Blog

As a light sleeper as soon as the house moves, I wake up. With no crying baby in the morning, I instead woke up to the coffee being ground, which is such a better way to wake up. Once I moved, the two year old was ready to party. I had been mulling over Brian’s warning about the weather all night, but had decided to leave anyways. I goggled places to stay along the way just in case and headed out. I had a my first massive climb of the tour up a county road to the Blue Ridge Parkway. I discussed the route with Brian, who convinced me that there was a longer, but easier grade up. The caveat was that there was way more traffic. I had handled the worst traffic and roads in Maryland and DC, so was not nearly as concerned about VA state highway traffic.

Five miles later and I was passing thru Rockfish Gap and onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was glorious, but hilly, and possibly mountainous. When I got to the visitor’s center, I inquired about the impending weather. The response scared me. I had five miles, almost entirely uphill, followed by four more miles of up and down until I would reach a group of cabins I was considering stay in. I had less than an hour and half before the rain hit me according to the visitor’s center. I kicked off and hauled ass as much as possible to make it before the storm hit. I arrived in Love, VA at Royal Oaks Cabins at 1:15; the rain hit at 1:45. I got an efficiency cabin, three shitty microwave meals, a box of Cheeze-Itz, and four DVDs. It rained all day. Every hour I took a photo to justify to myself staying there. I was justified so many times over. It rained until at least midnight with high wind gusts through out that time. I watched two of the four DVDs, and passed out. It was a nice short day.
Downhill and Lexington VA (not KY)

There was an intense downhill that had ultimately influenced my decision to stay over the previous night. Going down in the rain and wind would be exceedingly dangerous, not to mention stupid. In the morning, the rain had cleared and it was beautiful. I rode about ten miles and began the massive downhill. It was a glorious, nerve racking twenty minutes downhill. I watched for gravel slicks and still managed to reach almost 40 mph. When I made it to the valley I couldn’t stop smiling. It was absolutely exhilarating to fly down a mountain at those speeds.

Cruising through the valley I stopped at a bridge to eat some snacks and drink water, something I have been trying to schedule in more and more. I haven’t been the best about eating and drinking while on the road; my energy and concentration have suffered. It was here that I met my first Transamerican cyclist. His name is Ed and he had done the majority of the trail last year after an unfortunate incident in Lexington, VA. He recounted the story of being side swiped by a car in Lexington, which was the next city we were going through. Great, I thought, here is a guy whose done this before and he’s telling me he had an almost game changing and ending experience just up the road. Great flipping timing. I decided to stay in high spirits and peddle to Devil’s Backbone Brewery just off the trail (of course, it was off the trail and uphill). [Side note: if a road is called “Peters Hill Rd” it is almost certainly a hill. Worse yet if its called “Old Man Mountain Rd.” Stay away, don’t take these detours.]

I made it in shortly after they opened. A nice clean lager seemed appropriate and tasted great. A had a friend who worked here named C-Bass. His real name is Cory but as we hiked the AT together, I knew him by his trail name. He had to work until 4:30 so I set up my mobile command center and proceeded to try as many different beers as possible. After he got off work, he graciously gave me a tour of the new facility. It is an impressive, German-styled facility, replete with real Germans welding in the back room and listening to shitty techno music. And it was so wonderfully clean and sanitary. Stainless on stainless on stainless, and their own cooperage to boot. And an external calandria and several new 240 bbl fermenters. It sounds like the brewery is hoping to become even more deeply distributed in VA and be an important player in the regional craft beer scene, which they are already doing.

There was an event that night at a local bar, which we attended. Two major highlights: one is a new medical term I thought was an old man word, Carbuncle (and carbunculosis); the other was the DJ at the event. He had massive white boy dreads and was dressed in all new Sherwin-Williams painter’s whites. At first I didn’t understand, but then as night fell it became apparent their purpose. He had a black light, and was lit up like we were at a rave. It was so gloriously ridiculous.

That night, we enjoyed the Bruery’s Beauregard, a blue berry sour from heaven. Cory also reminded of a couple of stops I had long ago planned to visit which were on my way. The first was one of the seven natural wonders of the New World, Natural Bridge (VA not KY). The other is a feat of modern building materials, Foamhenge, a foam replica of Stonehenge. I was stoked.

When I thru hiked the AT, I stayed a week and a half in Nelson Co., VA. We visited Devil’s Backbone and Blue Mountain Brewpub. Both locations were relatively new, and not known outside of the state. I remembered enjoying both but for different reasons. Fast forward five years and both are monsters with two locations: one as the original brewpub, and one production facility. My plan was to see as much as possible, within reason, which I haven’t established what “within reason” means exactly.

