To Louisville, Day 3 - Louisville!

I’m finally in Louisville. I’m staying at an apartment that a couple of my friends just moved into, and there is not yet any internet here, so this is being posted a few days later. Regardless, here’s what happened on the last day.

I woke up, still in my tent. It was one of those nice, foggy, crisp mornings, with dew everywhere. I packed everything up at a deliberate pace, and set off after a breakfast that cost far more than it was perhaps worth--the place where I stayed was behind a building that also housed a Denny’s. In any case, I had a spectacular hash, with eggs and coffee to boot.

I kept pedaling. I missed a turn that was evidently crucial to avoiding the ever-malevolent Route 60, so I wound up on 60, after asking directions to Louisville from people who had obviously never traveled any distance by bike in their lives. It turned out to be yet another time I had been the recipient of hospitality for which I hadn’t really asked.

Route 60 (Shelbyville Road) started out well enough: three or four lanes, often with a sidewalk. But, as with my previous 60 experience, it gradually narrowed until it was two lanes with neither shoulder nor sidewalk. It was slightly less busy than my initial 60 experience, but ultimately, I pulled off the road, then saw, not only a house, but a house with a pick-up truck in its driveway. I resolved to ask whoever lived there if I could hitch a ride from them. It turned out, though, that I didn’t have to go that far.

As I was walking my bike up the driveway to the house, a truck pulled up to the driveway, the passenger window rolled down. I walked over. The man driving asked if my bike had broken down; I said that it hadn’t, just that I was beat and the road was doing me no favors, and that I’d greatly appreciate a ride up until the road wasn’t so horrible. He said he was headed to a John Deere station a ways back, but afterward he was headed toward Louisvile. We loaded the bike into the truck bed and set off. He introduced himself as Trey.

On the road, we talked a bit. Trey was kind, and had been through some rough times. He urged me to go back to college eventually. I’m still not convinced. Maybe in Europe I’ll go to a college. Who knows.

Trey let me off in Midtown, close to the St. Matthew part of Louisville. I kept biking, asked for directions to the University of Louisville, got confused, then got lost in Seneca Park. That was my favorite part of the ride, even though my leg muscles would retaliate the following few days. And the icing on that cake: I came out of the park on a road that led directly to the University. Imagine that.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing and sipping coffee. It was quite satisfying, after going roughly 100 miles over the last few days. Here’s to the next hundred.

To Louisville, Day 2 - Enforced Rest Day

I headed out from Frankfort this morning and immediately realized I was not going to reach Louisville until the next day. My thighs were sore, my body and mind were still exhausted. I hadn’t given myself enough rest from yesterday’s exertions.

I made it out to a gas station/truck stop and began asking about places where I might camp for the night, as well as going through a couple of couch-surfing websites. I got no response, and searches for nearby campsites proved fruitless. So I asked the manager of the place if I could pitch a tent somewhere. She said no, it was against rules, but to try a different one down the road and see what they said.

I found the next place, another truck/gas stop, and asked the first employee I came across about the possibility of camping. “We’re not supposed to let people camp here,” she said. Then, after a moment’s pause: “Tell you what. You didn’t hear this from me, but if you go way out past the trucks, there’s an RV parking lot, and let me tell you, nobody--nobody--parks their RVs there. There are big fields of tall grass on either side, and if you go far enough into the grass and pitch your tent there, you’d be hidden well enough to spend the night.”

I took my bike behind the field of semitrucks, feeling extremely small walking amongst those monsters yet somehow completely at ease. There was the RV parking lot, completely empty as promised, a snake of asphalt winding through tall grass from the truck lot to the road. I walked my bike down the lot, eyeballing about halfway between, and parked my bike.

That’s when I started to panic. Of course, it’s easier to read about veteran cyclists who do this on an almost nightly basis, but doing this for the first time myself was honestly nerve-wracking. The what-ifs flooded my brain: “What if I get caught? What if the police find me? What if one of the truckers saw me and rat me out?” Eventually, though, everything sorted itself out. Nobody would catch me because I would be hidden, not only by the grass, but by darkness itself. If the police caught me, which they wouldn’t, they would give me a place to stay. The truckers have better things to do with their lives than worry about a lone cyclist making no impact on anyone else’s life.

So I left the bike to walk back to the gas station and bought a bottle of water that was actually cold, thanked the employee for the tip, and set off into the grass to try my hand at stealth-camping for the first time. After setting up my tent and crawling inside, I went to sleep easily; the only sight was the enormously tall lights to allow the truckers to see their way through the lot, and the only sound was the hum of engines.

On the Way to Louisville, Day 1

Right now I'm sitting at the Love's truck stop, about 40 miles from Louisville, drinking McDonald's coffee. My legs have decided to rebel for the time being, which means I probably won't get there until tomorrow. Oh well. One lives and learns. And by the way, McDonald's coffee has never been this refreshing, ever. I feel like that's a justifiable plug: "Drink McDonald's coffee after more than 60 miles on a bicycle. It's refreshing."

Yesterday at about 7:30am, I started my bike trip from Winchester KY to Louisville. I actually got to Lexington in record time, but the fact that I had an appointment for which I had to wait over an hour to begin meant a lot of wandering around town. I ate a tin of sardines in the little smoking space off to the side of Meijer, which is where I parked my bike because it had a roof and the weather had spontaneously decided to be wet for five minutes.

I waited for Half Price Books to open so I could shamelessly be a cheapskate, drinking a cup of their free coffee while looking through the clearance section, where I found and bought a copy of Anna Karenina for a dollar. I figure that, if I read one chapter a day, it should last me about thirty years. The coffee was a different story.

And then I just set out, I suppose. It took me a little while to get on track, given that Google Maps literally had me biking in a huge circle, then for some reason adding a bunch of other unnecessary directions, which I weeded out at a Hardee's on Winchester Road.

After that, things were considerably smoother. I rode the 12-mile length of the Legacy Trail, which runs from Northern Lexington up to Georgetown. The fact that it's mostly isolated from motor traffic made it thoroughly enjoyable. On top of that, about halfway through I caught sight of a man unloading his bike from his car. We exchanged a friendly wave, and I rode on. Several minutes later, he passed me up, and we exchanged another wave and a smile. Then, as I approached the end of the trail, he passed me again, riding the other way. We both broke into laughter. It's fascinating, the fleeting experiences you can have with people that you literally will never meet again. We didn't exchange so much as a word.

Iron Works Pike was pleasant. One memorable experience from that: at the end of Iron Works, I noticed a Baptist Church with a pavilion just off to the side, and I pulled in to have a bit of a sit-down and some food, and read a little. Just after I had finished packing up, as I was walking out of the pavilion, a flash thunderstorm started. I immediately ducked back into the pavilion, thankful that I hadn't left one minute earlier, and wrote and read a bit more, waiting the storm out. What can I say? Even Baptist churches can be helpful sometimes. But then, after the storm had ended, I stepped out into the surrounding grass and immediately found myself ankle-deep in water. Thanks, Jesus.

The last ten miles were a bit of a blur, as I just wanted to get to my friend's house. Once I got there, he welcomed me in, fed me quite a bit (he, being a cyclist himself, knew what I was doing), showed me the shower, helped plan the rest of my route, and then I went to bed.