Matt n Sal hit the USA

Our first day on the road!

71 miles; Yorktown to Glendale.

We woke early in the Yorktown Motor Inn, and Matt rapidly busied himself getting the bikes and trailer out of their boxes and assembled, while I did not much. The motel was one of those single-story U-shaped jobs; surrounding a parking lot and swimming pool. We tucked into the free 'Continental' breakfast in the motel office; some sugary cereal, coffee, and Matt tried a plastic-wrapped dohnut which, revealingly, even he couldn't manage. Sugar-loaded, we rode 3 miles to the official starting point of our Trans-America cycle; dipping our rear wheels into the Atlantic at Yorktowns' placid shoreline. We were thankful for a sunny yet overcast and not yet sweltering day; good beginner conditions.

From there we only had to cycle a further 3 miles before realising we were on the wrong road... Something about the sound of 'Naval Weapons Store' gave me a hunch we may not come across a convenient path back through to our intended road. So we pedalled back to the now-obvious road towards Williamsburg; pausing only to pose for a photo by a civil war relic cannon (straddling it 'Cher, Turn back Time' style'. Obvs.)

The road wond through woodland and over picturesque bridges before reaching Williamsburg and Jamestown; spotless towns of English colonial heritage. Many a plaque commemorates a battle here and original dwelling there... The brick buildings are so spotlessly preserved that they look like they were built in the '90's (by which I mean less Founding Fathers and more Puff Daddy.) Still, it was interesting to ride past pieces of American history (complete with women in colonial fancy-dress, showing kids how to hit a wheel with a stick.. What IS that game called?!)

Beyond Jamestown the road stretched out into woodland. Part of the route was narrow bike lanes, while the remainder shared with normal traffic (less enjoyable but more direct!) Our Adventure Cycling map indicated that the town ahead, Charlestown, had shops for food and water refuelling purposes. We had almost passed through what seemed to be the suburban sprawl of Charlestown-proper, before we wondered whether this was actually 'it'. Not a single store, or tap. Matt wandered across the road to ask a guy working in his backyard where we could find a store. I watched as Matt accompanied this chap into his house, and emerge with a plastic bag full of water bottles. Matt was thanking him profusely as he waved us off with a 'Y'all have a nice day now'. Sweet Virginia indeed! We guzzled down the cold water and conceded a lesson learned on day 1 of our ride: 'Town' on the map means nothing. Britain faces concerns about the 'homogenisation' of the highstreet and death of small business; but what we've seen of the US seems to be several steps ahead. While driving from New York to Yorktown yesterday, we had wondered about the identical strip-malls that punctuate the highways; 'who shops here? There are no houses around!' Today we saw the flipside; residential areas without shops. Case closed; long live the automobile!

While we hugely appreciative of our Aquarius, we were still in need of calories. So we cycled on in the heat; rounding each corner in the hope for an increasingly implausible shop (gas station? fruit stall?!) Each successive stretch of road became a little harder, and seemed a tad less scenic; especially when we once again ran out of water! We pulled into Glendale without getting our hopes up, and were thankful to come across some restrooms at a deserted visitors centre. Several rounds of warm water later, the road ahead seemed surmountable. Our map indicated that there was a campsite in the town, and we felt renewed confidence a shop would accompany it. Down a hill and eureka- an old gas station. I waited with the bikes around the corner, while Matt went inside to get directions to the campsite and case the food-situation. He emerged with good, bad and better news; cyclists needed to call ahead for accomodation. However the guy in the shop had phoned around for us, and someone who could help was on his way. Better still; the store sold beer (and food.) Matt returned inside the store to await our campsite-bearer and I sat on the ground by my bike. Shortly thereafter, an ancient Ford pulled over with an older-still driver. Enter, Louie. I can't say exactly what Louie yelled from his open window, his drawl was so thick. He pulled up the car and lurched out towards me. Louie still had a few teeth, squinted with one eye, and seemed to understand me about as well as I understood him. He had received the call, and was here to show us to the church. Noone was there right now, so the shopkeeper had called Louie over to show us into the Methodist church. I nodded rapidly and bolted around the corner to get Matt; I had been expecting some clean cut rep from a campsite to show up... Louie was like a Simpsons charicature. Luckily, Matt had a better understanding of the scenario, having chatted with the storekeeper. We followed Louies' car on our bikes, and he was soon showing us around a very tidy, airconditioned church. He showed us the guest book, signed by countless Trans-America cyclists; and walked us around the church facilities with heart-wrenching consideration for our well-being. We nodded and smiled alot, because there was much guess-work involved in our dialogue. When Louie asked where we were from, we couldnt tell whether he didn't know where England was, or just really didn't care - such was his shrugged response. I was genuinely moved by Louies' attempts to make us feel at home, and the generous policy of the church towards touring cyclists. Matt and I are both truly humbled.

After Louie left us, we experienced another first; - hosing ourselves down in a churchyard. We were so covered in dirt-encrusted sunscreen residue, the hose down was as glorious as any shower I've ever had. Refreshed, we walked back down to the store, for beer, beans, peanuts and taco shells (our vegetarian choices in the absence of vegetables.) Vegetables weren't missed! We ducked sheepishily into a field to drink our beers before returning to the church for 'bean tacos'. I left a candid, humbled message in the guest book along with a donation to the church, and am about to join Matt in slumber... He is out-cold, in a sleeping bag on the floor of a Methodist church in Virginia. Not where I expected to wind up this evening, but am very glad for it.