Leaving my stealth site, I had 35 miles to Charlottesville. I had hoped to be able to tour/sample some of the local facilities but none opened until 4pm and I arrived at noon. Also, only one returned my email and they weren’t able to accommodate me, which I understood. These are working breweries and therefore they have to work and produce beer, and not let visitors diddle around.

I ate at Mellow Mushroom, where I could keep an watchful eye on my bike, and drink three localish beers. Apparently, Kolsch is the new summer beer (I had previously guessed/hoped Gose would be this years summer style, but alas it isn’t so, and probably for the best as I am very particular about my Gose. Thanks Tilo!). I tried two different Kolsch, one was good and sort of to style, the other was a cluster fuck of disappointment. Fortunately both were samples. I went with an IPA and then a pale ale. Not nearly as disappointing.

Then I headed to Afton, where an old graduate school friend, his wife, and two year old live. Brian and I went to UGA at the same time for graduate school. When I hiked the AT, he met up with me and took me to Starr Hill Brewery, where he was part time bartending and leading tours. Now, his wildlife consulting company and family are taking up more time so he doesn’t do it anymore, but he still has connections. I arrived at his house after a wonderful twenty miles of riding. This was the first full day on the Transamerican route and the roads and routes were fantastic. I had ridden on so many busy, shitty roads that it was a wonderful relief to not have to be as intensely focused as before. To be able to look around and not worry about imminent death was nice.

Once I settled in, Brian and I left for Starr Hill. I had been following the brewery since my first visit five years ago and they had made some great strides since then. The brewery is financed by a music promoter who started with Dave Matthews Band before he was big (with high school girls and one of my best friends, which is why I will ever be able to enjoy his music ever again). The brewery has grown by leaps and bounds, and fortunately, the beer is still excellent. I was excited to try a collaborative beer done with Terrapin Brewery. The beer was a Belgian style stout; it was a good stout, but had very little Belgian yeast influence, which was disappointing. The beer was good though. Brian gave me the behind the scenes tour; I met one of the owners (a delightful and wonderful woman) and numerous other employees. It was quickly obvious that this was a positive workplace; everyone was happy to be there while working and after work.

I was informed this was the first day of American Craft Beer Week, and thus there was a cask of double IPA with Serrano Chiles and Amarillo hops; it tasted delicious. Subtle undertones of spice and a nice hoppy, lightly smoky nose. Another interesting beer was a replication of Jefferson’s Monticello Ale, a fairly basic light ale, more akin to a cream ale meets alt.
After several more samples, we headed to the original Devil’s Backbone. I had been craving a smoked beer and was happy to see there was a smoked porter on tap. Forgoing a flight for a bit, I ordered the porter and enjoyed its roasty-smokey awesomeness. Then the flight, all of which were wonderful, and fried pickles because they are pickles, and they are fried. The brewpub hadn’t changed much since my last visit, except there was a much greater diversity of styles.

Then to the original Blue Mountain, with its hop field in the front (the polls for the hop field were only 12ft tall, which seems to me to be a mistake and could be doubled in height). We barely made it in time for some beers and an excellent pork laden pizza. The facilities had greatly expanded since my last visit, but still maintained a comfortable atmosphere. We ate, drank, and headed back home for some rest.

When he got home, Brian started scaring me with talk of torrential downpour and high winds the following day. I checked the weather channel and it didn’t seem so bad. Then I realized how much of Brian’s everyday job depends on the weather, and thought maybe I should listen to him. I fell asleep anticipating a two-year-old alarm clock in the morning.

The one-year-old-alarm beckoned me out of bed at the same time a big black nose attached to an even larger white fur coat nudged me for some love. There are so many worse ways to wake up, for instance, it could have been my crying one year old. I’ll take the dog.

I packed and headed out after a brief stop for breakfast and coffee. I’m carrying an Aeropress coffee maker and needed some new beans. It’s been a terrific addition to my camping and touring experience. Yesterday I had decided I would take the NW diagonal route to meet up with the Transamerican route. This would allow me to ride thru the Goochland and visit Lickinghole Creek Craft Brewery (I couldn’t make these names up. Goochland, located in Gooch Co. and the brewery is on Lickinghole Creek adjacent to Beaver Pond).

The taproom was closed, but fortunately I had contacted the owner about a visit and he was more than amicable to let me stop by. The head brewer, David was cleaning kegs all day and was at first stand offish when I arrived. After some conversation, we hit it off and all was well. I had a flight of their beers, all of which were great to excellent, and David gave me a tour of their operation. Virginia recently passed a farmhouse brewery bill, which allows a brewery to act more like a winery. Lickinghole wanted to be the first farmhouse brewery, followed closely by Rusty Beaver. The property is located about a half mile down a gravel road to nowhere (well to a brewery so somewhere). The facilities are gorgeous and surrounded by freshly planted hop fields.

