HILLBILLY TERRITORY: APRIL 5
I am on an adventure through Indian/Hillbilly land. The Indians have long gone. So have the Hillbillies. These lovely green valleys offer cool summers and glorious mountain views. Perfectly groomed houses set in greenery are second homes for the wealthy who bypassed Florida - or third homes for those who took the Florida route.
I stop at a gas station. A gleaming Lexus 4x4 pulls up. An Afro-American and a white man dismount. I check the atlas with them. They aren't familiar with minor roads. The Black man has the soft clear diction of an upmarket bond trader. This is the South and he is the first Afro-American I have seen since fleeing Nashville. Is he investing a small fraction of his Wall Street Christmas bonus on a summer home? He seeks deliverance for his family from summer city pollution.
I am delivered from DELIVERANCE...
Thursday, May 29, 2008
RETREAT IS IGNOMINIOUS
HILLBILLY TERRITORY: APRIL 5
I wish the tractor driver Good day and ask for directions back to the Parkway. He appears unsurprised at being addressed by an Englishman on a Mexican registered motorcycle and he was born with good teeth or has an excellent orthodontist. A rock fall has blocked the Parkway. The only road round the fall is loose dirt and mud – not to be ridden by an old man on a town bike. I can retreat to the Parkway and return to the diversion or circle back to the highway. The highway will be quicker. Retreat is ignominious.
I wish the tractor driver Good day and ask for directions back to the Parkway. He appears unsurprised at being addressed by an Englishman on a Mexican registered motorcycle and he was born with good teeth or has an excellent orthodontist. A rock fall has blocked the Parkway. The only road round the fall is loose dirt and mud – not to be ridden by an old man on a town bike. I can retreat to the Parkway and return to the diversion or circle back to the highway. The highway will be quicker. Retreat is ignominious.
HOLLYWOOD EDUCATION
HILLBILLY TERRITORY: APRIL 5
A barrier closes the Parkway. The barrier is 20 miles beyond the sign for the diversion. The diversion was to the right. Here there is only a lane to the left. The lane twists down through forested mountains. Appalachians are Hillbilly territory. Hillbillies are vicious degenerates in need of an orthodontist. I was taught this by Hollywood. Remember DELIVERANCE? Trees drip. Shadows twist into scary shapes. I ride very slowly and with great caution.
The lane leads to a lush narrow valley and a T junction. I carry a road atlas inside my jumper for extra protection against the wind. I brake and unzip my bomber jacket. Where I am doesn't exist or the atlas is in code. I don't have the code. I turn right and hit a further T junction. Right leads to a church. Left gets narrower and turns to dirt. I retreat. I am, of course, about to be raped or murdered. True, the only person in sight drives a red tractor and mower across a horse paddock. And the Hillbilly houses seem in fine repair and are considerably grander than those few in DELIVERANCE. I stop by the paddock, heave myself out of the saddle and wait for the driver to approach. He shuts off his engine – both a sign of friendship and that he has cash for a good battery. In the old days a Native American would have raised a hand and said How - or carved my scalp into a belt decoration. More Hollywood education...
A barrier closes the Parkway. The barrier is 20 miles beyond the sign for the diversion. The diversion was to the right. Here there is only a lane to the left. The lane twists down through forested mountains. Appalachians are Hillbilly territory. Hillbillies are vicious degenerates in need of an orthodontist. I was taught this by Hollywood. Remember DELIVERANCE? Trees drip. Shadows twist into scary shapes. I ride very slowly and with great caution.
The lane leads to a lush narrow valley and a T junction. I carry a road atlas inside my jumper for extra protection against the wind. I brake and unzip my bomber jacket. Where I am doesn't exist or the atlas is in code. I don't have the code. I turn right and hit a further T junction. Right leads to a church. Left gets narrower and turns to dirt. I retreat. I am, of course, about to be raped or murdered. True, the only person in sight drives a red tractor and mower across a horse paddock. And the Hillbilly houses seem in fine repair and are considerably grander than those few in DELIVERANCE. I stop by the paddock, heave myself out of the saddle and wait for the driver to approach. He shuts off his engine – both a sign of friendship and that he has cash for a good battery. In the old days a Native American would have raised a hand and said How - or carved my scalp into a belt decoration. More Hollywood education...
BLUE RIDGE PARKWAY
BLUE RIDGE PARKWAY: APRIL 5
Add the Natchez trail, the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Skyline Drive north along the Shenandoah Mountains: the distance far exceeds the length of the British Isles. Perfect road surfaces and no trucks offer a fine combination to a nervous old man on a small bike. I ride without fear of being smashed in the rear. Views are superb. Oh that the walls of rhododendron were in flower. And sad that disease is attacking the pines. I stop a dozen times to photograph the mountains. This is the Blue Mountain Ridge and the mountains are blue. I wish that I owned a wide angle telephoto lens. A sign warns of a diversion – no barrier so I ride onwards. Fool...
