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.