Not so Haysi Days – Day 45

Date: Wednesday 22^nd  September   

Route: Hindman, Kentucky – Elkhorn City 

Distance: 62.5 miles

Total climb: 4295ft

Net climb: -161ft

It was a strange start to the day.  After asking the motel owner for his breakfast recommendation, he sent us on a wild goose chase around the streets surrounding the motel.  Eventually we abandoned trying to follow his directions and found that the diner that he had been telling us about was no more than 500 yards down the road on which the motel was situated.  This was one in a long list of examples of people having a seriously deficient knowledge of their local area, yet such things never failed to astonish us.

Breakfast, in the empty diner, was good if somewhat lacking in atmosphere.  Of more concern to us, though, was the thunder storm which was raging over our heads.  The rain was so heavy that I was convinced that we would be unable to cycle that day.  I even had the temerity to suggest a rest day.  When the storm starting to clear we decided to head back to Hindman to see how the weather looked there.  It was going to be a late start, but it was clearly preferable to get some miles under our legs rather than just taking the day off.

We got Diana and Rosie set up and ready to go in the solicitors car park in Hindman and then got under way.   The initial stretch was a gentle uphill to the town of Pippa Passes, but my growing addiction to looking at the elevation profile on the back of our map meant that I knew that our day involved four climbs, which, although not long, looked as if they might be rather steep.  Our first climb came as we turned off the main road, just before the town of Bevinsville.  It was certainly the steepest climb that we had encountered on the trip to that point, but we were encouraged by the fact that it was not nearly as severe as a number of the hills that we had scaled in our adventures on the North York Moors (particularly the dreaded Limber Bank).  It was, however, starting to get much hotter than it ever gets in North Yorkshire….

After arriving at the top of our first significant climb of the day we rolled down into Buckingham, where Fat Daddy’s Diner, proved to be an irresistible stopping point for lunch.  A quintessential American Diner, it was exactly what we were looking for.  Team Stockham managed to track us down after about half an hour, which gave us the chance to plan our afternoon’s efforts whilst eating (in my case yet another BLT sandwich – approximately number 35 of the trip).  Both Fred and I regretfully turned down the milkshakes that Fat Daddy had on offer, knowing that milkshakes and tough climbs are not always excellent bedfellows, and with that we headed back out onto the bikes.

The next two climbs, in the mid-afternoon heat, were longer, steeper, and tougher; however they did provide some moments of amusement, including seeing a man walking his (presumably) pet deer on a leash around his garden.  The hills also had the great advantage of long gradual downhill sections (“the payoff” as we had come to call them) after reaching the summit.  These sections of roads followed a pattern that had become familiar to us throughout the Appalachians, with houses and shops lining the side of the road, but no actual towns.  It seems that the lack of space in the steep valleys means that although lots of people might live in a valley there was is one line of houses/shops and nothing more.  The roads are also exceedingly narrow and windy and required constant vigilance whilst on the lookout for oncoming cars.  For once it was not a joy to be riding at the front of the group.

We stopped for our afternoon break in the town of Lookout, intent on pushing on to Haysi – our planned stopping point for the day.  For once the garage we stopped at had no seats and so we sat on the steps outside eating our familiar combination of chocolate bars, cosmic brownies, soft drinks and tinned fruits.  As ever I was struck with the sensation that we must have looked rather odd to anyone happening to pass by.  Nonetheless, it was a joy to be out of the afternoon heat, even if we did look like slightly sweaty and bedraggled hobos (albeit in exceedingly bright clothing) who had not eaten a meal in weeks.

The rest of the day did not turn out quite as planned.  We rolled on downhill for a large part of the next 13 miles, passing innumerable small, rickety wooden shacks (one which was for sale and was suggested as a potential international headquarters of the Tomahawk Cup – a prestigious English golf tournament) and up into Elkhorn City.  Here we met Team Stockham who were sat by the river chatting to a local chap.  They had expected us to arrive later on in the afternoon and so had booked accommodation in the town.  On the basis that we had somewhere to stay and that it would save time in the morning if we could set off directly from where we were staying, we decided to call it a day.  We were short of Haysi, but considering the early morning weather and our late start we had made good progress for the day.

Safe in the knowledge that we had no more pedalling to do, we went over to chat to Team Stockham’s new friend.  A keen bluegrass and country music fan, he was a man who sat and watched the world go by.  His nickname, “Jack the Ripper”, was something of a concern, but he provided a credible explanation for it and seemed harmless and welcoming.  His main crime as far as we were concerned was the CD which he gifted to Team Stockham and which provided a relentless soundtrack of jiggy country music for the next couple of days. 

We had arrived too late in the day to have a go at “rubber tubing” down the Pound River and so after we had said our goodbyes to Jack we rode the remaining quarter mile to the John Moore motel.  I previously had no idea that the senior clerk in my chambers (also named John Moore) had branched out into the Kentucky tourism business, but it proved to be a good stopping point.  We followed the now standard evening routine of unpacking, showering and heading out for dinner – this time at the local diner owned by a man with whom our friend Jack had a bitter feud but which served up one of the best meals on the trip.  The place was full of people from the town and had that homely atmosphere that American diners and bars do so well.  Perhaps everyone didn’t know our name; but it felt as if they did.