with the weather on this trip. Not that I’m willing it to put that theory to the test of course, but it has been great.

Today, though, was another long day’s riding, with a few short, sharp hills, and this prayed on my mind as I made my way through the first few miles. I still don’t take these things for granted. A 91-mile day is a long day and a significant challenge in anyone’s book.

For the last few days, my concern has not been so much about failing to get there, or having to ride in the dark. It’s how much my legs and lower back are going to hurt.

I guess it’s a cumulative thing but, at the start of a day, even after my usual morning stretching routine, my legs are sore and tight, and the thought of them riding 90 miles seems, quite frankly, laughable. They, and my back, will twinge every now and again with a particularly steep section. But somehow, in the course of the day, they loosen up, and I plod my way through the daunting sections of map slowly but surely, until I’m onto the last panel for the day, and the mileage is down to single figures.

It was around 35 miles into my ride today that I came across Ken. I’d been through a small town already where I’d been hoping to get a coffee and a snack, but had found the gas station had closed down. I was therefore hot-footing it to the next town, which was a fair schlep further on, and so I was pretty much flying down a hill, when I swung round a bend and came face to face with Ken pushing his bike up the hill on the other side of the road.

Shouting a greeting and getting barely a nod in response, I screeched to a halt and U-turned to get back up to Ken. I recognised the expression on that face and I knew what it meant.

“How’s your day going?” I asked, and I could see Ken hesitating to answer.

“Good… bad… absolutely shit?” I continued. “Shit, right?”

It made us both smile and we broke the ice.

Ken is from New York and took the train down the coast. He only started a few days ago in Richmond. He’s camping and carrying a lot of stuff. He doesn’t have shoes that clip into his pedals, and he already has technical problems with his brakes and gears. I could see why he would be a tad miserable. And this morning, he had been properly rained on...

I had already been thinking that, had I cycled this route East to West, I have no idea how I would have coped with these ridiculous hills without the base of fitness and routine. But with these additional challenges, well, I’d be a little disheartened too.

We stopped and had a nice long chat, which lifted my spirits, and Ken’s I think.  I gave Ken a couple of the energy gels and bit and pieces that Mark had given me (Mark, I’m sure you won’t mind me sharing the love) as I only have a few days and hardly any climbs left now, so I felt Ken’s need was greater than mine. And in return, Ken gave me a sachet of an all-in-one nutritional shake made by the company that he works for - it looks pretty good and I'm looking forward to trying it out. 

I also found out that he’s doing his ride for an autism charity, so when he’s got his website up and running, I’ll add a link to it on here.

Pressing on with my day, I had a nice surprise coming up, in the guise of a new gas station/restaurant which wasn’t marked on my map, but which made me a fantastic grilled ham and cheese sandwich, and was a few miles before the town that I'd been speeding towards with images of lunch in my head. 

That, together with the sun coming out, was enough to give me the positive vibes I needed to coast through the rest of the day.

Lexington is a cute little town, and I arrived at my hotel at a decent hour. I ate in the hotel restaurant, which was great, and I also was able to sit outside on their patio. Taking in the view from my table, I saw that I was overlooking the parking lot of…. a laundromat.

I know, it’s sad. I had to resist the urge to run round there with my dirty clothes. But at least I was probably the one person in the restaurant who truly was happy with the view.

Only a few cycling days left now. I’m conscious of the need to focus focus focus, so I don’t fall off or do something stupid at the last minute. I’m feeling happy and sad all at the same time. And supremely lucky to be enjoying this amazing journey.  Still more to come…

Me x 

Wild Hogs

Day 70

Wytheville, VA to Christiansburg, VA

Distance: 56 miles

Sweet Treats: abound

Groundhogs: Around

After posing the question only yesterday, I have to say that today was much more of a typical day that I’ve had in some time.

Waking early, but not too early, I started the day with a lap round Wytheville in search of some decent breakfast. Maybe a couple of eggs with the usual sides. But unfortunately, the cupboard of Wytheville was bare… all that was open were the various chain restaurants.

