Hounds of the Hinterlands

I’ve flexed my writing muscles, so here’s hoping we can play catch up.

On Saturday I may have accidentally attended a Christian Revival. As I raced out of Point Pleasant to the next campground, all I paid attention to was that they accepted tent campers. When I arrived I saw a sign for a biblical play going on that night. It was RV paradise. I felt like I’d just found an oasis in the midst of the apocalypse. There was a snack stand, someone was selling snow cones and everywhere people were enjoying summer together. When I got there someone who worked there gave me a tour in a golf cart, she let me stick my bike in a gator and brought me to a primitive campsite. Every time I encountered the people in charge they reminded me about the play, so once my tent was set up and my laundry was clean I went to the snack stand to observe. The play was Samson and Delilah, and it came across like a pageant. A preacher narrated the whole thing, and when the play ended he began to preach. I’m not particularly religious, but when amongst worshipers I’ll bow my head in solidarity. I began to get uncomfortable though when he began preaching creationist jargon. Still, everyone was so nice here and it was nice to be someplace that felt normal after more than a year of Covid.

Sunday I got up early and set out. The weather was fine in the morning, but by the time I got to Huntington, WV it was raining. I hunkered down for a bit I side a restaurant at lunch, crossed back into Ohio and biked through miles of farmland to my next campground. I was thrilled that for the first time I could reserve my campground ahead of time. A few dogs chased me, but I outpaced them, and exhausted, set up my campground. Once again, rain meant the fire I attempted to start did not end well.

I had a few options on how to get into Cincinnati, but when I saw one would take me across the river by ferry, the decision was made for me. I crossed into Augusta, KY and was smitten with this little town. Evidently Rosemary Clooney was from here, she had her own museum in town. I stopped for a cup of coffee and befriended two of the many cats that hung around downtown. It felt like a small artists colony, and I even met a group of women who had traveled in from Cincinnati to paint the picturesque place. I spent most of the day in Kentucky, and was lulled into a false sense of security. There are a lot of bridges that cross the Ohio near Cincinnati, and the first one I met, I thought I was meant to cross. Nope. I battled uphill for miles, got off my bike to roll it, flopped in the grass when a park presented itself, desperate for shade and for a rest! But when I got to the top I coasted downhill from Fort Thomas all the way to the Purple People Bridge, only to find it closed. I found an easy detour with the assistance of strangers, and once again battled uphill until I got to my endpoint for the night. My mom’s work friend Matt was nice enough to host me for the night. He treated me to a burger and ice cream, insistant that I report back to my mom that I was well fed. No like mom. I was stuffed. He made me coffee in the morning and headed out.

It was a hot day, so I stopped at Black Coffee, a cute coffee shop I passed, thinking I’d get iced tea before I continued on. I wound up getting a lavender latte because OMG they had it and it’s my drink! Shortly after, I crossed over an overpass and hit a large chunk of glass. Despite my puncture resistant tires, I had my first flat of the trip. There was shade where I pulled over, thank goodness. The flat was on the back tire which meant I had to remove all by bags and take off the rack to remove the wheel, but I feel I changed the tire in record time. I just about done changing the tube when I decided I should stick a patch on the inside the tire.

I stopped for a slurpee and took another ferry back into Kentucky. The hills though! They nearly killed me. I kept on having to stop, cross the windy road and sit on the guardrail to catch my breath. I kept really close to the water for a long time, and at Matt’s recommendation biked through Rabbit Hash, KY. Evidently this tiny town has a dog for a mayor. It was a cute little town, but there were so many bikers I got intimidated and passed right through. This day was marked by repeatedly being chased by dogs. After the ordeal in my last post, I was skittish any time I saw a dog, so every time I was chased I bolted. On hills like these it was exhausting. I planned to stay at Big Bone Lick State Park and had even pre-paid for my campground.

As I biked on, only a few miles away from my campground, a cyclist coming from the direction I was headed shouted a warning that there was a dog ahead that would chase me. With that warning I avoided the dog easily, but as I continued up the road I saw another pair of cyclists. I paid it forward and shouted the warning to them. They stopped, warned me there was a huge hill up to the campground at big bone lick, told me they were warm showers hosts and offered me a bed for the night. I’m not sure what drove me to stay with them. I only had two miles left, but they told me which house was theirs and that they’d be back in an hour. They fed me grilled cheese and leftover chicken and dumplings, gave me a cocktail and we chatted late into the night. Ralph and Joanne had a mass of touring experience to draw from and give me advice. Ralph suggested a route for me in the morning and offered to get me out past the worst of the hills. I told him I still wanted to visit Big Bone Lick, so he drove me there in the morning and watched my bike as I went through the museum and walked down to see the Buffalo viewing area. As promised he brought me past the hills and left me to get biking again.

In Sparta, KY I had the closest encounter with a dog I’d had so far. I saw his teeth snap so close to my heel as I sped up, veered out of the way and raced over the hill. This time it was different though. This time I pulled a muscle in my leg trying to get away. So, when I was far enough away that the dog wasn’t chasing me anymore, I stopped. I had to stop for a while, my leg was shaking so violently that I couldn’t put weight on it. I wound up stopping early in the afternoon in Carolton, KY. I needed to give my leg time to recover.

Within minutes of entering the campground I was taken under the wing of a woman named Gerda and her husband. Their dog, Lucy was a sweetheart and was quickly making me feel comfortable with dogs. The three of them gave me a tour of the down on their golf cart and let me roast weenies and marshmallows over their campfire. My neighbors at the campground were also very friendly. I can’t for the life of me remember his name or his wife’s but he gave me iced tea, fed me and chatted with me for a long while. He and his friend warned me to avoid Louisville entirely. I asked why and was told “because of Breonna Taylor. Because of the protesters.” I enquired if anything had happened recently that I’d missed. Nope. I wasn’t sure how to react to that. I certainly didn’t avoid Louisville.