Into Charlottesville

During a harrowing late afternoon trip along Hwy 54 into Charlottesville, I bonked.  If you don’t know bonking, stop reading now and look it up.  Anyway, bonking is never, ever pretty, always drags the trip way, way out and irritates your fellow travelers.

East of Charlottesville, Highway 54 is a two-laned affair that curves and rises along a lovely stretch of road.  But, most of its beauty was lost to me as I willed my noodle-y legs to keep Betty close to Sam.  They chose not to listen.   Traffic, as is typical when approaching a proper city, was thick in an ‘out-of-my-way, I-am-late-for-something-important’ way.  Just as things were reaching their dire worst, I was able to squeak out, I’ve bonked, I need food!  or something like that.  Looking at these words in print, they don’t seem to project the proper level of desperation, even with an exclamation point.  So, despite the fact that we were in desperate need of getting off this road, and only a mile from the junction, and feeling the pressure of the clock tick that signals the work-a-day liberation and feeds even more cars onto the road, Sam pulled over at the exit from Monticello and patiently waited, snacked lightly and waited more. He was tired too, of course, but was handling it in a much more graceful manner.

I had been monitoring our progress on google maps and had noticed that the recommended route by bicycle to our destination was just off the highway, not on it.  Now that I was slightly restored, I investigated further and found that google preferred that we use a greenway.  So did I.  

Hurray! We were saved.  It was so lovely to be away from the traffic and under the trees that we walked our bikes for a way and just relaxed.  Beyond the end of the greenway lay a short but tiring hill to our room and our day off.  After a nap and a shower we walked two blocks to The Local for an astonishingly expensive dinner of local pastured chicken and veggies plus a glass of wine to celebrate the first 50 mile day!  Found this on the hostel fridge door; evidence that someone understands.