So, after the W-Loop, I ended up pretty much directly opposite my motel at the Sonic Drive-In dipping French Toast Sticks into tiny pots of breakfast syrup. At the time it was rather like a guilty pleasure, but I felt a little sick once I set off.

The route out of town was rolling but smooth. No long climbs but a few sneaky little steep grades from time to time, and a misty view across to the mountains.

My first (and only) stop of the day was at the Draper Mercantile, where I was greeted by Thomas, who I’d spoken to on the phone yesterday, and who had offered to come and get me in order to fix my bike.

We hung out in the bike shop there, The Junction, for a little while to chat. Thomas did the TransAm in 2012 and is planning the Southern Tier for Jan-March 2015 – since I’ve done that route too, with a few diversions, I was able to give him a my thoughts on it, and to get a little jealous!

As I entered the main building, I found a chic and hopping restaurant/café with the most amazing buffet brunch going on. If I’d known, I would have hot-footed it straight to Draper rather than looping Wytheville. Although I would have been slightly concerned that the Bottomless Mimosas might well have led to a Legless Touring Cyclist…

Instead, I ordered a suitably unctuous slab of coconut cream cake, to top up the sugar and fat count... 

Between Draper and Christiansburg, there were not only more hills, but also some interesting wildlife. I don’t have pictures, unfortunately, which is what seems to happen when these little devils catch on that I am trying to snap a shot of them.

I saw another Heron today. I’ve seen a few in recent days, and many over the whole trip, but they have always been straight into flight mode before I can even get the camera out of my bag. I don’t think it helps, these days, that I greet them with the line:

“Ah, so, Mr Heron, veee meet again,” in a fake Russian accent. A couple of times I have even hummed the Bond theme tune and performed the opening sequence spin with the gun (for which read “camera”) too.

But today, I was blessed with the presence of Groundhogs. It’s funny, because I don’t think I would have known what they were if it had not been for the fact that Mark and I made a little diversion across a field yesterday in his truck to deliver a cold beer to a guy who was working on the hay. We ran over a huge crater, and Mark laughed and said “Damn Groundhogs.” Apparently, they are prolific diggers when it comes to their burrows.

Today, my first sighting was of a pair of chubby brown/grey furry haunches wobbling their way into the undergrowth.

The next was again in the grass by the side of the road, but this one looked directly at me before fleeing into a nearby field. And so I had to seek an audience with the town Groundhog, Christian, instead.

“So, what’s it like being a Groundhog in Virginia then?” I asked.

“Well darlin’, Virginia, Pennsylvania, anywhere, it’s never been the same since that dang movie,” he said.

“What, Groundhog Day,” I said, enthused. “I loved that film.”

Christian raised his furry brows at me, then narrowed his eyes and grimaced.

“Bill Murray, Andie Mcwhatsername,” I continued hesitantly. “Actually, she was a bit annoying,” I conceded. “But not as bad as in Four Weddings.”

“Anywayyyys,” Christian drawled. “The thing is, and it’s all their fault, everyone thinks we’re boring now. That Groundhogs are dull.”

I waited, and Christian looked around nervously as he spoke, his words speeding up…

“We’re not,” he said, looking sideways at me and then around the room to people who weren’t even speaking with us.

“Okaaay,” I said.

“No, because, we’re actually some of the funniest rodents you’ll ever come across,” he said, his words spilling out as I could see a case of hives starting to appear around his temples.

“Boy, oh boy,” he said. “Is it just me or is it hot in here?”

“Um, I don’t...” I started.

“And don’t you start by circling around me trying to see if you can see my shadow,” he said. “It only counts in February.”

And so I made my excuses and exited, politely declining the offer of Christian telling me his funniest joke.

“No really, it’s a good one,” I heard him call as the door swung behind me.

Groundhog, Christian Grimes, "I'm the funniest rodent I know."
"No, really, I am..."

I arrived early to my motel and, for the first time in ages, had some wallowing time before getting myself ready and heading out for a romantic meal for one in a superb fine dining restaurant near the motel.

Onto the final map tomorrow, 368 miles to go…

Me x 

Within Pitting Distance

Day 69

Damascus, VA to Wytheville, VA

Distance: I cycled around 35 miles of what should have been a 57-mile journey…

Kind people: many, but in particular Joanne, Vince and Mark

I’m not sure when I’m going to have a “normal” day again on this trip. Or, indeed, whether normal really exists, rather than being a figment of my imagination.

