Sur La Plaque!

Miles: 30
Total: 261

1:50 p.m. Mark it. The first time I called my little chainring up for duty (46-36-24; insert your own Sir Mix-A-Lot joke here) halfway up Afton mountain and realized among the switchbacks that I’m no longer in the foothills.

Keith’s 1983 Chevrolet Custom Deluxe (three on the tree, natch) was this morning’s wake-up call. He came down with a breakfast waffle and we talked a bit more before driving me back to UVa. and the TransAm. I wouldn’t have minded the bike ride, but enjoyed Keith’s commentary on the area, especially where he pointed out the other end of the road I hunted vainly yesterday. In Charlottesville, I spent a little more time on the university’s grounds, and visited Edgar Allan Poe’s room — during the semester he was enrolled.

Then, off for second breakfast before my second mile at Bodo’s Bagels, a local institution. I clearly wasn’t in a hurry this morning, and left town around 10 a.m., Sunday traffic and fewer USBR 76 signs meant I had to keep a close eye on my maps to stay on track. I also needed to find something for dinner tonight — Hope Wood, the owner of the Cookie Lady house, told me there’s not much in Afton. White Hall hosts a small store where I stopped for a drink and talked to the fellow behind the counter a bit. He recommended heading into Crozet, a little off route, for groceries. Provisioned, I hopped back on 788 toward the mountains. It’s too early for peaches at Chile’s Orchard, but pick-your-own berries are in full swing.

ACA maps are bidirectional: I’m following the westbound instructions, but couldn’t help but notice the eastbound notes counseled caution on the stretch I was about to enter, warning of a two-mile, steep and twisty downhill. Not to disappoint, the incline (for me, a WB’r) includes a nearly 15-percent grade for a 1/2 mile among other vertical bits. I stopped at an abandoned post office to catch my breath.

Thankfully, tonight’s halt was just a few hundred feet farther. The legendary Cookie Lady house, half shelter, half museum, has offered succor to cyclists since 1976’s Bikecentennial. June Curry (a/k/a the Cookie Lady) passed away in 2012, but the aforementioned owner, Hope Wood, is keeping it open. The house is packed with 40 years’ of cycling memorabilia. Read more about June here.

Today was just 30 miles, but I’m glad to rest my legs for tomorrow’s climbing and take care of a few minor bike adjustments. No tent tonight — I’m couch bound. Sharing the house with me are three college students from Chicago. Tomorrow, we climb.

Edgar Allan Poe spent one semester in Charlottesville. His room is preserved behind glass nearby, but my photos didn’t turn out.

A Charlottesville institution, Bodo’s offers great bagels and bagel sandwiches. I had two egg sandwiches and took two bagels to go. Great fuel.

Outside White Hall.

Crozet, Va. Regional cola.

Yup, we’re going up and over those bastards.

June Curry a/k/a the Cookie Lady was a trail angel for many years, offering food, water, shelter and conversation to those exhausted climbing Afton mountain.

It’s dimly lit inside, but here’s a small example of how the house is decorated. It’s wild. Also notice Louis, from Chicago, who’s biking across with two of his other friends (not pictured).

More!

Hundreds of postcards cover the walls of the Bike House. In addition to postcards, there are various mobiles, collages, photos and all kinds of knickknacks.

Notes in the Bike House about lodging options near Christiansburg. The hospitality offered to cyclists is amazing.

In case you don’t want to go up and over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Can’t say it wasn’t temping …

The bottom level of the house is open for cyclists to stay, complete with couches and a kitchen. It also contains a huge collection of cycling memorabilia dating back to 1976.

Miles: 84
Total: 231

Got an early start today — on the road by 7:30 a.m. — getting faster at this whole camping routine. The morning ride out of Mineral was gorgeous, some straight-up Ann-of-Green-Gables shit. That, coupled with a slight breeze, had me feeling pretty good. Many more dogs today, including a sheepdog who tried to herd me, a pair of Pitt mixes who tried to eat me, and a dachshund out (literally) smelling flowers who couldn’t be bothered to notice me. Theory: The more decaying cars scattered through the yard, the greater the odds a ball of fur and teeth comes flying at me.

Closer to Charlottesville I went past Ash Lawn, the home of fifth president James Monroe, and a neighbor of Thomas Jefferson. It’s operated by the College of William and Mary, Monroe’s alma mater. But I didn’t stop — I was keen on seeing Jefferson’s digs just a couple miles up the hill. Before Monticello I found lunch and respite from the midday sun at a somewhat pretentious, but ultimately delicious, deli.

I climbed the hill to Monticello where a Saturday-sized crowd greeted me. Tickets were $25 and it was 1.5 hours till the next tour, so I passed on seeing his house, but took advantage of a couple nicely presented — and air conditioned — exhibits in the visitor center which centered on the mansion’s construction and evolution. Down near the parking area is Monticello’s slave graveyard which holds the remains of more than 40 enslaved laborers (nearly 400 in bondage between 1770 and 1827) as well as a reminder of the separation between free and slave.

