Oh, the beautiful Ohio!

--Maysville, KY, four days out, about 206 miles underwheel. No problems but some formidable hills between Carrolton, KY and here. A few I shall never forget.

If I succumbed to all the worldly tempations to become a grouch (I yet resist), I would blame my situation on Roger for planting the alluring idea of bicycle touring about a year ago with his talk of Bavaria, the Czech Republic and large pints of delicious beer. I would blame Ed Parish for sharing that great 16-mile loop around New Albany, which I took many times last summer while my fair daughter was at swim team practice at Camille Wright pool. I would blame Debbie Harbeson for her delightful late summer post about weekend ride that included ing up Corydon Pike.

You, and others, urged me on with this and now I am out in the middle of it all, far away, on a bike?!!

Verging on old coot, (60 later this summer), the thought something grand, expansive, larger than I could see appealed to both the 12-year old inside and the now grey uncertain what more aging would bring.

Hell, why not go 1,000 miles on a bike, get sunburned, get rained on, camp out in woods and pastures, meet strangers and see immense skies full of stars at night? When the Adventure Bicycling Association (www.adv-cycling.org) came up with its only second historical-themed national trail, the Underground Railroad, it clicked. Ride north, follow the drinking gourd, follow Spring and extend the cool weather, it all made sense.

Between central Indiana and Eastern Ohio were 15 major crossings for blacks fleeing slavery to the Northern states and ultimate freedom in Canada. Over the past few years, I met and spoke with historians Pam Peters in Floyd County, Jeannie Burke in Clark County and Dr. J. Blaine Hudson at University of Louisville and started to learn about the history of the Underground Railroad, arguably the nation's largest civil disobediance movement that cut across lines of race, education, economic standing and social class.

So, with that as intellectual companion, along with the 12-year old's curiosity, I set off last Monday from the Carnegie Center (go see their exhibit, "Common people, Uncommon Courage", it is one of the best of its kind).

No, I did not become a hardbody fanatic like Ed before leaving. February was so damn cold, I could get off my Nordic Trac and onto a bike until March. But I ride and explore, mostly the western side of the county from Georgetown to Starlight and Greenville to N. Skyline Drive.
I did the loop down to New Albany and up Corydon Pike several times and friends Joe Ward and David Runge took me for a test ride, fully-loaded from Memphis up and out 160 over Pixley Knob on the way to Pekin and back before pronouncing me "ready to go".

I am still training into the trip. Fifty seven miles up to Clifty Falls day one was civilized and included a nice lunch at the Copper Kettle in Charlestown, but my butt was still sore when I got there.
Through Madison and over that skinny bridge into Milton, KY and then up 36 along the river to Carrolton was still a shakedown. No problems and the bowl of vegetable soup with corn bread and as much sweetened ice tea I could drink (they even filled my bottles before I left) at Welch's Restaurant for $3.85 holds the hallmark of hospitality and value. The two-mile climb ing up to Easterday was the trip's first serious altitude challenge but was soon followed by crossing I-71 and an exhilerating four-mile downhill spree down to Eagle Station.

I camped outside of Sparta that night, once cattle and tobacco country now tatooed by NASCAR images because of the new 1 1/2 mile track there. Trains rumbled by most of the night, their horns seldom woke me and morning brought a beautiful, mist-filled valley in which cows were still lowing their appreciation.

At breakfast at Marty Miler's "Quick Stop", where Mary McKenzie makes sandwiches so large they fall off the bread for $3, they warned me that what was behind me was no problem, "Now up to Folsom, that's a hill." Pedaling under sunny skies along Eagle Creek and the CSX grade made for a nice warm up, but that hill was "a real hill". It didn't take long, even down on my 26 inch grany gear, for my knees to ache and muscles to start shaking. Before losing balance and my whole rig a jumped off panting and sweating rivulets. Trudging up, pushing 28 pounds of bike with another 35 pounds of gear, trying not to get caught on the pedal or the panniers, I swear parts of that climb were near a 30 degree slope. I'm not sure how the formula works, but looking straight ahead, from eye level it wasn't but 90 feet before five feet in altitude was covered.

I later was able to ride up a similar climb out of Grassy Creek up to Hwy. 27 and into Falmouth, but going north from there to Kinkaid Lake S.P., there was another third mile of the steepest incline I had ever seen. Late in the day, pouring sweat, working to broach the crest, I was humbled. But 200 miles out, it seemed no shame to continue, even if I had to walk and push my dream over a few tough hills along the way.

Yesterday was like a five-hour workout at the gym, mostly pumping up rollers along ridge tops to Lenoxburg, Brooksville (fantastic sandwiches at Shari's Family Cafe, f/k/a (sic) Empirial Chile), Germantown and into Maysville. No problems, but I am taking a rest day to let my legs recover here where there is a library, bike shop and a few nice restaurants

Simple gratitude for: courteous drivers who slow down and pass safely and then wave or honk when they do; hot water showers at the end of the day, oh, Lord do they feel good; curious kids and kind people who merely say, "you're doing what?"; and how frequently the tale of your own adventure opens people up with smiles and advice and sharing all sorts of stories about their lives, their community and what's good about this all.

I'm going to check out the pub for lunch and see if they have a proper ale, porter or stout to quench my deepened thirst. Cheers.