Day 12

Well the straight line worked. It wasn't pretty and it involved hobbling into a repair shop in Danville for the first tuneup my poor bike has gotten in years. It worked.

I woke up early and biked for an hour looking backwards at the rising sun.

Danville is lovely. Small Episcopalian church, small espresso joint, small courthouse where I waited for my bike to be fixed. It would appear that I had been riding with the brake on for the past couple of days, that my chain was past kaput, that my earlier repair was worthless, and that an extra gear ring would have to be added before my knees spring open leaving ligaments and rubberbands all over the asphalt. It was done, reasonably, quickly, friendlily, by a man who has ridden the country on a tandem with son and a musician who plays Appalachian music.

So I feel better. I pedaled into the wind for four more hours, but it was not hard -- just trying on my patience. I am in Bardstown, where Steven Foster wrote My Old Kentucky Home. There's a musical going on. I, for the most part, chatted with two kids touring the Bourbon Belt, and with two fellow Westbound cyclists. Then I showered, got some disease from the tile (I am convinced), and fell asleep.