Day 18, Cave in Rock to Murphysboro, 100 miles (!)

Our biggest mileage in one day today. We set out from Cave in Rock at 7:30, still sprightly after our recovery day and eager to make up some mileage. After this long on the road, our morning departure has developed into a military-like routine. Pretty much wordlessly, we pack up the tent, repack the bags, refill our water bottles and throw down some breakfast while reviewing the maps.

It seems that wherever we set out from, the morning greets us with a hill, and today was no exception. The first 30 miles of the ride were up down and up hills, yet these ones seem pretty reasonable after the climbs in the Appalachians and the traffic of Kentucky.

At the town of Eddysboro (where we were welcomed by an unnerving road sign reading 'Population 101')- a gas station provided much needed caffeine and sugar (we'd happily accept nutrients but these don't feature at roadhouses).

Given our early start and swift cycling time, we reached our ball-park camping destination of Goresville (horror film setting deluxe)-by 2pm. So we decided to cycle on, as Murphysboro promised wi-fi and non-gas station food. The afternoons' cycle passed fairly uneventfully; featuring the usual farms, space-ship like tractors, comedy letterboxes (one shaped like a plane, another like a fish)-and signs denoting county lines.

We must have bypassed the town of Carbondale which is 10 miles before Murphysboro; it came and went in the shape of suburban houses, a school and a few farm equipment stores. When we finally reached Murphysboro it was 4pm and the bike computers were at 97 miles. We were both sweaty, covered in road dust and didn't give a tinkers' cuss about wi-fi or food; we just wanted to find the campsite and be done for the day. Matt did some impressive navigating through the outer suburbs, which were properly urban compared to the sleepy towns we've been through. Youths played basketball in fenced off courts, and a school we passed had a 'Gun and Drug Free School' sign. Good to know!

The campsite was a few miles out of town, on the highway; all downhill. We knew we didn't fancy cycling 3 miles back uphill for food, so set our hopes on the campsite warden knowing a pizza delivery number. Being a State park, the campsite was sprawling and it took us some time to find the warden. Warden being the operative word; this guy, Mike had a lot of Military authority about him. We later learned that one of the countrys' most notorious prisons (the one that housed Wayne Gacey)- is a big local employer. So I'm guessing that we campers are Mike-the-Screw's new inmates in his golden years. At this point I should mention that all State campsites are 'hosted' by a retired couple, living on-site in an RV the size of AC/DC's Tour bus.

After a drilling from Mike (and pizza delivery flyer from his lovely wife)-we obediently chose a camp site by the lake. We ordered pizza before we set up, then the curious Park ranger, Chris, wandered over to shoot the breeze. Chris's wife worked in Drug Rehab at the prison, so he had some interesting stories about its' drug-dealing in-mates, mostly from Chicago. Aside from park-rangering, he runs a few farms in Illinois and Missouri, and employs Amish kids 'they're not all that cheap but all work hard'. Soon a very confused Pizza delivery guy called, perplexed about where to find us. When I tried to explain, he flatly replied 'I'm sa-ry I jist kent understan' you'. Weary and hungry, I passed the phone to Chris; who could not only make himself understood but did so in a cop-like tone that got us our pizzas double-quick! Chris even drove Matt over to the guards' station to collect it. Great guy!

Before the pizzas arrived, a lovely English couple, Kevin and Nadia, cycled over to our camp to introduce themselves. The campsite warden had told them we were English and in a tent; so Kevin and Nadia wanted to invite us to the comfort of their new RV for a visit. Sixteen years ago, they had spent a year driving the US in a Range Rover and staying in a tent. Kevin said they remember well the tent-life and how they sometimes envied their campsite neighbours in luxuriously air conditioned caravans; now they were happy to extend their own cool hospitality to us. I was touched by this kind offer, so once we were fed and showered, we cycled over to their deluxe RV. For the next few hours, the four of us sat comfortably chatting and laughing about some of the differences between the Americans and the English. Kevin and Nadia were both fellow-adventurers and very easy to talk to; it was lovely to enjoy an evening of 'home' while in a campsite in Illinois! We left their RV (which features 2 flat screen tv's in the same sitting space; a design feature which bewildered all four of us)-feeling very lucky. We have exchanged blog sites, and hope to catch them for a victory beer or two in San Francisco. Westward-Ho!

