I’ve ridden 740 miles, which is a modest amount for 3 weeks or so, but it still feels good to contemplate the distance I’ve traveled on these 2 wheels, carrying 60+ pounds over flatland and hills in Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky. I’ve enjoyed every mile—although sometimes you wouldn’t have guessed as much by looking at me!
The route in Tennessee and Kentucky has taken me through lots of winding, hilly back roads, and each road, each hill, seems to have a different personality. I can’t always pinpoint the difference, but I feel it.
Sometimes it’s the surface of the road that changes. When I turned off Paradise Road onto Coon Chapel Road, the surface changed from smooth, new black asphalt, to something cracked and scraggly.
Sometimes it’s the thickness of the brambles and the poison ivy in the adjacent forest. (When you don’t really know what poison ivy looks like, well, it’s ALL poison ivy.)
Sometimes it’s the way the hills come to you, steepening gently, or rising suddenly after you turn a corner.
Sometimes it’s just the different ages and personalities of the people I pass by,
Every day I find myself saying, “This is my favorite ride so far.”
I got to ride the first 15 miles of Thursday’s ride twice: once on Wednesday, and again on Thursday.
Why? Because, I can be an idiot.
I was distracted when I packed up at the hotel in Grand Rivers, because the weather apps were predicting thunderstorms around 10 AM, my mind spun out all the scenarios. Could I find the courage to hop onto some stranger’s front porch if I had to? I looked at every house and farm building with thunderstorms in mind: I could cower on this porch, or in that outbuilding. There’s a low spot I could kneel in far from the tall trees and power lines—
—Until I had ridden about 15 miles. That’s when I got the phone call from Larry at the motel.
“Had I left behind one of my bags?” he asked. I looked, Yes. I had. So I rode the 15 miles back to Grand Rivers for a 30 mile ride that got me nowhere.
I heard the first rumble of thunder as I pulled into the motel parking lot. The downpour fell just as I took cover. I’m so grateful that Larry called when he did.
It would have been too much to start again on the 60 mile ride to Cave-in-Rock, Illinois, so I got to stay in Grand Rivers a second night.
Leaving without one of my bags was an incredibly embarrassing and stupid mistake, but I’m glad I got to stay in Grand Rivers another night. I got to find out more about the area I had just ridden through.
Grand Rivers is at the end of the Land Between the Lakes Recreation area: two days of riding through some beautiful, quiet countryside on a nice wide road with minimal traffic, passing exits to boat launch points and and cemeteries, it seemed, every few miles. I was really curious about those cemeteries. They were marked with official looking signs with what looked like family names for each one.
I tried exploring one of those cemetery roads, but the road was too soft, too steep, too long. Later, I found one that was more accessible, and saw lots of faded tombstones from the early to mid 19th century. What is it about that ephemeral sense of time past that is so appealing? I don’t know.
A second night in Grand Rivers meant time to talk to Judy, who helps out at the motel & happens to be a history buff with roots in the community.
It turns out Land Between the Lakes used to be Land Between the Rivers, until, in the 1940s, the Tennessee Valley Authority began damming the rivers. Hence: Land Between the Lakes.
People once lived on the land where those lakes are now. And people died there too. The living were provided with new homes, and the dead were disinterred from their original graves and reinterred in new family plots along the highway. Those were the cemeteries I rode by.
I might not have learned that if I didn’t stay a second night. And Judy shared a wealth of other fascinating knowledge about the town and the surrounding community.
Here’s a list of the river systems I’ve followed so far:
The Mobile River
The Tensaw River
The Tombigee River
The Tennessee River
The Tenn-Tom river (where engineers joined the Tennessee and Tombigee Rivers)
The Cumberland River
And finally, tonight, the Ohio River.
Abolitionists and forced laborers escaping slavery called the Ohio “The River Jordan,” because crossing the river from Kentucky to the state of Ohio meant crossing into something like freedom.
I’m looking at the Ohio River now—but not from the state of Ohio. I crossed in a ferry last night so I could stay at the Cave-in-Rock State Park.
I had planned to ride on today, which would have meant crossing back into Kentucky, but there was a high wind advisory posted.
The weather looks ok for tomorrow. There might be thunderstorms in the afternoon, but I can beat them if I get out early. At any rate, I won’t be leaving without any of my gear.
My traveling companions left my passport behind when they checked us out of a Portuguese hotel. We discovered that omission when we were on the train about to cross the border into Spain in the middle of the night -- and had to get off to avoid having to try to explain the situation in a language none of us spoke. Confirming it was at the hotel and getting it back were two separate adventures. I can laugh now. At the time, not so much.
Enjoy following your progress
1. We left a cell phone behind one time and had to ride 12 miles back for it. Someone wrote to us and suggested always leaving our helmet with the phone where it's charging. You never leave without your helmet. Haven't forgotten the phone again in the last 10,000 miles of touring...
2. There's been some violent thunderstorms in your area. Have you gotten caught exposed while camping?