Despite my stupidly early night last night, I didn’t rise at the crack of dawn. I’d woken instead in the middle of the night and decided to read a couple of chapters of the “walk in the woods” to send me back to sleep. 

Stifling my laughs given it was the wee hours, I also cracked open a bag of trail mix as a late night feast, and fitting accompaniment to a book about walking the Appalachian Trail.

And so when my alarm went off this morning, I was tired as a tired thing yet again. But I set off from Damascus at a vaguely respectable time and, despite the slight twinge still in my left hammy, I was ready to compensate and plod. Indeed, I was happy that the gradients on today’s climbs looked nowhere near as severe as those which have graced my path over the last couple of days. And even with a pace of 10 mph, may average and which I thought I could comfortably manage today, I would have been rolling into my motel around 3pm this afternoon.

And perhaps it is that setting of targets and/or expectations which is the trigger that invites everything to turn itself on its head.

I’d not gone more than a mile out of town when I stopped to take a photo of what appeared to be a great view and was accosted by someone called Marsha, who was some kind of Bike Control person.

“I’ve been trying to catch up with you,” she said as she swooped in alongside me by the roadside.  "Are you going cross-country, “she asked. “Because you really shouldn’t be on this road on a Saturday morning, it’s treacherous.”

She went on to explain that the road was steep, with bends in it which meant that I couldn’t be seen, and that I would have a procession of "white van man towing trailer full of bikes" buzzing behind me for miles, if not crashing straight into me from behind.  But... if I stayed off the road and on the Virginia Creeper Trail, I would be fine.

I could see the trail from the road and could also see that it was not paved.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said. “It’s packed down really firm, and there’s not been any rain, so you’ll be fine. Just keep going until Bridge 41 and then take a left down a gravel road back to the highway.”

I decided, on reflection, to take Marsha’s advice, and for the first mile or so I was happy. Until, that was, the trail started to turn rocky and loose, with big, unexpected, jolting stones and rocks, and the odd mud patch. 

Oh, and until the cyclists whom the vans had been transporting to the top of the trail were coming past me in a constant procession down the hill, surprised to see some idiot touring cyclist, or indeed anyone at all going UP the hill.

I didn’t pass another cyclist going in my direction for the whole time, and nobody passed me. Just the chain of downhill coasters. And, naturally, the odd twerp who was over on my side of the trail and couldn’t get back over the right side without almost crashing into me.

Although on an average day I could see that the trail would be divine, and it was truly beautiful, Bridge 41 couldn’t come soon enough. And, although I was dreading what the “gravel road” down to the highway would be like given the drubbing to which I had just subjected Steed, I was pleasantly surprised. It was almost paved, and only had some light gravel. But most of all, it was a Twerp Free Zone.

Checking the nameless Gamine on exiting the trail, I was slightly dismayed to see how much time I had wasted on this little excursion, but still happy that I had completed some of the climbing for the day, and cock-a-hoop to be out on the wide open road again, with a proper road surface which felt like perfectly smooth ice after the trail.

And so I plodded on and up a long but slight gradient until I had topped out for the day. Which was when the sh*t went down…

I was just cresting the hill when I started to feel Steed's chain/whole mechanism seize up so that I could barely turn the pedals. At first it just jolted and turned with severe effort, and then it jammed altogether.

Stopping by the roadside, I lifted everything off Steed and turned him upside down to inspect.  I wondered if it was all the crap from the trail and got my lube and cloth out and started to try to clean it up a bit, but it was clear this was having little impact.

Checking the map, I saw there was a bike shop just 10 miles off the route in a town called Marion, and around 20 miles from my location. I tried to get cell phone reception to call. And just as I did, a car pulled alongside and I thought, isn’t it nice that someone is going to ask if I need help.

But they didn’t. They stopped to ask if I knew the area and could give them directions to a place they wanted to visit. When I told them I didn’t know the place they were looking for they just drove off. 