Day 17, Owensboro to Cave in Rock, 87 miles

Our morning start delayed by the trappings of civilisation (comfy bed, free coffee, swimming pool, Mc Donalds across the road)-we didn't actually hit the road until 11:30. Thankfully, what should have been the scorching part of the day was comparatively mild. We had good cloud cover, a light breeze and mercifully little traffic (Sunday is by far the best day of the week for cycling). Matt expertly guided us out of Owensboro on the treasure map he had drawn out by referring to Google before we set out (as we were still 20 miles off our Trans Am maps.)

The roads followed gently rolling hills through farmland; expansive crops of corn, soy, tobacco and cattle pasture (no cowboys though). We passed a few Amish farms and a traditionally dressed girl waved at us from the roadside; looking more Little House on the Prarie than House of Fraser. Hand painted signs advertised home-crafted furniture, baskets and home-grown produce. A road sign (like the ones that indicate deer or kangaroos in our homelands)- warned of horse and carts. Matt finds the romance of the simple life appealing (but I think I'd miss the internet.)

An important milestone today was we pedalled our one-thousand mile mark according to the bike computer (not the battery-hungry Garmin; the good old Cateye on Matts' handlebars.) We stopped to take a picture of the reading and the fields we looked upon for that auspicious moment. Shall try to remember to do the same when we hit two – and three thousand in the wild wild West!

Yesterdays' rest day was fully appreciated by the muscles in our legs; no dull aches when we set out and they kept on going and going like the Energiser bunny. We reached our original destination of Marion at 74 miles, yet I was keen to continue cycling into the cool evening. Matt took some convincing (specifically, a sandwich)-it's amazing how a little food will motivate him to do anything! So we soldiered on into the golden evening light, long shadows and deserted road; bound for our third State; Illinois.

At the Ohio river, the natural boundry between Kentucky and Illinois, we awaited the ferry crossing alongside a few cars. The ferry journey took about 10 minutes, which Matt spent fraternising with a curious family in the car beside us. The concerned mother tried to explain to him that 'It's a long way to San Francisco'. Matt humoured her and assured them we were taking our time and vitamins!

The ferry clanked its' way onto the riverside and so we were in State number three. Goodbye, mad dogs of Kentucky (although I'm guessing they have cousins over here). More 4-legged foe than friend – and I love dogs!

A short cycle up the hill and we arrived at the State campground. As it is pretty quiet, we are living dangerously and camping in just the inner of our tent, to let the breeze through. How successful this experiment proves remains to be seen – watch this space!

Day 16, Rest day in Owensboro, 0 miles (the shame!)

...Shame but also guilty pleasure. Today was our first day off the bikes entirely. We woke in our cool hotel room and when we stepped outside into the oven-like heat, mused 'perhaps we could er, rest our legs today? Go and see what Owensboro has to offer culturally?' Then we returned to our room and watched the Olympic cycling and swimming for a few hours, pausing only to grab some coffee and the papers from the motel office. The paper advertised a Bourbon distillery which we called about a tour, but they never got back to us.

Eventually, we did make it downtown, 4 miles away. We left the bikes in our room and used our legs as transport, which felt very novel. Downtown Owensboro is a bit of a work in progress. They are building up the riverfront (on the Ohio River)- and all the townfolk we spoke to were proud to tell us 'we should come back in a year'. Hmm. We also learned that Johnny Depp was born here, and that there are two fantastic bars with live music. We headed to both of them and neither were open until 5pm. So we retreated to our motel room instead. As the pool was occupied by raucous kids, we grabbed some beers from the conveniently located liquor store (where they sell every English or Australian beer we could think of)-and cooled off internally. After watching the Aussie womens' beach volley ball team lose to the Americans in shorter shorts, we head out for some fast food. The only highlight of that dining experience was the woman who overheard Matts' order, and bellowed to her friend 'This guy talks like Mick Jagger!' Matt practically swaggered back to our plastic table, narrowly resisting the urge to throw some Mick pony moves.

Day 15, Rough River to Owensboro KY, 54 miles

We woke early, packed up camp and were on the road for our earliest exit yet: 7:10am! This is actually a late start for seasoned tourers, and as we rolled down lonely highways in the cool breeze, I started to realise what those pros are on about... It was cool, quiet and we had 20 miles down by 9am... I could join the flock of the Early Birds! The scenery was text-book country Americana: rolling hills, picturesque farms and corn fields, small towns that consisted of a gas station, a mechanics and a sprawl of well groomed lawns and houses.

We stopped for breakfast at a gas station at Fordstown; coffee and sugary snacks over a chat with the young attendant. Matt asked him how far to the town of Owensboro, I asked whether it was in a 'wet county'!..We were feeling patriotic today, and were bound off-route for the comparative metropolis of Owensboro (the towns our route passes through are one-horse jobs; strictly campsites and churches for accommodation.) However today we required a motel; with television to watch our old hometown, London, launch the olympics. Our local guide at the gas station looked blankly when we mentioned the olympics; as if this was some foreign sport he had no business in. The main thing was that he assured us we would find motels and beer in Owensboro; just over 20miles from where we sat. When quizzed him on the whole dry/wet county phenomenon, he just shrugged 'We drive down the road...Some get it delivered'. Caffeinated and with the games on our mind, we sprinted down the road.

About 10 miles on, Matts' Tortoise Rescue had another call. Before helping the little critter across the road, Matt couldn't resist placing the tiny mascot t-shirt from his old company on its' shell for a (the t-shirt came with a bear but the bear couldn't fit in our stuffed bags.) Once the tortoise had become an unwitting sponsor for JBA, he and we both continued on our travels.

The next 20 miles passed more corn fields, bean fields, silos and farms before hitting the outer suburbs of Owensboro. We knew just as soon as we had arrived in the town-proper; it was like cycling into a tv commercial break. Hardees! Arbees! Wendys! Dennys! Huge neon signs on tall posts loomed around the highway. As we cycled hard to keep up with the traffic, I was just able to scan a billboard which read: 'All of society's problems are a direct result of overbreeding amongst the working class'... I was unable to make out the footnote of which particular political party had sponsored this message, but it was a memorable break from the usual automobile or fastfood propaganda!

There were no hotel signs we could see so we stopped at a dazzlingly equipped gas station for directions. Lady luck was on our side; in the form of Lisa. Lady Lisa not only made a great cheap motel recommendation but wrote out a very precise list of directions, to get us there whilst avoiding all major highways.

We effortlessly found our Motel 6, which welcomed us with a swimming pool, air conditioning and ice machine. After over a week in a sweltering tent, these luxuries made me particularly happy about the olympics! Sadly, the channel which was broadcasting the extravaganza was so snowy that you needed an anorak to watch it... So we made a few enquiries and soon found ourselves in a sports bar 'Buffalo Wild Wings'; saluting the Queen on the big screen and downing 3 dollar beers and tater-tots. It was odd to watch such a stirring homage to all things British in an oasis of all things American (the other screens were beaming baseball and basketball; while the table beside us was occupied by a hypo Little League team and their beer-guzzling dads.) A decadent end to our 15^th day on the road. C'mon England and Australia in the medal tally (and isn't air conditioning lovely!)

A word on our Garmin eTrex...

I bought this eTrex because it is an older model. I guessed that given the basic features, the battery life would exceed that of a flashier model. However the manufacturers' guide of '18 hours battery life' is fantasy. I (Sally) am responsible for it and it keeps dying while we are on the road. Admittedly a few times like today, I forgot to turn it on before we left (user fail!) So while our Garmin uploads are an indication of our route, they aren't all-encompassing. Sorry about that!

Day 14, Bardstown to Rough River, 84 miles

We had a slow start to the day, scarfing watermelon and chatting with Kim, who we accompanied to the outskirts of town on our bikes. At the next town, New Haven, we stopped for some bagels and met a kind-eyed old man. He told us with pride that just last evening, Bardstown had been voted 'Most Beautiful Small Town in America' (see below link.) Sadly, we'd peddled through it without the respect it deserved (although we did pause to sniff at the bourbon distillery we passed on its' outskirts.)


http://travel.usatoday.com/destinations/bestoftheroad/story/2012-07-17/The-five-best-small-towns-in-America-2012/56276500/1

The onward cycle from New Haven was all rolling hills, historic farm houses, big red barns and fields of corn, tabbacco and soy. Also lots of livestock - which made me chuckle at the thought of the cow from the Simpsons' 'Tomacooooooo'! (Dave, you know the one!) It was hot and some of the uphills were gruelling, but the country-scape was enjoyable. Another quaint sight was the two Amish horse-drawn carts we passed; one carried a bearded old man and shoeless boy (with ye olde esky/cool box on the cart)-while the other groaned beneath the weight of a family of seven! All were in traditional dress, and eyed us on our bikes with the same interest as we for them.

We made it to our intended campsite after around 60 miles. This was an out of the way gas/everything store amongst dusty corn fields, complete with rocking chairs on the porch. Inside (as you'd expect, the door creaked)- we found an old shop keeper and a plump lady eating a sandwich. The shopkeeper nodded, recognised us as bikers and pointed us towards his guest book. Disconcertingly, what sounded like a parrot continued to break the slightly awkward silence. The sqwarking prove to be a little boy, and the old man muttered some affectionate sounding concessions (there was some guesswork, given his drawl.) The kid finally revealed himself and was clearly just bored and having a joke at our foreign expense. Pops was a character, squinting at us and offering some dry local advise (when I asked for his weather forecast, given the cloud cover, he replied 'well if you feel water on yer then I predict some rain... Not sure about tommorrow but I can predict yesterdays with 100% accuracy.' The sandwich-lady chatted with us about local little league, but we found ourselves glancing at the clock. We knew the river was within 20 miles on our route, and the onward cycle seemed a preferable option to shooting the breeze for the rest of the afternoon. So we downed another coke and hit the road.

The road was closed. They were resurfacing it that afternoon, but we charmed them into letting us pass after a bit of a wait. Beyond, lay a silky smooth, virginal black top, which we enjoyed breaking in! Our tyre-tracks are now immortilised there. The rolling rural hillside made it impossible to cycle without belting out a bit of 'Old man take a look at my life I'm alot like you...' (or indeed anything from Neil Youngs' Harvest album.) There was lightning on the horizon, as we ambled towards a refreshing storm shower. 


By the time we made it to the secluded campground at Rough River, we were refreshed by rain and white with rehydrated sunscreen. We hit the river for a swim before setting up camp. After a soak in the bath-warm waters (8ft below usual level due to the draught)-we dried off and met two local fishermen . After a bit of banter about how the fish are too hot to bite, we asked the hard-hitting question 'Where can we buy beer around here?'. The guys ruefully told us that, this being a dry county, you'd have to drive over an hour for beer. Conveniently, their boss subsidises their wages with a case of beer every 3 days.  (Based on an Australian case, thats' pretty good innings...and I assume an American case is bigger anyway!) So I can see how this prohibition could make sense from an Employers' point of view (pay minimum wage + beer bonus). Still, the whole concept of a dry county bewilders us - and the locals we chat to. One guy told us he has his beer delivered, while another said they just stock up in neighbouring 'Wet Counties'. Surely there are modern day Al Capones' we're not told about. Go figure.


We managed to get the tent up and chow down on more tinned burritos before the next storm descended upon us. The rumble of thunder was almost continuous, and Matt lay awake to the strobe-light spectacular of lightening. Thankfully our little tent survived, and we live to cycle another day.

Day 13 Berea to Bardstown via Danville 76 miles - Zen and the art of bicycle maintanance

Having pitched our tent safe from the storm beneath the RV parks' picnic shelter, we awoke to a dry morning (that storm never did hit anyway.) After a standard breakie of peanut butter on muesli bars, dried fruit and coffee, we decided on a detour from the Trans-Am route, bound South-West for Danville. Yesterday we had expected to find a bike shop in Berea (as per the Trans Am map)-however locals informed us that the 'shop' was actually a guy who dabbles in cycle-surgery when he feels like answering the phone. Sadly he never answered our calls. So we made a B-line for Danville, to fix Matts' broken back wheel (which had become my back wheel - for the astute blog reader!) The savage downhills had gnawed into our brake-blocks, so they all needed replacing too.
The off-route ride to Danville took us past the quaint town of Lancaster. As a Lancaster-Uni graduate, Matt was forlorn to find that on this side of the Atlantic, Lancaster was entirely barren of pubs, kebab shops, Indian takeaways and drunks singing that 'he-ey baby, I wanna know..' song at 2am. Frankly, Lancaster, Kentucky is not worthy of its' Namesake in Lancashire. Still, he posed for a pic. Befittingly, we did spot some nice dry stone walls bordering some nearby properties (like those back in the Mother country.)

Danville was like the spic-and-span town in Back to the Future. We quickly found the bike shop, where we met our smiling saviours; Ernst and Michael. The guys have been helping out Trans-Amers' for almost 20 years, and have a photo album and guest book to proove it. In fact, owner Ernst and his son have cycled the Trans Am twice. In fact Ernst told us of how when he initially did the cycle, the year after the route was launched (in 1977)-some of the stops along the way had been so inundated with smelly hippie cyclists, they bore signs forbidding their patronage! Luckily for us, hippies are pretty much extinct and the towns we pass through all welcome cyclists with open cash registers.

There is something satisfyingy reasurng about steping into a bicycle shop. It has a similar tranquility to a church for us whilst we are on this trip. The smell of bike greece, the shinny dream machines lining the floors and the 'kid in a sweet shop' feeling you get is universal. Which is like the owners really, there is something unique and similar about the people who work and run such places, from Donnie's in Norwich, 53-12 in Colchester to DBFKY- the guys are in it for their passion and love of the sport and the desire to help people enjoy it to the best of their potential. All bike shops are zen like places and the guys here at DBFKY were just that, listening to classical music and investigating with great care the state of a bottom bracket that has done over 7000miles and makes a 'dog frenzying' squek on any gradient, just wanted to give us the best they could to make our trip as enjoyable as possible.

(That was Matts' musings on Bike shops. He was so overcome with reverence that he wouldn't trust me to formulate it in words.)

So from the hallowed halls of Danville Bikes n' Footwear Kentucky, we rode onwards - on significantly smoother bikes. Unfortunately, no bike tinkery could ease the baking afternoon sun and busy traffic as we cycled 40+ miles to Bardstown. On one hill I felt like my brain was panting, and thereby squeezing my skull... So it was not a moment too soon before we finally dragged ourselves into the Walmart just 1 mile away from the campground at Bardstown. Stepping into the airconditioned, cavernous commercial complex was a relief in itself. However it was the offerings of fresh veg and cold beer that really made the journey worthwhile. Given that most of our food-stops occur at Gas stations, any food that expires this month is a refreshing rarity. Beer, in these past dry counties, needs no further explanation.

We rode victorious into the campsite, and I had possibly the best shower of my life (not so much down to the shower but the heat, dust, sunscreen and sweat that the day had lavished upon us.) During this time, Matt built our first campfire - something we have been meaning to do everytime we set up at a State campsite (they all feature a useful steel surround grated firepit.) Sierra Nevada beers, campfire foil-tin toasted grilled cheese & tomato sangas and watermelon. Days later, I feel satisfied just retelling it.

Sprawled by the fire and immobised with fat content, we were approached by an enthusiastic lady on a bike (who had identified us as fellow cyclists). As soon as she spoke with an Australian accent, Matt addressed her; 'Kim? I presume?' Kim is a living legend; her reputation preceded her amongst other Trans Amers and shop keepers' we had encountered. Kim is 25 and has cycled 3,500 miles across the country on her own (have that, dad!) The guys we've met spoke of her with the upmost respect, so we felt honoured to have her by our fire. This is Kims' second epic American route, having completed the Western-Pacific last year. We felt particularly glad to have met her the day before her flight back to Aus, the end of an era. For those of you in the know: the best way to describe Kim is 'an antipodean Pat'. Seriously. (Kim, this is high praise; Pat is known as 'Mr Effort'!)

We could have chatted for ages but the miles took their toll and we hit the proverbial hay by 11pm, leaving a smouldering fire.

Day 12, Buckhorn to Berea, 67 miles

As we turned out of our campsite in Buckhorn, we faced our first hill. The first hour or so of cycling each day is never easy, as the old legs grumble a bit! So we crawled on up the hill, grateful for the shade cast by the lovely trees, and the lack of traffic. We were pleased to meet another turtle crossing our path (compared to the 4x4's that pass us, we are much closer to the turtle in terms of speed)-so Matt performed some Tortoise-roadside rescue. At first Matt put him to the side of the road, but I insisted Matt airlift the tortoise up and over the bank; the equivalent of tortoise Everest. Oh, we also passed the road to London!

We reached the town of Booneville by about 11am, where we stopped to use the internet (yesterdays' blog sponsored by Booneville library). We also enjoyed a salti-licious omlette at a classic local diner. The place was very retro; wood panelling and white-boards with a simple lunch menu of 'cat fish; potatoes; pork chop with everything'-and booths like in Happy Days. The diner was clearly a spot for locals to linger and chat (what with this still being a dry county; the diner has to serve the societal function of the pub.) Fuelled and blog updated, we hit another hilly road, on our way to Berea.

Thankfully, the landscape is quite different from yesterday; more farmland, smaller roads and a blessed cool breeze on the hilltops. We had a long, shall we say 'attention consuming' descent (read; a bit sketchy)- into the lower lands. Thankfully, the shoulder was very wide, but it was a bit of a slalom for roadside debris. Lunch was some crisps, soda and sugary stuff out front of a gas station, on a bench reserved for 'Liars and Traders'.

Finally, we rolled down into Berea; puzzlingly, a college town in a dry county. The mind boggles. Anyway, we easily found our campsite/RV park destination for the evening, where we were met by some real Kentucky characters. First, we met Jim; a 62 year old ultra marathon trail runner. He looked bronzed and fit as a fiddle - Matt could have continued to chat to him about running, but Jim was more interested in telling us about his trips to London... His honky-tonk wife was (wait for it)-a Rolling Stones groupie! As such, he had been dragged along to a few Stones' tours. He then revealed his tawny upper arm to show us the classic 'Stones Jagger mouth logo tattoo... This made sense of the same logo spray-painted in the forecourt of the park. Jim directed us to the swimming pool and $8 Buffet up the road.... Wild Horses couldn't drag me away from this place!

The swim, as ever after a day of hot, dusty cycling, was blissful. On our way to the buffet, Matt momentarily wavered on our mode of transport... A sweet Dodge for $3000. No doubt we'll both wistfully think of that car on future hot stretches of road. Back at the buffet, four plates of pizza/Mexican/salad went down a treat. The only slight downer was how h-o-t it was that night. After failing to sleep in the tent, Matt removed the outer shell and we finally drifted of in our mesh sauna/cocoon.

Day 11, Lookout to Buckhorn, 97 miles (!!)

I call this entry 'Ken-Trucky'.


We set out from our airconditioned sports-hall home after a bowl of cereal - which is a special treat these days! From there, it was a hot uphill slog. Our route through Kentucky so far has taken in differnt sights to Virginia. Industry rather than agriculture, trailer parks instead of houses. Moreover - hills! Big, slow burning ones. The brightside of these hills is that they are inevitably followed by fun donwhills. Sure they require full concentration on the road, but also blast your tired, sweaty limbs with a cool breeze while you rest your legs. Plus you feel like you're in a car ad (without being in a car.)

A word on trucks. Being a mining state, big trucks abound. Where there is no shoulder, we pull into the first driveway and let the blighters pass. As we are on the Trans-Am route, cyclists are a common fixture and the truckers are courteous. Doesn't make for peaceful riding though!
Along the road we met Mark from Arizona, cycling in the opposite direction. He was nearing the end of his Trans-Am, which he started in May, from Oregon (the traditional Trans Am route; whereas we take the 'Western Express' from Pueblo.) It was reassuring to hear Marks' stories from the road, and while he admitted theres' been trying days, he concluded 'looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way'. We shall look out for his blog in a few weeks, to see his victorious ending-picture, at Yorktown (where we set out.)

After 40 miles, we stopped at a lonely gas station for caffeine & carbs. This place was like a museum of items from the special aisle in Aldi. Amongst the eclectically-positioned ready meals, candy and cereals were: a blazer (for sale)- and fishing equipment. We sat in a nearby church yard and refuelled. It was at this point that I discovered that Matt had planned another 50 miles for us this day. Not one to back down, I simply nodded and got on with it. However I will say this (with Dave in mind)- I had to seriously 'give it some Gordon' over the next hours that passed. The road was too busy for ipod distraction, so I had to set my internal radio to a mash-up of Alice in Chains, AC/DC and Iron Maiden. I later discovered Matt was doing much the same! Several times I thought of Churchhills line 'When you're going through hell; keep going.' It was about that hot, the roads kept stretching upwards, the trucks kept passing... Crikey, it was hot! I meditated on the sense of accomplishment we would have once we arrived, and moreover - the cold beer we would chug-alug once we rolled into the campsite. This was hands down the hardest day so far, but we made it.

After a few more hills, we finally reached Buckhorn National park. Without discussion, we stopped at the Gas station for beer. Having frantically scanned the fridge, we asked the morbidly obese teenager behind the counter where the beer was at. He smugly told us this was a 'dry county'. I will restrain myself from expressing here the dark thoughts I had at this point... If I wasn't quite sure there was some kind of firearm behind the counter, I would have shaken the tubby expletive. Kentucky; you don't have to wear a helmet when you scream down the road on a motorcycle; you dont' have to have licence plates on the front of your car; but you can't drink a beer after cycling 97 miles in blazing sun. (More dark, unpublishable thoughts here.)

The campsite was lousy with mesquitos and unsavoury characters, so that we avoided leaving our bikes and gear out of sight. We relayed showers etc, finally got to eating the tinned stuff we bought for dinner days ago, put our knees on ice (literally)- and soon crashed out. Onwards and Upwards (in every sense - as we are surrounded by hills here!)