Smoky Mountain Memories

There are many people to thank lately. But some thoughts about the past few days are in order, while they're still fresh... 

Tuesday morning threatened rain, and Tuesday afternoon delivered as we splish splash sloshed our way through the Appalachian foothills. The usual hum of tires on pavement was drowned out (literally too) by the steady snare-drum of grit and rainwater whipping against fenders. With squishy gloves we gripped our handlebars, each squeeze of the brake yielding a stream like the twist of a wash cloth. We were soaked through. Heavy sagging dripping shirts and similar spirits as we slogged out our 73.8 miles to Hot Springs. And yet it felt right. By mid-afternoon a creeping fog was settling low and thick between mountain peaks and spilling into pine valleys. A hazy drizzle weighed heavy. Smoke from a woodstove weaves gray through the raindrops and finds its way to my nose, the wet and sooty smell immediately familiar and appropriate. It's cold and dreary and no good for walking to get the mail much less biking, and somewhere someone is snug and warm watching rain trails glaze the window, rocking slowly, tea in hand. What do they think as they see two distorted neon-yellow masses whizz by? I long for their cabin comfort, but I know soon enough we'll be pulling up to the Inn and dismounting our soggy steel rigs, almost falling into the open embrace of Seany boy and allowing ourselves to succumb to the mystique of a place that has welcomed weary world-worn travelers like us for over 100 years. This place tells stories, and each creaky board hints of people and secrets long forgotten. The Sunnybank Inn remembers. Even as I step inside for only the second time ever, I am surrounded by a familiar warmth as though returning to a childhood home. And yet each corner is a mystery, each dark passage awaiting dust-stirring exploration. I breath deeply and submit willingly. It's been a long ride getting here, and I know I can expect to sleep well tonight provided the ghosts remain friendly.

Now we are pretty much down the mountain, in fact we're in the home stretch. Soon we'll hit the coast, dip our tires, and turn north. It will go fast, as things like this do. This is a time for reflection, and thinking back over the past 10 weeks I can't help but wonder if most of the adventure is behind us. The beauty of the country we've crossed is infinite, and we've soaked up all we could. But perhaps the 'ol bike trip has some adventure left for us yet. Each day, each destination is unknown except for how we'll get there. We ride east into the breaking day and daydream of what is to come and the stories we'll tell our grandchildren.

Thanks to Joy's parents for their generous support of our trip and our blog. Karen, your comments are always appreciated.

Thanks also to Kalin and Rob, two of the most genuine people I've met. I tried to channel the ghost of Paul Newman with my bagel this morning and thought of you.

Thanks to Dan and Malena for going out of their way to help us out, I'm really happy we got to reconnect. You two rock.

Happy belated 30th Imani!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry