A Bicycle Inn Holiday

A Travelogue by Terry Pierce

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Sunday’s cycling was one of those rare days with a mix of perfect weather, great company, awesome mountain vistas, garden-like roadside foliage, cool woodland climbs, smooth tarmac, low traffic and wide-open full-out straight-line down hills. It was grand. The pure high of that quality of cycling came in an overly rushed weekend trip to Bicycle Inn (http://www.bicycleinn.com), a B&B for bicycle enthusiasts in Bakersville, North Carolina.

I had made my reservation deposit after our Outage schedule plans had been shuffled off the Holiday weekend. Luck would have it that work re-schedules the outage back into the Memorial Day holiday. But my coworkers were able to spring me the time, so I took advantage and made plans to join the other Brunswick County Pedalers (http://www.pedalers.southport.org/), at Bicycle Inn.

After putting in the best part of a full workday Friday, I hopped in my previously loaded SantaFe and headed west. I was almost 80 miles down highway 74 when the skies grew wicked and the wind started wiping around. The next thing I knew, gumball sized hail was pelting me with a fury. It sounded like I was being shot at. The windshield held and I thought my best option was try getting in front of the storm. That might have been a mistake. With winds hitting me sideways at 40 to 50 mph, most other drivers parked at the side of the road. I could see it clearing up near I95 so I pressed onward. My escape left me with several small dings on the hood and a few wrinkles to the driver’s side, along with two more windshield pock marks in the glass

I made my way west via a family visit to Columbia and pushed on up into the mountains. As I left Columbia headed west the sun was setting and big thunderheads were making beautiful pictures in the sky. But when the light show started driving the lightening bolts straight down less than a mile or so in front of me, it gave me pause to reflect on whether the trip was hexed from the get-go. The rains followed me most of the rest of the night. I missed my Highway 19E connection on I26 and had to go over the mountain pass before I had a turnaround option. Arriving around 11 p.m., the proprietor, Michael Davis, was waiting in the driveway to great me.

The next morning I laid in a bit late to catch up for sleep lost to a hectic week and a not so quiet night. Between the thunder outside and various inside noises, I was thankful I brought sleepanol and wax earplugs to get me settled. Breakfast was everything one might want, but I opted to go light, with coffee, a bagel and egg, thinking I didn’t want to carry a big breakfast up the mountain with me. I later regretted foregoing the banana and salt. At breakfast we met all of the weekend visitors to the Inn. My regular cycling compadres, Fred and Janice Amman, Margaret and Al Bishop, Dan and Karen Knighton, Doug Macomb and Mike Szendrey were all up for the weekend. Additionally, a couple from Atlanta, Karen and Shaun joined us for both breakfast and the ride, while another couple riding from Charlotte, the founder of Tailwind Tandem Cycling, was also there, but ran on a different schedule.

We ready ourselves with power bars, Gatorade, air and cash and headed down Cane Creek along Highway 226 to the Toe River (http://maps.yahoo.com/beta/#maxp=search&q1=BakersvILLE,+nc&trf=0&mvt=h&lon=-82.171555&lat=36.010193&mag=4). The ride to and along the river had lots going for it. No traffic, cool swiftly cascading waters nearly the whole way, and plenty of good smells from things in bloom.

We had done this route a year ago. I locked up on an attempt to climb Bald Mountain and was unable to do the whole thing with out walking up some of the mountain. This time I was determined to ride it all. I had intentfully dropped some weight and had been trying extended stand time while cycling. As an additional measure I had even changed out my rear wheel out, opting for the 33 tooth gear of old glue on sew-up tire over my trusted Michelin Carbon tire and Campy cassette.

The group split into two at an old bus station built entirely of river cobble. With half going around and the other half going over the mountain.

We used the stopped to catch a breather and fill water bottles as well as down any power food we could find. Michael Davis had talked me into carrying grapes along, and I was sure glad I did. With the climb around the corner I needed all the energy food I missed at Breakfast.