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
TOO EARLY
APPALACHIANS: APRIL 5
Early Spring and the Parkway climbs to over 6000 feet. I wear three jerseys and a thick shirt over Alpinestar thermals, overalls, two pairs of $9 waterproof trousers from Walmart in Franklin, leather jacket, two pairs of gloves and Alpinestar boots. The road climbs steeply out of Cherokee. Road sides are grey rock, pine trees and rhodedendrohns. The rhodedendrohns aren't yet in flower and I ride five or more miles before meeting a car. My feet, legs and body are warm. My cheeks freeze. So do my hands. I pull in at the summit view point, dismount, beat my hands and sprint on the spot. Sprinting is an inexact term at my age and swathed in layers of clothing. However I thaw somewhat and take photographs and say Howdee to a couple of fellow tourists warm from a heated motorcar. The crunched-up ridges and peaks of the Appalachians march eastward to the horizon. A faint blue haze softens the contours and makes distant magic of the valley below where toy houses and barns crouch amongst stands of broad-leaf trees and beside small paddocks minutely spotted with dairy cows. Beautiful, magnificent, spectacular – oh that it were a fortnight later, warmer and the banks of rododendrohn in full flower. Maybe another time...and riding with Liz and Jim. That would be fun. In thinking of them, I feel my solitude. This journey has been an accumulation of farewells. Depression threatens. I heave a leg over the bike (no mean feat), kick the starter, settle into the saddle. A final wriggle of gloved fingers and onward again. A few days and I will be with my daughter, Anya, lie on the carpet and goo and coo at the baby, talk horses with Michael, admire the foals. Then home to England, my own bed, Bernadette, the boys, my daughter-out-of-law and Charlie Boo. Depression lifts. Life is good. I am imensely fortunate.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
APPALACHIANS: APRIL 5
The Blue Ridge Parkway runs the length of the Appalachian mountains from Cherokee, North Carolina, pretty much all the way to Washington DC - though the last stretch over the Shenandoah mountains has a different name. Speed limit is 45 mph. Commercial vehicles are forbidden. Perfect for the ancient rider of a small bike who is fearful of trucks...
Cherokee is Native American tourism: mowed grass by the river beneath great trees in Spring leaf, log-cabin fast-food outlets, mom and pop motels, native handicrafts manufactured in China. A gentleman riding a mower assures me that the Blue Ridge Parkway is closed, that it was closed yesterday. Sun shines. Gates are open. A Park Authority cream Ford pickup speeds by. Go for it...
The Blue Ridge Parkway runs the length of the Appalachian mountains from Cherokee, North Carolina, pretty much all the way to Washington DC - though the last stretch over the Shenandoah mountains has a different name. Speed limit is 45 mph. Commercial vehicles are forbidden. Perfect for the ancient rider of a small bike who is fearful of trucks...
Cherokee is Native American tourism: mowed grass by the river beneath great trees in Spring leaf, log-cabin fast-food outlets, mom and pop motels, native handicrafts manufactured in China. A gentleman riding a mower assures me that the Blue Ridge Parkway is closed, that it was closed yesterday. Sun shines. Gates are open. A Park Authority cream Ford pickup speeds by. Go for it...
FAREWELL TO FRANKLIN
FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA: MARCH 28 - APRIL 4
I leave in the morning. This evening I sit in a comfortable armchair and watch with Jim the political news. Liz, Jim and I are Obama supporters. I don't have a vote- unjust given that the UK's foreign policy is dictated in Washington. Obama is under threat for suggesting that the people of Pennsylvania are bitter at losing their jobs and take shelter in a gun and church culture. I shall ride through Pennsylvania.
Meanwhile I enjoy friendship and companionship and kindness. I have been a guest of the Donaldsons for a week. We have done nothing out of the ordinary. We have merely spent time together, enjoyed each other's company, explored a little our differences and our similarities. It has been a good time, a very good time. These are wonderful people...
I leave in the morning. This evening I sit in a comfortable armchair and watch with Jim the political news. Liz, Jim and I are Obama supporters. I don't have a vote- unjust given that the UK's foreign policy is dictated in Washington. Obama is under threat for suggesting that the people of Pennsylvania are bitter at losing their jobs and take shelter in a gun and church culture. I shall ride through Pennsylvania.
Meanwhile I enjoy friendship and companionship and kindness. I have been a guest of the Donaldsons for a week. We have done nothing out of the ordinary. We have merely spent time together, enjoyed each other's company, explored a little our differences and our similarities. It has been a good time, a very good time. These are wonderful people...