Just a few miles down the road’s Charlottesville, home of Jefferson’s University of Virginia and one of the larger cities I’ll pass through in the Commonwealth. School’s out, but plenty of folks were hanging around town. I spent time at the public library writing, managing pictures, and finding directions to the evening’s campsite before adjourning to Three-Notch’d Brewing Company for my first pint along the TransAm.

My home for the night is Warmshowers host Keith, who lives just a few miles out of the city. The directions I grabbed took me into the suburbs and then into a new subdivision, very much under construction, where the road came to an abrupt, full stop.

Eking a bit of service from my phone, I found a message from Keith advising against Google’s bicycle directions, as they depend on a logging road that hasn’t been around for close to a century. So, back down the big hill, up and over another, where I made the Maupin homestead just as the last smudge of sun slipped behind the mountains. I met Nora and Rue (their dog) first, as Keith’d gone looking for me. Big thanks to them for putting up with my late arrival — I should have confirmed the road went through. Keith led me to his camp area, down the hill in a clearing where his does his gardening and some landscaping work.

A great place for the night: solar-charging station, nearby creek and a fire ring. Keith joked I was doing him a favor as sentry, keeping the critters out of the vegetables. While I set up camp and made dinner, he told me about his tours, including the first, at 19, between Charlottesville and Boston, as well as some time spent out west. He mentioned taking a tour with Nora between Pittsburgh and D.C. and I hope they do.

What should have been about 65 miles turned into 84, but all in good humor. Tomorrow, an honestly shorter day to Afton, at the top of the first serious climb and the Cookie Lady’s TransAm lodgings/trail museum.

Two of your favorite staples, together at last.

Postcard-o-the-day.

At a fork in the (very small) road.

Salvation, thy name is Pepsi.

Down the hill from Jefferson’s mansion, the center offers a few free exhibits and sells tickets for the house tour. At $25/head and with a 1.5 hour wait, I passed on the tour.

More than 40 of the nearly 400 slaves who served the Jefferson estate are buried here. Jefferson is buried up on the hill. Segregated even in death.

Named after a colonial-era Virginia road (marked by three notches), the brewery opened this year. I had my inaugural TransAm pint here and was not disappointed.

I made friends with this dog at the brewery. We got along famously, mostly because he wasn’t interested in chasing me.

Miles: 85
Total: 147

I woke up in Richmond Times-Dispatch country and retired in the land of Fredricksburg’s Free Lance-Star. Changes in newspaper circulation and distribution are weird way to gauge progress, but there you go.

I had a quick start today without a tent to disassemble or ordinary camp chores to perform and made Ashland for lunch and a break during the hottest part of the day. It’s a pleasure to sleep in, but getting miles in early, while it’s cool, will become important as summer rolls around with its attendant heat and humidity. Might have to adopt the siesta, too.

Today’s maps included a ton of turn directions — more than 30 over 85 miles, and I was relieved Virginia’s marked almost every L/R with US Bicycle Route 76 signs. The 76 refers to 1976’s Bikecentennial, the first mass cross-country ride, and the framework around which today’s TransAm’s based.

Leaving Glendale behind, I continued through many markers describing other movements in 1862’s Seven Days series. Near Mechanicsville, Civil War markers were joined by signs advertising new homes — lots of construction and real estate development. Also, regular unleaded’s $3.26/gallon here. Eat your heart out, Pittsburgh.

After a brick oven pizza and break in the outskirts of Ashland, I entered city center and rode past Randolph-Macon’s campus, barren over the summer months, but still pretty.

I dropped a letter at the Bumpass P.O. Named for the Bumpass family (from the French Bon Pas, for “good step”), and crossed the community line with a sophomoric smirk.

Between Bumpass and Mineral I encountered my first dog, though he gave half-hearted chase (really, the best kind), especially past his property line. Good warmup for Kentucky’s famous canines. The same road afforded views of Lake Anna, a man-made lake built to provide cooling for two nuclear-powered utility reactors and waterfront real estate for some very nice vacation homes.

Camp tonight is Mineral Volunteer Fire grounds: plenty of soft, level grass and a hot shower courtesy of the department. The kindness bestowed on strangers is, well, a strange and fabulous thing. I hope to pay it forward. Sharing the space with me tonight are there high school friends touring together after graduating from different colleges. Phil’s riding a Fuji road bike and pulling a trailer while Elliot and Alex are carrying panniers on a Surly Disc Trucker and Specialized AWOL, respectively. They left Yorktown the day before I did and will finish in San Diego, dipping south to Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas — even visiting the Grand Canyon before finding the Pacific Ocean. Best of luck to them. Tomorrow, a shorter day to Charlottesville and Jefferson’s home at Monticello.

TruMoo, the official beverage of 2014’s TransAm. But seriously, PET Dairy, let’s talk.

I noticed a ton of new homes being built around Mechanicsville/Ashland.

Easy way to keep an eye on your wheeled home.

But powered by Chevy. I’m pretty sure the rear hatch reads, “Scooby Doobie.”

Foreground: wildflowers; Background: wheat (hey, we can turn that into booze!)

Lots of great riding through rolling hills and horse pasture.

Number three in my ongoing Juvenile humor series.

Alex found a putative possum jaw in Mineral. This is one of the decedent’s teeth.

Home for the evening. The department allows tent camping on its grounds and provides access to a hot shower.