The first five miles of the up hill were in the friendly 5 to 9 degree grade. It wasn’t long before Mike Szendrey turned up missing. He often stops for captivating photo ops spotted along the way, but initial thinking was that he opted to pass on the climb. After a quick double back search that didn’t find him, we proceeded up the mountain. The last three miles of the climb was a test of pain tolerance, as well as a mega-stress test for the cardiovascular, albeit a sense of accomplishment. The grade ranged from a few slams at around 17 percent but more consistently in the 13 to 15 percent range. I managed to bike the whole thing, after having stopped once to have a quick heart attack. Getting a heart rate back to the realm of the living, I proceeded to pace myself slowly on up the climb (see picture below). I knew the ride down had some switch backs but was able to scoot down it well last year. My back tire was an old glue on with really old glue, so I intentfully held off from pushing the down hill speeds, for fear of it rolling off when cornering. I noticed early on the decent that my brakes were not working so well. Then after building some speed I saw Michael ahead flagging everyone to slow for a switch back. I started squeezing for all I was worth, but I wasn’t dropping any appreciable speed. Then I saw that my front brake had a wet weed stuck around it. My back brake was probably both poorly adjusted, having just changed to the old wheel with sew-up and also being an older wheel may have had a bad braking surface. As I approached the corner I saw a white mini-van approaching from below. With all I could give it, I was only able to get below about 20 miles an hour, so I had to take the corner wide. For the grace of all things good, the white van went off onto the gavel and perilously close to the edge, giving me his lane to turn in. When I finished the descent, I was giving thanks that I was all right. Michael gave us a dignified scolding about proper descent techniques, getting a low center of gravity, and the best grip methods. I appreciated just being able to be fused at, instead of being fused over. One bike wreck in a year’s time is one to many.

The ride homeward had a tailwind. We kept it I n the low 20s and took turns pulling. There was a long long stretch called Jackie’s Creek that had a small down hill grade for miles and miles. It was a real ego booster, giving a false sense of power.

We managed to get back mid after noon and enjoy the cool breezes of the large Bicycle Inn porch while our bodies recovered.

That night was Margaret and Al’s annual seafood feast. Al and I looked up some Calabash style shrimp recipes on the internet. In the end there were three shrimp recipes: my favorite, boiled with some Boreshead horseradish and ketchup, calabash fried, or fried and heated with Cajun hot sauce. There was also Southport’s world famous Caroon Crab Patties, and some beautiful cuts of Grouper steak in a crab batter. If that wasn’t enough, we also had a full salad, pasta and corn bread. It was a fitting meal for any worn out cyclist in the calorie make-up mode.

The night brought in cool weather for sleeping and an early bed.

The following day was every bit the perfect cycle weather mentioned earlier. Brilliant blue skies and 68 to 75 degrees, depending on where the road took you. Our Frankie and Charlie bike route for the day was riding up to Kona, the home of the first woman North Carolina ever executed. You see Frankie had been an abused spouse, and her old fashioned remedy was to hack Charlie into little pieces and scatter him about. Over the course of years since then, they had given Charlie three or four grave sites up in that old Kona church cemetery. They kept finding pieces, and having no ability to re-intern someone, just kept giving him new burial plots.

The ride had a full collage of quality views, overlooks peering out onto places like Mount Mitchell and Black Mountain. The homesteads and valleys were picturesque. The only road hazards were an abundance of large black snakes that met their fate in the ever so small amount of traffic. The last few miles of the ride was all down hill. I had already swore off using the old Sew-up tire, changing back to my Michelin Carbons and had spent some time ensuring my brakes were right. I knew from last year that Michael would attack the down hill like a pirate. So I broke early and speed down the hill. Using an abundance of forward weight and having heard Michael speech yesterday, I used my 40 lbs of uphill disadvantage to gain on the down hill pack. By the time they reached me I was able to kick the final half mile.

That afternoon we headed back for some Grouper sandwiches and a taste of Michael’s Kailua protein shakes. While the others were still showering and getting fed I split off for some tranquil trout fishing down on Cane Creek. I had brought the waders and fly rod in the hopes that the opportunity would afford itself. The only risers were too small to work on, but a few fish shadows had me fooled. Word has it that the area does produce some quality trout, but not for me. Besides, I had just finished a delicious fish sandwich anyways.

After returning, we all hoped in three vehicles and made our way up the pass to the top of Roan Mountain. It was one of the most beautiful Balds in all of the Appalachian Mountains. It was also the destination for a future bike trip, aptly named the Roan Groan. The photos don’t do it justice. I was also wanting to scope the nature of the AT (Appalachian Trail) in that area, which I found uncharacteristically groomed for heavy traffic.

With the day waning, I said my goodbyes from on top of the mountain and headed down hill at a jog. I had lots of road ahead and the others were staying to take full advantage of the three day holiday. The ride home was peaceful considering the nature of the ride up. Using my trusty GPS, I even found good mountain navigation (211,74,75,81,16,I485,I85,321,I40,226) that got me home in less than 6.5 hours.

With a weekend like that, it is hard to see why others wouldn’t want to join in. Even if they didn’t cycle the hills, there are enough wonderfully aesthetic things to do and see, that anyone could be recharged in a place like that.