the wheel of fortune, or, as luck would have it?

Tucked away somewhere I have a sticker I picked up years ago showing an inflated bike tire and a flat tire. Underneath these are the words hope and despair, respectively. Time and time again I have entered into towns (and occasionally cities) leaving my fate to fortune, always hoping for good tidings, yet prepared for a less than clime. Luckily I have never experienced despair on this odyssey of sorts, but there have been those times when we’ve had to ride further than we would have liked to find a place to sleep, or food to eat. Nevertheless, today, we’re spending our first nigh in West Virginia.

The last time I wrote was my first morning in St. Louis. That feels like eons ago, but I guess it has only been a few weeks. So, fortune: the day we crossed into Missouri from Atchison, Kansas was unpleasantly hot and a bit confused. We’d battled an unrelenting and wholly unsympathetic headwind for much of the day and lost contact with each other in the afternoon. I entered Missouri in search of a place to stay, and opted to stay on route and forego a campground a few miles in the wrong direction—I rode to Rushville hoping to find at least a convenience store and a faucet and a place we could pitch our tents for the night. I arrived and found a post office and a bank and a church. I’d been sitting on a few postcards so decided that in my bleak situation the best thing to do was to send off a few little notes, admittedly describing my predicament. I think I wrote something to the effect of, ‘Hi, it’s really hot, I’m really tired, just got into MO, no food, no place to stay, guess I’ll figure something out.’ After sending those off I spoke with the lady at the post office and she let me use her phone to call my dad, just before doing calling him a fellow came into the post office and upon hearing about my desperate situation told me that we could sleep in the church that night, so I called dad and told him to pick up some grub and go to the Rushville church. When I got outside the post office the guy, Tim, said he’d do one better and offered up his house to us. We ended up staying with Tim, Rita, and their son Caleb that night in little Rushville, MO. How strange a turn of events…I write to friends of my dire situation only to be relieved moments later.

The first day I was in Ohio I rode into Cincinnati and was looking for a motel we could use as a launch-pad for an early start the following day so we could get through unscathed, to avoid the horrendous city traffic. I never found one and wound up weaving my way through on bad neighborhood after another, eager to find a place to stay. I didn’t, not exactly. I did stop a couple out for a walk (in a better neighborhood) to ask for directions to the nearest motel, they mentioned a few possibilities that were not really options I was eager to consider seriously, and then they offered their backyard which was only a block away. That was a lure I bit promptly. We ended up picking my dad up outside the city to save him the hassle of riding the streets I’d already traveled. And in the end he and I crashed on their floor and made an early start the next day to avoid the traffic. As a brief aside, a few days later in Piketon, OH we were in the barber shop getting haircuts and there was a show on the television describing a murder case, a murder case around the street we’d ridden to get out of Cincinnati!

And today, our first day in West Virginia, a day of rain and drizzle, one of those green-grey days that I am ever so fond of, our fortune was gilt. Early in the ride I had to take a detour to meet someone at a bike shop in Vienna, WV to buy a new saddle and a few tubes since mine was bust, something I noticed last night. I made some arrangements over the phone to meet someone there today, July 4, a day that probably ever bike shop is closed on…I had a great time talking with Yvette at the shop, Vienna Bike, and then got on the road to catch dad who by that time was ahead of me. I caught him outside Parkersburg and we found a great little town store for lunch, it just happened to be open today. After lunch we parted and made our way for West Union. Our plan was to take a rail-trail from Elenboro to West Union and then on to Clarksburg the following day. The North Bend trail is touted as having many long tunnels along its length…I got to Elenboro and jumped on the trail and was awarded with puddles and a very bumpy ride, initially. Then it smoothed out, and then it became more of a mountain bike ride than anything else. I rode that trail for 17 miles today, more out of stubbornness than anything else I suppose. I did call dad early on and tell him I was getting off of it ASAP, then I texted saying I’d ride it, after ten miles I called and told him to stay as far away from it as possible. I should have taken my own advice. It was more bad than good today. With all the rain the grassy sections were water-logged and sloooow. With all the rain there were countless puddles and sections more than 100 yards under 6+ inches of water. Then there were the tunnels. I rode through three of them. The first was about 500 ft. long, a little bumpy, dark enough that I got out my headlamp (useless in the foggy darkness) and managed to tentatively pedal through. I realize that some of you don’t think I know how to pedal with caution having seen me mountain bike, but I can, and do from time to time. Anyways, tunnel two was about 700 ft. long, darker and wetter with water on both sides of the bumpy, crowned center. Tunnel three was diabolical and about half a mile long, it went from bad to bearable to abysmal amidst the cool, dank air at the heart of a mountain that closes on you in an inescapable embrace. At the mouth of the tunnel water was pouring down onto the trail from both sides into a formidable puddle on top of an already thick layer of brown, sludgy mud that extended into the tunnel an indeterminate distance. I got off my bike and began what I figured would be a long, slow slog through the tunnel. I was not thrilled. So I marched in. The water abated, then there was another large puddle, then the trail was more or less dry so I climbed on my bike and pedaled on in darkness entertaining myself by hooting and hollering, as you do. Shortly after seeing the first light at the tunnel’s end I saw what looked to be a large pool of water and I considered turning around with images of myself trying to wade through some murky tunnel, heavy and loaded bike somehow overhead swimming in my mind. Of course I didn’t turn around. Surely the water couldn’t be so deep that I couldn’t ride through. Surely. Surely. Right? The lake came and I sallied forth, and then there was the sensation of sinking. I dismounted and picked my bike out of the water which was more than a foot deep and begin the final march to the end of the tunnel. The first pavement I hit after that felt as it must while floating on a cloud. I got to West Union and found nothing at all, really. Well, I found a bit of despair. We were supposed to be able to get lodging here, according to the pamphlet for the rail-trail. I stopped a guy and a girl walking down the street and they told me I’d have to go another thirty or so miles to find anything like a motel but that I could ask the folks down the block sitting out on their porch since they were local. So I did, of course. Before I even had told them my name I was sitting at the dining room table with a plate of food in front of me! Not only did they feed me but they did find us a place to stay with a couple who lets travelers stay with them from time to time. Oh, how fortunes swing! To Lois and her family we are indebted, for dinner and putting us in touch with Sharon and Paul, and of course to Sharon and Paul, here in West Union, OH.

We’ve decided to head for Atlantic City, NJ. I guess we’ll get there, ship our bikes back to Oregon. Then we’ll head for New York City, Boston, and then Maine. So, if you’ll be in NYC or Boston in about ten days, drop me a line or give me a call, I’d love to see you if I can.

With that, I’m beat and ready for bed.

Happy Fourth of July!