Obviously thinking that I just liked to stand my bike upside down with all the panniers and other items lying beside it by the side of the road for a laugh every now and again… and yes, I know I could have asked them for help, but they were going in the wrong direction and had a full car, but even so, really???!

Not getting any reception and laughing at what had just happened, it occurred to me that I could probably coast, without turning the pedals, most of the three or so miles down the road to the junction with the highway and hitch a lift from there.  And so that’s what I did. Making it to within a few hundred yards of the junction, and walking the rest.

I hadn’t been standing very long when a car passed going in the right direction. Sticking my arm out in what occurred to me split seconds later to be more of a princess “flag a cab” kind of movement than a cool dude “hitch” sort of gesture, I wasn’t surprised that the car didn’t stop. But then moments later it was back.

Vince and Joanne asked if I was OK and I said I was trying to get Steed and me to the bike shop in Marion, to which they replied, “Well, that’s where we’re headed. We live just round the corner from the bike shop.”

So after a bit of jiggery pokery, we put my wheels and panniers in the boot, and Steed and I shared the back seat – well, Steed draped himself across most of it, and I twined myself around him. 

On the way to the shop, I discovered that Vince and Joanne were retied special needs teachers, and we laughed about how, coming from a small town (as I do too), they must know everyone and see all of the kids grow up, and have children.

“We decided to retire before we had to teach any of the grandchildren of the people we taught,” Joanne disclosed, laughing at the scenario. 

And so we were all laughs and smiles and having a lovely chat.

But when we reached the bike shop, it was CLOSED.

Joanne and Vince insisted on getting me some lunch (and since I was starving I didn’t argue) while we pondered the options, and so Vince headed off from the car and came back with a delicious toasted ham and cheese, with salad and mayo, while Joanne made some calls and tried to track down a guy called Mark, who reputedly “knows more about bikes than anyone else I’ve ever met” according to the person who had texted her.

Well, we tracked Mark down and arranged to meet him (but not until after I had popped back to Vince and Joanne’s and met their cute Basset Hound Tia, and elegant ginger cat, Oliver.)

And so Vince handed me and Steed over to Mark, and we whizzed to Mark’s workshop in Atkins, VA via the carwash to clean Steed’s gunky bits, before Mark set to work fixing poor old Steed’s predicament.

It turned out that the jolting of the trail and the grit and tar from the road had caused the sprockets to loosen until they were falling apart. And so Mark took them completely to bits, cleaned every single one, then fitted them back together and replaced/tightened the bolt on the outside to keep them together. He then checked over a few other things and gave Steed a good polish until he was gleaming.

We chatted away as Mark worked, and his wife Joanie also arrived, and so there was more convivial banter about Joanie’s business (she makes ingenious jewellery out of acorns) and other topics of interest.

Then Mark presented me with a load of freebies he gets from promotional stuff he does, energy gels, powdered energy mix, lube for the chain. It turns out that he used to be big in NASCAR – one of, if not the premier crew/mechanic during his time if I understood correctly – and very well-respected. Now he has a number of business interests as well as organising biking events, and generally being an all-round stellar person to have around.

Anyhow, it was late afternoon by the time Steed was ready to roll, and so we decided that Mark would drive me to the nearest point on my route and drop me there. It was a compromise between me cycling from Atkins (my initial instinct) and Mark’s offer to drive me to Wytheville.

Before Mark dropped me off, we swung by the fastest dirt circuit for NASCAR which was right at Rural Retreat, where I was rejoining the route, and took a quick photo on the podium!

Well, what can I say. Hardly a typical day.

Time and again, I am blown away by the kindness of the people that I meet, who keep me safe and look after me in what could otherwise be a scary and treacherous situation. I should also mention that Mark wouldn't take any payment for all that he had done...

Thanks to Mark, Vince and Joanne, my saviours, and simply awesome people.

Me x

P.S. Also a mention for a guy called Thomas from a bike shop in Draper, VA, that we thought we might have to drive to (Vince and Joanne offered to take me if needed) who gave me his cell number and told me he would come and pick me up and fix my bike if I couldn’t get to him/find another solution – another one of the good guys of this world who just make me smile and smile.