One state down, eight to go.
The four of us made great time this morning, completing 45 miles before our lunch stop in Elkhorn City, just over the border into Kentucky, noting our accomplishment with a group photo in front of the “Welcome to Kentucky” sign.
Crossing our first state line was a tangible sign of progress. It never again seemed so far from one of a state to the other as it did while crossing Virginia, and not until I crossed into Oregon many miles later did I experience such keen pleasure at my accomplishment.
Our riding took us through a shockingly destitute environment. The contrast between the affluence of eastern Virginia and the poverty of eastern Kentucky could hardly have been more striking. Forced to walk our bikes over a one and a half mile stretch of gravel road, we became a bit unnerved, initially because of the terrain, then because the surroundings appeared so hostile that we worried we might be in danger. Broken-down tar paper shacks, barking dogs on chains, and strange-looking folk who eyed us suspiciously were common elements of the scenery.
The rainy overcast weather contributed to my overall impression of an industrial Hades equal to the Romantic poets’ worst nightmares. Sodden with liquefied coal dust, Jeff and I stopped in a small valley to wait for the girls late in the day, and, as the sun sank, a telephone lineman doing repairs nearby remarked matter-of-factly that he “wouldn’t want to stick around these parts after dark,” all while we surveyed the surrounding old house-trailers and jerry-built plasterboard and shingle boxes that passed for houses, as well as the pile of beer and soda cans damming an adjacent creek.
By the time the girls showed up, Jeff was ready for us to hitchhike to Pippa Passes, the next town of any size. But I wasn’t ready to abbreviate my cross-country trip, even by a few miles, and I insisted I’d carry on by bike, even if it meant riding alone.
But then things began to look up. A fellow stopped his truck as we walked along the gravel road and gave us two beers (thanks in part to Jeff’s diplomacy).
And our concerns about where to stay for the night were pacified when aother passerby offered up his yard as a camping spot for the night. The couple next door …. Wilma and Paul Elkins …were just as helpful, letting us use their bathroom, and taking us to use nearby pay phones and buy food. We also accompanied Paul on an errand to buy moonshine, .. and helped taste test it as well.
Paul told us that Pike County was the coal capital of Kentucky … and that it had the nicest people you would ever want to meet. I reckoned that he was probably right on both counts.