What kind of day has it been? – Day 51

Date: Tuesday 28^th September 2010

Route:  Bumpass, Virginia – Yorktown, Virginia 

Distance: 126 miles 

Total climb: 3649ft

Net climb: -233ft

It had to be an early start; we still had over 120 miles to Yorktown, but we were going to make it in one day (and hoped also to make it back into first place in our fictional race to Yorktown).  We emerged from the Rebel Motel at 5:30 to head over to McDonalds for breakfast.  It was so early in the morning that even the servers under the golden arches were confused and proceeded to bring me two breakfasts in seven different servings.  As McDonalds go it was a fairly cultural experience with photos depicting the history of Louisa and the local area covering the walls.  There was even a photo of Patrick Henry (another founding father who apparently wanted either liberty or death) standing in the muddy main street of Louisa.

Setting history aside in order to focus on the present we made it back to the motel and were off and away by 7am, comfortably our earliest start.  Early morning riding clearly suited us and we made rapid progress, arriving in Ashland before 8:30.  Ashland had been our target for the previous day and it was a shame not to have stopped there for the evening.  It is a beautifully maintained town, with an old fashioned railway running through the centre.  We had decided to stop for a coffee break on what was already turning into a warm morning.  Team Stockham were already in residence and while Poppa Stockham sorted out drinks and cakes, I headed off and signed the visitors’ book in the Ashland train station and visitors centre.  We all met up at Suzanne’s coffee shop, where the homemade cakes were the perfect preparation for a long afternoon of cycling.  After Fred had watched me consume more drinks (milkshake, water, tea and juice) than was decent, we were back on the road, following the train tracks out of Ashland and then heading out on the busier roads towards Mechanicsville. 

It was at this point that the spotlight of international fame finally caught up with us.  Stopped at a traffic light, a car asked us to pull over in the next car park – it turned out that the driver was a journalist from the Herald-Progress who had been called out by the lady in charge of the visitors’ centre.  We spent about half-an-hour answering questions and having our photo taken, before he headed off to type up what was undoubtedly one of the hot stories of the day.

The day itself was starting to get distinctly hot – a welcome change from the two days of rain that had preceded it.  As we arrived at Mechanicsville, the traffic got heavier and required us to be vigilant to avoid the large lorries that started to queue up behind us.  Then at a traffic light, in the space of a couple of seconds my rear tire went totally flat.  As luck would have it, Diana had timed things well and we were within ten metres of a gas station.  We plonked ourselves down in the forecourt on a stretch of glass whilst I removed the nail that had punctured the tire and replaced the inner tube.  It proved to be a good time for a break as after we got back on the bikes the traffic was significantly lighter.  The next section of our route took us through the Richmond National Battlefield Park, and in particular numerous sites of the Seven Days Battles.  There seemed to be memorial plaques every few hundred metres, describing events from those battles.  The stories of war and revolution kept us so preoccupied that we cycled right past the garage before the town of Elko where we had arranged to meet Team Stockham.  We only realised our error when we arrived at Glendale – about 5 miles too late.  A quick call to Team Stockham revealed that they too had failed to stop at the agreed rendezvous point and were sat at a gas station in Charles City about 20 miles ahead of us.  Reassured by the Team that there would be places for us to grab lunch before we made it to Charles City we decided to head on and left the diner at Glendale behind.

We headed down Willis Church Road only to be met by signs indicating that the road was closed.  There was no obvious diversion so we decided to carry on – hoping that there would be no significant obstacles in our way.  Our luck just about held; the road was blocked by two large piles of stones and it is possible that a bridge we crossed was not entirely safe, but we made it through, carrying the girls over the stones, and emerged into the middle of the recreated Battle of Malvern Hill (also known as the Battle of Poindexter’s Farm).  Civil war cannons were ranged across the fields, so we decided to put on a gun-show of our own; our spirits high at the prospect of lunch.

After the battlefield we joined SR 5 – the road to Williamsburg; unfortunately we also found that the diner at the junction was closed.  Looking at our map there was nothing between where we were and Charles City – that meant that by the time we stopped there for lunch we would have done 56 miles without proper food.  Still, we were closing in on Yorktown and with that thought at the forefront of our minds we rode on through the swamplands alongside the James River.  Our next mental marker was the start of the Capital Trail – a cycle path that takes riders most of the way into Yorktown – we were both looking forward to the point at which we would no longer have to share the road with cars.  Aside from one unfriendly cyclist (we have arrived at the conclusion that most cyclists that you come across on tours are a little odd – we would like to think of ourselves as the exception to that rule of thumb) who was walking along the road and seemed offended by our offer of assistance, we saw few cars and even fewer people.  We were left to reflect that this hot, forested swamp which was the location of most of the early settlements in the US must have been a far cry from the other Eden that the first settlers had hoped for.  It gave us some insight into how tough life must have been for those early adventurers.

