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.