The day I left Damascus, I woke up a little late. Generally, I try to hit the road at least a little early to avoid some of the brutal heat that swings around later on in the day. However, the night I spent in Damascus was spent in good company: there was a little ukulele show at Larry’s house, where I got to learn a whole lot more about trucking than I’ve ever known before. And then I went out for a beer with Hila – the AT hiker who introduced herself in the local coffee shop in my first hour or so in town.
In any event, I didn’t get to bed until 11.30, which is at least a couple hours past “biker midnight.” When I awoke, it was drizzling, and after I grabbed some coffee and checked my e-mail, it was all-out raining. So, I decided to stay in town for breakfast.
By the timeI had said my goodbyes and was on the road, it was already close to 11. I had planned to squeeze in 80 miles of riding, so I buckled down. I was also egged on by the fact that Larry had pointed out to me that a fellow TransAm cyclist, Joseph, had left at 7am that morning. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to catch up, but I thought maybe I would catch him at the campsite, or the next day.
Imagine my surprise when I pulled up behind him around mile 70. Apparently he had become slightly lost along the way. This was to turn out quite well for me.
First of all, we ate a quick lunch/tea at a little restaurant in the middle of nowhere. The proprieter couldn’t quite wrap his head around what we were doing — we told him we were riding to Oregon, and he kept shaking his head and saying, “on bicycles?” in an amazing Southern drawl.
After the break, we pulled up a series of final hills (the first part of the day had featured a couple switchbacked climbs,) praying around each bend that we’d be able to see the destination this time. Finally, after my legs were screaming and I thought I might not make it, we rounded a bend to see a small pavilion and a lookout area. It overlooked what the accompanying placard described as “The Grand Canyon of the South” (otherwise known as The Breaks National Park, on the VA/KY border.)
The climb started to seem worth it: the view was spectacular. We knew we were within striking distance of a motel, and decided that thiss sounded much more appealing than camping (our shower needs were dire.) We eeked out the final little climb, and checked into The Breaks Motor Lodge, run by the National Park Service must have looked pretty pathetic (or maybe it was just because it was a Wednesday,) because the woman at the front desk gave us a discount ($60!) and “a room with a good view.”
That view turned out to be absolutely amazing: the room hung out over the canyon, and we were overlooking essentially the entire park (see pictures.) The complex in which the motel sat had a restaurant with an equally impressive view. We ordered an absurd amount of food, including a 4-layer chocolate ice cream cake with hot fudge sauce (that we could smell from our table) and cream. It was absurdly decadent. I slept better than I have in possibly years.
The next morning we slept until 9 (late in biker terms,) ate a delicious breakfast (again, very large,) and wobbled off.
Posted by: sam