After the tour, David and I began to talk about beer, plants and life. We got on the topic of German styled beers, a passion of mine, and he hurriedly asked if I’d like to try his new pilsner. He warned me that it was still conditioning and hadn’t been pulled off the yeast. An American zwickel, hell yes! After a sample of the pilsner and his new session IPA, he asked if I wanted a pint of anything (as he pointed to the draft cooler). Of course, I wanted more pilsner and he was happy to oblige. That pint went down and I asked for another. If it hadn’t been so early in the day, I would have happily stayed and drank that pilsner all night. Midway through my second pint, the owners, Sean and his wife (sorry I am now forgetting names at a pace akin to my drinking) came in and we had a delightful conversation about breweries, distribution, and the like. The sun was not as intense anymore so I packed up and headed out.

There was nowhere to camp along my route. It would be my first night of stealth camping, so named because you do it all stealth like (aka quasi-illegally, wherever you can get away with it). I found a regional park, located next to the library and sheriff’s office. Who would look for someone near a sheriff’s office? Great logic right? I headed into a decent looking piece of forestland and set up the hammock. After an hour of paranoia (what would the sheriff say to me, or worse yet the random redneck whose property I was inadvertently on), I ate and fell asleep. This would not be the last time I attempted something like this, but it was a beautiful camping site. With birds singing and the herpetofauna calling, I fell asleep quickly.

Once again, my alarm was crying at 6am, yearning for mom and dad.  I rolled over and tried to ignore it, which isn’t possible.  Awake and at em, I made coffee, loaded the GPS and said goodbye to my friends as they left for work.  My plan was to shoot some emails, drink some more coffee, and head out.  As I opened the laptop and made a list of items to complete before departure, I quickly realized I had too much to do.  I could have not done it, but it was in my best interest to do it.  I made sure I was clear to stay another day, and then walked to breakfast and began a long day of typing and editing.  I haven’t been in front of a computer for extended periods since graduate school, so after 1pm I allowed myself an adult beverage.  One can only drink coffee and water for so long, particularly when there is beer in the refrigerator.

While walking to the local coffee house, it was drilled home how dichotomous this neighborhood is.  Middle aged, white couples with 1-3 kids or poor black families barely surviving.  The white families were almost wonderfully and scarily stereotypical; at times sickening so.  I got hit on by a 40 something year old woman who must have been cracked out on ADHD medicine.  Twitchy and talkative are not attractive traits.

I spent a good part of the day loving on Poa and Arlo, time that wasn’t wasted.  Then, by the time night came, I was certain I needed to leave the next day.  And I did.

When you sleep in a friend’s house, you have to be willing to live by the rules of the house, and also the social/family norms of the house. I knew this, so when Oscar (the one-year old) woke up crying at 6, I wasn’t surprised. Mildly upset and wanting to sleep more, yes; but he’s a little guy and I’m the big idiot who stayed up late drinking. Deal with it. I did.
Late last night, I received a message about how my fairly intoxicated self had left my cycling shoes in the back of the Beaver Truck. Said shoes were going to meet me in Richmond today, until another friend, the Beaver Promoter Patrick, also forgot the shoes. My fault, damn it. After contacting Rick we agreed to meet at Center of the Universe Brewery, located in Ashland, VA, right between the Beaver and me. We planned to meet up around 4, a convenient time since he was meeting his mother-in-law for her birthday and mother’s day combo in Ashland.

Grant ran me to an excellent and beautifully laid out bike shop called Carytown Bikes. The Trucker got a tune up and light cleaning; Oscar got a kids helmet (safety first). The Trucker has over 400 miles at this point (I’m not sure the real total). She needed a little love, and it wasn’t the kind I could provide.

Off to COTU (as its acronym’ed out), where there was a flight waiting. COTU is owned by a professional baseball player; as I don’t give a shit about baseball it was lost on me as to whom the owner is. The beer was delicious, the building is repurposed from what looked to be some sort of office space. Really odd layout but they are making the best of the preexisting design and there is a fantastic beer garden.

I returned to Richmond to attend a concert in the park, and the band was an incredible Talking Heads cover band. Great times, especially since I was rocking a “Dedicated Dad” shirt with pride. I was asked by numerous people where my wife and kids were. Grant and I found this hilarious. In all seriousness, I may have been the only single guy with no kids there. Not a place to pick up ladies, unless you’re into married woman with kids, which, well, it is what it is. After an excellent photo op with not my kids, it was back to the home for some more beverages.