The only cloud on the horizon was the fact that I had become strangely concerned with knowing where Team Stockham were – in truth it was a combination of being hungry and slightly annoyed at the fact that I had understood them to say that there had been places to eat a long time before Charles City.  It turned out that they were enjoying themselves looking around Colonial Williamsburg – about 20 miles away.  I suggested that they should head back to the restaurant for food, thus guilt tripping them into leaving Williamsburg and heading back to us – for no apparent reason.  I can only belatedly apologise to them for dragging them away – my focus on getting the ride finished and ensuring that I knew where our back-up was meant that I lost sight of the fact that they were supposed to be having a holiday too.

Still, we had some riding left to do (about 40 miles), the first part of which continued along the wonderful Capital Trail.  There was another brief section on the SR5 before we arrived at the Chickahominy River.  As we passed over that expanse of water and back onto the second section of the Capital Trail, the opportunity arose to regain first place in our imaginary race across the country. An amateur cyclist, casually enjoying the views of the river, was no match for our excited attack. The challenge was now how to maintain the lead to glory.  This concern came to a head in the final section of the Capital Trail that branched off from SR5.  A cyclist was gaining on us and so we sped up until we were almost sprinting.  We had to stop as the Trail crossed a road and at that point he caught up with us. We chatted with him for a while – side by side but always ensuring that we stayed half a wheel ahead of him.  As we arrived at the start of the Capital Parkway though he waved us goodbye and headed back for home.  We had held onto first place.

The Capital Parkway takes up the final 21 miles of the route, it is a wide, flat and quick road, but the fact that it is made of concrete means that it is bobbly and a little uncomfortable.  Fortunately we had reached it at a time when there were few cars and so we were able to pound along it at a good speed, the only obstacle to our progress being my water bottle which dropped out of its rack and almost caused what would have been a nasty crash. 

On the approach to Williamsburg the Parkway runs right along the bank of the James River, providing us with a glorious sunset.  Williamsburg itself is the Disneyland of Colonial America.  It has been restored to look as it did in the early 18^th Century and it is chocked full of tourists and tour guides.  We didn’t have time to stop, but in truth did not feel as if we had missed a great deal.  I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I like the way that the US reveres its past (for the record I also love Disneyland) – it just looks as if, at Williamsburg, this has gone a step too far; the place felt more like a set from a movie than living history.  I cannot imagine what it must be like to go to William and Mary University – which itself is located in Williamsburg.  University is a surreal enough experience without having to wend your way through daily historical re-enactments…

In any event, we made our way through Williamsburg, with Greta ensuring that we avoided the car-only tunnel.  East of Williamsburg we arrived at the banks of the York River.  It was dark by this stage and we paused briefly to put on our night cycling kit and to place an order for Dos Equis with Team Stockham.  We then turned a corner and in the distance we caught our first glimpse of the lights of Yorktown.  We rode steadily on into the night and finally left the Parkway behind as we turned left towards our final destination.  Aside from almost cycling the wrong way down the main road into Yorktown, we progressed serenely to the waterfront; Greta still not putting a foot wrong.  We turned right and started to climb the final hill of our journey.  Unfortunately, I was in far too high a gear and had to wheel back down to the bottom to start again (the first time on the whole trip that I had had to pull such a manoeuvre).  Finally, we made it up the 20 metre section of road, only to be met by a road-block.  According to Greta we were less than 500 metres from the end of our journey: perhaps our luck had run out.  It hadn’t.  We had, in fact, arrived at a cross-road where we had to turn left.  Fifty metres down the road the Yorktown Monument came into view.  The Monument commemorates the surrender of the British to the American and French troops in the American Revolutionary War, but on this particular evening it was decked out in custom-made bunting and Union Flags, and on its steps were our arrival party.  Amanda, Helen and Neita had joined up with Team Stockham to greet us at the finish. 

The rest of the evening is something of a blur.  There were hugs, photographs, a malfunctioning confetti champagne bottle, and once we had established that Fred did in fact want to share a room with Helen rather than me (which was, perhaps, predictable) a waterfront hotel and a celebratory meal at the Yorktown Pub.  It was a happy and surreal evening.  The two non-cyclists had cycled across America.