Day 8, the Breaks

I think I'm hitting my stride. It's easy to feel that way when you are standing at the mouth of the Cumberland Gap. Virginia is to my back and underneath me; downhill is Kentucky.

I biked 80-odd miles today but I don't feel worse for the wear. I've learned to love the long hill because it let's you get into a rhythm and you can always go down its back at top speed. I've learned to love the rain because it really does a good job of cooling you and kicking up the drama (note: rain while hiking is different). And I've even learned to love the constant feeling of swollen my legs are in. It's a bit like the getting out of a jacuzzi feeling.

So, no more whingeing. I am past a physical hump and nearly past a geographical one. With my wet ride up and down the Smokeys and tomorrow's descent, I will say so long to the Appalachians and (soon) hello blue grass and the Knobs of Kentucky. And, sadly, I will say goodbye to Virginia.

Here is the oldest settlement in the country, a founding state, an early frontier, home to many (how many?) Presidents, where a good bulk of the Civil War was fought, and where a great deal of the punishment was dealt. I have never seen so many historical plaques, some of them hidden down roads you'd have to be mad (or from Virginia) to drive down.

The future seems a little less rich. Small town life is hard, and in some of these places it seems doubly so. Further west, many towns were almost completely shuttered. The No Trespassing sign business booms: not much else. The population tends towards the 60s.

Here are some good signs: often, there are five co-operating fraternal organizations in towns of less than a thousand people. Volunteer rescue and fire squads; Freemasons, Rotarians, and Ruritan-dys (though rarely Rosicrucians); historical societies; Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, and Cub Scouts; and then the church groups. Virginians love to do good, especially if its catered. Perhaps do good by one another? The locally grown cigarettes, the farmer's co-op: I'm not a communist drug pusher, but I see these as two ways around a problem that belies the exact opposite of the clannishness the area is famous for.

Speaking of stereotypes: sometimes I feel people must try to live up to them. The park ranger I spoke to was buck-toothed, unintelligible, and had stickyouty ears. The gentleman with the ATV I met upon entering the forest had a bandanna, no sleeves on a VT t-shirt, and was talking about farting. And then there is this stereotype: everyone I have met has been tremendously friendly. I feel like the Queen my wrist hurts so much from waving hello. Cars honk to say keep going, people say hi from their porches, and the surliest seeming guys all wave with this kind of pointing gesture. I have met many, many more of the latter in my week here.

A final anecdote.

I was dangling my legs over a rock ledge in the Blue Ridge mountains. A lady came over to me and we got to talking. She pointed to the valley below.

"That's the Shenandoah Valley right there."

"Is that so. Well I can't wait to get down there. I've always heard that the way they talk is the most beautiful accent in the country."

"Oh I don't know."

"No it's true. News anchors make an especially big effort to get it right."

"Why well I'm from down there."

"Well you've proved my point right there. You have a beautiful way of speaking."

Her husband and son, who was my age, returned with some blueberries they'd found. I said goodbye and went back uphill. Behind me, I might have made out.

"That young man just said that I have the most beautiful way of talking."

"Well I've always said that."