Since I wasn’t around my own mother (sorry, Sheri), I asked if I could take Megan out for Mother’s Day. A nice guy would have allowed her to choose, but I had an agenda and strongly suggested Mekong, which is “for beer lovers.” She loves the place so it worked out well. The prices were incredible, to the point that they must lose money on certain kegs. And the food was excellent Vietnamese food. An amazing experience: fantastic and well priced craft beer, served alongside authentic Vietnamese food. I had an Allagash Confluence and Bruery Sour in the Rye. I was happy (and so was my hot mom of a date). We headed back home and I made to pack to leave the next day. Which didn’t play out as I hoped, mostly.

When I woke up, I had a sliver of memory about a beer festival.  Maybe I had dreamt it up.  But once I actually got up and dressed, Rick assured me there was one and he had an extra ticket.  The only caveat was I would have to throw my bike in his truck to make it in time.  But as this is my trip, I went for it.  We toured the farm and the hop garden and got on the road.  A quick pit stop at the Beaver for signage (and to sell an elderly customer some wine yeast), then we picked up Patrick, the Beaver’s marketing guy.

The festival itself was being held on private property which looked to be a former plantation.  There was live music, an inflatable bouncy slide, regional food options, and lots of regional breweries.  I was delighted to spend the afternoon tasting beers that I wouldn’t have been able to try otherwise.  Further, I was able to coax Grant (one of my two good friends in Richmond) to come out and play.  And then I got him to go down the bouncy slide, where, much like a child, he managed to give himself rug burn.  He did beat me to the bottom though.

I managed to try all of the beers at the festival, using my sweet stainless pint glass.  It was frustrating to have to ask, and sometimes insist, to be poured small samples.  I’m not opposed to getting drunk, but it was a long day and I wanted to try a lot of different beers.  A couple of things struck me about this beer festival (and maybe VA and US craft beer in general): there were a ton of browns, reds and IPAs; a small handful of Belgian styles; even fewer lagers; and the attendees were there to party.  I guess it isn’t too different from most festivals.

Post festival, we went to Hardywood Brewery, barely escaping a torrential downpour.  It was packed in there, so we had two beers and rolled.  Grant gave me a tour of the city, during which we happened upon the Blue Bee Cider room, where we did a great tasting.  Then to Once Upon a Vine for beers and cheese, and on to his and Megan’s house.  It was great to see them both and their little boy.  I was even more excited to see my not so little girl, Poa.  Poa is a Great Pyrennes that lived next to me during college, where we became great friends.  I got out of class before Megan, and Poa and I would play and cuddle.  I’ve always loved big huggable dogs and Poa is top notch.  Arlo, the big boy, is also awesome, but he and I don’t know each other as well as Poa and I do.  I had last seen the whole family when I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail five years ago.  Back then when I made it to their yard then, Poa went crazy.  It was a wonderful reunion and I wanted the same (Disclaimer: we stopped by on the way to DE to start so I had already seen her).

In order to truly ride coast to coast, it’s necessary to start on one coast.  I’m unsatisfied with starting on a bay, which is bullshit.  It seems better to look across the wide Atlantic, dreaming of the great adventures far away in lands both unfamiliar and familiar (you’ve gotta love that the world’s round, so really I was looking at my destination and start point, but could only see one).  And because I’ve chosen to focus my tour on beer, why not start at Dogfish Head Brewery in Rehoboth Beach DE.  Thus, my lovely mom offered to drive me to the start of this adventure.  Doubting my resolve to leave even if hung over, I was forced to wait patiently for her to pack and prepare herself.  It worked out; my dog and I got to spend more time together, which was cathartic.  Eight hours later we arrived at two beloved friends’ house in Richmond.  The next day we arrived in Rehoboth Beach after hours of rain and wind.  Apparently, flat states (Delaware supposedly being the flattest in the nation) can have really high wind speeds with little protection.  Topography! Screwing me from the beginning.

Upon arriving, I had an hour long session of packing and scheming how to carry all this gear.  My own negligence in the previous month was finally catching up.  Partying with friends, lounging in beautiful weather, enjoying delicious beers, walking my baby dog Oak, eating extravagantly, shotgunning Classique.  It all caught up to me in cosmic weather karma.  It was raining.  It is raining.  It will keep raining.  And the wind.  Jesus, it whips you around like nothing.  Thus, on the eve of what is/was going to be my first day, I am contemplating hanging around Rehoboth for another day.  Tomorrow (Wednesday) is forecasted to be 100% chance of rain with storms, some severe, and wind gusts over 30 miles per hour. All day.  As an inexperienced touring cyclists (yeah, I’m an amateur in tour cycling, so what), but an experienced traveler/hiker, it may be necessary to wait this one out.  Tomorrow is a new day; weather forecasts and the assholes who make them are often wrong.
We will see.