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
GENEROSITY
FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA: MARCH 28 - APRIL 4
Jim rides me down to collect my bike from the bike shop - Long View Cycle Inc. Mike Townsend is the owner. A mechanic has serviced the bike, oil change, etc. Mike has written across the invoice OUR CONTRIBUTION TO THE RIDE - one more act of generosity.
Mike warns that the chain is about done and that the drive sprockets are worn sharp.
Will the chain get me to upstate New York?
Ride carefully...
Jim rides me down to collect my bike from the bike shop - Long View Cycle Inc. Mike Townsend is the owner. A mechanic has serviced the bike, oil change, etc. Mike has written across the invoice OUR CONTRIBUTION TO THE RIDE - one more act of generosity.
Mike warns that the chain is about done and that the drive sprockets are worn sharp.
Will the chain get me to upstate New York?
Ride carefully...
SWEAT, GOLF AND EROSION
FRAMKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA: MARCH 28 - APRIL 4
Jim and Liz have been showing me the beauty of North Carolina. Spring has yet to blossom the forested mountains. Private roads to summer houses of the wealthy spill trails of soil erosion through naked trees. Many of the incomers are Northerners by way of Florida which they find too sultry in July August. Sweat wrecks their Florida golf game. Their holiday homes wreck North Carolina.
Jim and Liz have been showing me the beauty of North Carolina. Spring has yet to blossom the forested mountains. Private roads to summer houses of the wealthy spill trails of soil erosion through naked trees. Many of the incomers are Northerners by way of Florida which they find too sultry in July August. Sweat wrecks their Florida golf game. Their holiday homes wreck North Carolina.
ROOTLESS AND GUILT FREE
FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA: MARCH 28 - APRIL 4
Franklin, North Carolina and Ledbury in Herefordshire are both small country towns. Where do they differ? Sprawl is the easy answer. Distance from Franklin town center to the Walmart mall would take me half way to Hereford. Treking to either one of two bike shops is further. And by our very English standards everything is new. Our cottage was built in a time when the Appalachians were Native Cherokee territory. President Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act in 1830: the Cherokee were herded 1200 miles in winter. The trek lasted six months. One in four died.
Few of today's US citizens have roots in the Americas deeper than the last quarter of the nineteenth century. They avoid guilt for genocide and for expropriating the tribal lands of Native Americans.
Franklin, North Carolina and Ledbury in Herefordshire are both small country towns. Where do they differ? Sprawl is the easy answer. Distance from Franklin town center to the Walmart mall would take me half way to Hereford. Treking to either one of two bike shops is further. And by our very English standards everything is new. Our cottage was built in a time when the Appalachians were Native Cherokee territory. President Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act in 1830: the Cherokee were herded 1200 miles in winter. The trek lasted six months. One in four died.
Few of today's US citizens have roots in the Americas deeper than the last quarter of the nineteenth century. They avoid guilt for genocide and for expropriating the tribal lands of Native Americans.
ADIEU TO THE FIRST FLUSH OF YOUTH
FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA: MARCH 28 - APRIL 4
Jim has steel panniers and a top box on his trail bike. One pannier is already full with spares. The other holds a medical kit. He has divided his future trip by nations and files information in a leather folder. I am not against being organized. I am merely a foreigner to it. My main doubt in regard to Jim's preparations is weight. Jim and I have passed the first flush of our youth. We are mature citizens (mature in age – in attitude we remain boys with toys). Our legs have lost much of their thrust. We delay getting up in the night for fear of back pain. Lifting weights is dangerous. I can heave a Honda 125 back onto its wheels. I wouldn't waste time trying to lift Jim's bike. And spares are heavy. My advice is to chose a bike for which spares are available. True, I am being wise after the event. I bought the Honda because it was cheap and because I drive a sixteen-year-old Honda Accord back home that has never betrayed me.
Jim has steel panniers and a top box on his trail bike. One pannier is already full with spares. The other holds a medical kit. He has divided his future trip by nations and files information in a leather folder. I am not against being organized. I am merely a foreigner to it. My main doubt in regard to Jim's preparations is weight. Jim and I have passed the first flush of our youth. We are mature citizens (mature in age – in attitude we remain boys with toys). Our legs have lost much of their thrust. We delay getting up in the night for fear of back pain. Lifting weights is dangerous. I can heave a Honda 125 back onto its wheels. I wouldn't waste time trying to lift Jim's bike. And spares are heavy. My advice is to chose a bike for which spares are available. True, I am being wise after the event. I bought the Honda because it was cheap and because I drive a sixteen-year-old Honda Accord back home that has never betrayed me.
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