Berea and beyond

June 1

We left Booneville under sun but within 10miles a comprehensive cloud cover had rolled in.  I was glad because my sunburned shoulder (just one from riding perpetually on the same side of the mountain) needed a break.  But I quickly got too much of a good thing as we stopped to wait out repeated cloudbursts of admirable intensity.  It seemed to take forever and when we finally arrived, I went straight to the coffee shop; as I so often do when coming to a new town.  Standing outside the so-very-trendy-coffee-house, drinking an eye-wateringly expensive ($6) double shot almond milk mocha a man stopped at the adjacent light, rolled down the passenger window and announced that he would trade the…how shall I say….vintage… Grateful Dead t-shirt off his back for Sam’s Steal Your Face cycling jersey.  He simply would not be dissuaded, regardless of how vehemently we swore that he would a) never get the stink out, b) not like the close fit, c) be able to buy a brand new one of his own. His wife, in the passenger seat, was clearly mortified as she took down the primal wear url.  Finishing our drink, I said, “Let’s get you to the motel before you get stripped.”

Berea was a little spread out for walking; and really, what is a day off from bicycling if you have to ride your bike to get around?  We visited the coffee house/café again, local Mexican restaurant, laundry (where I learned of Doc Watson’s death), health food store, Post Office (thank you Travis), Wal-Mart (which I only go to as a last resort because of that sexual discrimination thing) and the ‘old town’ art galleries and logged about 5 miles of walking. I tried to like it but it was just too spread out to really appreciate so when the next riding day came, I was ready.  Besides, we were promised rolling hills and I wanted to see how my mountain legs would stand up to the rollers.

After the holiday weekend, the temperatures dropped as predicted and anticipated.  It was a nice ride from Berea to Harrodsburg (enter town limits and proceeds directly to the coffee house).   I’m liking what another cyclist calls “hilltains” since they’re bigger than plain hills but too small to be mountains.  Also, the clouds rolled in, were pushed in really, by a strong but inconsistent west wind.  I knew to expect headwind traveling west but I was saving that experience for Kansas and Colorado. 

And it was cold, too. The high on June 1^st was 68*….I am not lying.  Put that with 11-15 mph headwind without sun and you have two tired and chilly cyclists.  We decided to break our 50 mile ride to Bardstown (home of Bourbon distillery tours) into two days and camped in Lincoln Homestead State Park which is really just a state owned golf course that happens to have some old buildings of national historic ‘value’/interest on the edge of its grounds…and a picnic pavilion suitable for tired and slightly desperate travelers with relatively low standards.