One Thousand Miles

One Thousand Miles
Leaving a forecast of frost and a hillside of color, Phil and I drove out of Middlesex on Friday, September 14. We were embarking on a three-day journey that would take us backwards through the seasons - from fall to summer – spitting us out in North Carolina. Our Volkswagon Rabbit was loaded with bikes on the rack and bags of tools and spandex in the back. We were on our way to Brevard to race the Pisgah Stage Race, a five day adventure that would take us deep into the Pisgah National Forest, over 28,300 feet of elevation and across 177 miles. The idea to register for the Pisgah has gained momentum last winter on the indoor trainer. After the peak experience of the BC Bike Race last summer, we had both done our share of googling the web sites of various stages races to see if one piqued our interest: the BreckEpic was held at an altitude of 11000 feet, the TransRockies had too much fire road, the TransAlps required an international flight. Pisgah, on the other hand, was appealing because we could drive and the trail networks of these mountains had seemed to recently take on a legendary status in mountain bike magazines and post-ride beer conversations. We knew we had enthusiastic caregivers for Austin and Carson waiting in the wings. Phil’s parents were more than willing to visit Vermont for ten days during fall foliage and have the opportunity to be there for things like the boys’ first soccer game. My parents had played the role last summer when we went to BC and the boys did well over 12 days, despite us never previously leaving them for more than a weekend.

From Green Mountains to the Blue Ridge
After putting Austin and Carson on the bus, downloading last minute instructions to Hebe and Jim, and reviewing the packing checklist for the thousandth time, Phil and I said goodbye to Vermont. The first day’s 8 hour stretch of highways and byways only took us through two other states: New York and Pennsylvania. We meandered along the forest edges of the Adirondacks, the Catskills and the Delaware Gap National Recreation Area. We listened to religious radio while reading the messages posted at the prolific Baptist churches, like “Seven days without prayer, makes a WEAK.” We listened to an NPR program on obesity and the inspiring story of the Oklahoma City mayor who led a fitness and food revolution, where residents lost a collective million pounds in 4 years. We then stopped at countless gas stations where it is all too easy to leave with a super-size fountain drink and fast food. At about 8pm, we stumbled upon the artsy town of Carlisle, PA for dinner and a bed. The historic district of town was intermingled with the brownstones of Dickinson College. We parked across from the Carlisle Theater where Josh Ritter was playing (we saw him as the opening act of Greg Brown at The Flynn Theater years ago) and took a sidewalk table next door at The Green Room Bistro. The ambiance for our meal of tempura squash blossoms stuffed with goat cheese and grass-fed beef was generated at the table next to us, where a father and his two sons were played music. Not only were the boys (who must have been around 12 & 14) gifted on the fiddle and guitar, we learned they had both competed in the USTA National Triathlon Championships in Burlington this past August.

Relative Roots 
Our drive the second day was short because we were stopping in Charlottesville, VA to visit my cousin Paul, his wife Megan and 5-month-old son, Sam. Paul has always been one of my closest cousins, as our families spent a lot of time together growing up. My mother was the oldest of 8 siblings and Paul’s mother was next in line. I remember many vacations at the Buschi’s house on Cape Cod, where my two sisters and I would hang out with Paul and his brother David. I remember runs on the beach out to Nauset point and sitting around the big harvest table devouring fresh seafood and steaming corn. Paul and I shared bike rides on the Cape the college summer I took the train to visit. Intending to stay for two weeks, I stayed for six, getting a job at bakery in the mornings and riding my bike to Providencetown or on the trails in Nickerson State Park in the afternoons. Even at that time (20 years ago), Paul had already had a few bike adventures under his belt, from biking Route 1 from California to Alaska and racing mountain bikes while at college in Missoula, MO. I went to watch him race at Mount Snow in the mid 90’s when he was a Pro for Trek and have followed him finishing the Shenandoah 100 thirteen times. At Paul and Megan’s wedding at the Elk River Lodge, near Snowshoe Resort in West Virgina, Phil and I had dinner and danced with champions Jeremiah Bishop, Chris Eatough and Sue Haywood. _____ After paralleling the ramrod-straight spine of the Shendandoah National Forest for what seemed like a hundred miles, we cut over hwy 64 to Charlottesville. It was great to hang out with Paul and sweet little Sam, who was either smiling or sleeping during our entire visit. Phil and I went for a light spin behind his house on trails that led up to the historical Observatory of Thomas Jefferson. Megan came home from work and we rolled the jogger down the block to sample local wood fired pizza and IPAs from the Blue Ridge Brewing Company. The next morning, we had more playtime time with Sam and breakfast at the Downtown Mall (which was designed by the same person behind the pedestrian malls of Burlington (Church St) VT, Boulder, CO and Ashville, NC). We then dropped Paul off at work at the bike shop and packed up our belongings.


Home of the White Squirrels (and Us for the Week)
The mountains rose sharply to the east and west, and as we drove they seemed to multiply in layers. We had an occasion sighting of the Blue Ridge Parkway or at least an access road leading to it. Since Phil and I had both been on the Parkway before, we knew it was tucked in the wild mountains and wound its way in tune with its rocky and undulating surroundings. The odometer we had set at zero in Vermont crossed the 1,000-mile mark as we passed the Asheville agricultural fairgrounds with its rodeo pens and amusement rides. 30 miles later we were driving down Main Street of Brevard, classic small town America with storefronts of artisan shops and soda fountain cafes. We pulled into the quaint Red House Inn and were greeted by owners, Tracie and Daniel, who showed us into the cozy backyard cottage we’ve rented for the week. They shared dinner recommendations and enthusiasm for the race. Not only are they race sponsors, they have played a large role in the local riding scene from trail work to events. As we crossed the lawn towards dinner, we spotted our first white squirrel scampering amid the baseball-size black walnuts. Brevard is quiet this time of year so there were only a handful of others at the Brevard Brewing Company where a local chef was hosting Sunday night, all-you-can-eat barbeque. We sidled up to live-edge, character-marked wood tables to delicious IPAs and dishes of pork, beans, slaw and brownies. Back at the cottage, we checked in at home and were impressed to hear that the boys had asked to go to bed at 7:30. Hebe and Jim had exhausted them by giving them a trip to the Jay Peak Pump House. Between that and the blueberry pancakes, we knew they were in good hands! Tomorrow, we’ll check out the nearby Bracken Mountain Trail for a few pre-race “pops” and late afternoon we’ll attend the Race Opening Ceremony at the Brevard Music Center. More tomorrow!