This too is America...

6/26/20

I arrive at the little convenience store with three single gas pumps out front, and a drink machine with a full length Dr. Pepper front panel. The store sits at the intersection of state Highway 16 and Grassy Creek Road, right at the NC/VA border.

Oh good, the porta-jon is still out back.

I park Sir Edward, the 1999 Ford Explorer, in the dirt lot behind the store near the porta-jon, which I readily make use of.

It's a beautiful day. Vibrant blue sky. Fluffy white clouds. Temperature around 77 degrees F. Perfect day for a bike ride.

On the 1-1/2 hour drive up I had the thought, I'm feeling well. My epidural from last week is working. Maybe I should skip biking and just head up to Grayson Highlands. I wonder if I could actually hike to Thomas Knob Shelter?

Due to nerve damage, I haven't been able to do the shelter-hike since 2014. It's a rugged, 7-mile round trip with lots of rocks.

No, no way. I can barely hike two miles, much less seven. And on those rocks.

I open Edward's hatchback door and pull out Bleu, my Trek 820 bicycle. I balance her on her kickstand and drop oil on her chain. To distribute the oil along the chain, I kick up the stand and hold Blue's boy-bar with my left hand while spinning the pedals backward with my right. I then kick down the stand, and she balances on her own again.

I apply sunscreen to my arms and face and bug repellent to vulnerable body parts. I sit in the back of Edward, legs dangling over the back bumper, with the hatchback door raised. I pull up one leg at a time and place that foot on the bumper while I take off my Teva sandals and put on my Teva biking shoes, which technically aren't biking shoes.

I strap Bleu's headlight to her right handle bar and pull up-and-out her already-attached-to-the-left-handle-bar rearview mirror. I put my water bottle in the holder attached to her angled bar below her boy-bar. "Her" "boy-bar;" she's a true bi-cycle.

I lock Edward with a beep from my key fob. I hide the keys under the sheepskin on the driver's seat and close all his doors except the hatchback. Edward has a keypad entry. No need to carry keys with me.

I don my yellow-and-black biking gloves and strap on my screaming-yellow brain-bucket. I buckle my black hip pack around my waist and slide it so that the pouch is in the back.

Hip pack necessities include empty baggies for devices in case of rain, a baggie with tissue if I need to pee, a baggie to put any used tissue in, a little metal tin that holds stomach-acid relievers, my asthma inhaler, a referee whistle for bears or emergencies, an old driver's license for idee, a $10 bill, my bluetooth to listen to music, and a mask in case I need to have close contact with a person.

I turn on Blue's flashing headlight and flashing taillight. Grassy Creek Road is a lightly traveled, country auto-road, not a greenway. I take the motto "be seen" seriously.

I tap Cyclemeter on my phone-screen, the app to track my mileage and other particulars. My phone has no service up here, but the app works offline. My Pandora music app also has offline stations. I might listen to music on the last half of my ride. I strategically place a couple paper napkins over my phone-screen to protect it from overheating in the sunlight and stuff it in the zipper pouch that's part of my black carry-pocket attached with Velcro to Bleu's boy-bar. I leave the zipper part-way open to keep the insides from getting too hot for my phone.

My black carry-pocket holds a spare tire tube, two small air canisters with one small pump, and three tire levers for changing out the tube if I have a flat. I don't have the strength to change a tube. But trail-magic has worked both times I've had a flat when riding; an "angel" comes along adept at tube-changing.

I better check with the store folks to make sure it's still okay that I park in the back. The clerk is warm and friendly and gives me a thumbs up.

I bike around eight miles - six on Grassy Creek and two on Brook Green. Three cars pass, only one going my direction.

On Brook Green I encounter two sets of dogs, two dogs in each set. I dismount and walk my bike letting them know I respect their territories. One set belongs to a couple kids out playing. The kids come over to hold the dogs who look like mixed-breed spaniels, beautiful markings. The kids and I chat for a few moments as I walk by pushing Bleu. The other set of dogs look like mixed-breed pitbulls. On their second barking round I take off my helmet to look less strange. On their third barking round as I walk pass talking to them in a friendly, respectful manner and keeping my fear scent in check, the owner walks out of his dwelling and calls them back. We exchange a friendly chat. Once passed the pits' territory, I put my helmet back on, get on the saddle and ride.

On my return ride back to Edward, I was, as usual taken by the scenery.

Blue skies. White clouds. Rolling Virginia hills of the Blue Ridge. A gentle breeze kisses my cheeks. In the distance cows graze; a tractor rolls across a dirt field.

I dismount. I breathe in the scene, taking pause...

This too is America...

Such a contrast to what I read in some news' takes, right and left, about the "carnage," "destruction," "chaos," "war zones," "anarchy," and how "horrible" this country is, supposedly on "the brink of collapse." Exaggerations? In my opinion, yes. At least for now. And when viewed in a historical perspective.

I have no doubt that at some point there will be war, in the truest sense, on our soil. War that wreaks havoc strewn across our landscapes and concrete jungles. It seems inevitable, because that's what greed does.

But the scenes before me this day are hopeful.
Peaceful.
Holding their joys and sorrows from the past.
Survival.

Once back to Edward, I doff my biking gear and let it all air in the sun while I eat my turkey sandwich and orange as I sit on Edward's back bumper with the hatch open. The scene now in front of me. Worn metal storage units, an old VW Beetle, a dumpster. Dirt, gravel, green grass and trees. Blue sky, sunshine, white clouds.

This too is America...

After eating I load everything up for the 20-minute drive to the magical Grayson Highlands wondering what awaits me.

I'll get to visit my friend Grandfather Fir, my prayer tree...