June 5
We left the official route in the afternoon at a point where
we could cut a corner off. An official
junction has to be somewhere and being the ACA and stuck somewhat moldily in
their dogma of adhering to the 1976 ‘bikecentennial’ route, we were expected to
pass the Lincoln birthplace before turning south. We ditched that plan as turning southwest
beforehand saved 20 miles on a day that would be 60 miles already. So we turned away from the route at Buffalo,
KY…where do they get these names?... and rolled through hilly country in a somewhat
cooling breeze. Our passage was
witnessed by numberless corn stalks, each an exact clone of the next, and
mildly curious cows.
Our destination was Munfordville and we arrived at the Super
8 about 6:30p. Actually, it was 5:30p
because we crossed the central time zone and didn’t realize it. The extra hour gave me time to get even more
tired before bed with a walk to the Mexican restaurant a half mile away. The check in clerk marveled at our stupidity/stubbornness/persistence
and spent the better part of 15 minutes interviewing me in an attempt to fathom
why anyone would leave the comfort of their home, on a bicycle, to ride through
an endless succession of unincorporated hamlets in the hope of having their
journey permanently halted by an ocean.
We talked about it.
Anyway, bright and early (well sorta early) we packed out of
there headed for Rock Cabins, a quaint throwback to an era when people were
physically smaller and when very small, detached motel rooms with the tiniest
of water heaters was acceptable, even pleasant.
Sam and I would have enjoyed it more except for three things:
1. 1 Between us we have 8 panniers which almost need
a room of their own.
2. 2 The buildings are situated at the corner of two
roads.
3. 3A persistent cat who would not be deterred from
sharing our access to a picnic table except that I am so very mean and
intimidating.
Regardless of all that, the cabin was just 2 miles east of
the park border and it would be a good place to leave said gear safely locked
and ride unencumbered to Mammoth Cave proper to tour at leisure.
June 6
At 10:30a we, along with 78 unwelcome strangers and two tour
guides, descended dozens of steps into the longest cave system in the world, and walked 4.5 miles through what is now a
very large tunnel but was once a large underground river.
For the first mile, the tour was a little
like walking around a big empty warehouse but after an underground lunch break
($8.50 in cash) we got into a section of tunnel that looked like pictures I’ve
seen of desert canyons but with less light.
The passage walls got much, much closer and bulged out on both sides so
that you sometimes had to fold your body like a hunched over “S” to pass
through.
Then the passage opened back up
and we climbed up and over and down the other side of 4 underground mountains
which must have been pretty spectacular waterfalls in their day.
The cave system is dry because it exists under a sandstone
cap rock that effectively excludes water with the exception of one leak created
when an enterprising and well meaning beaurocrat authorized drilling for
electric lines which punctured the water proof seal and now there is a steady
drip. The water doesn’t run across the
walking trail, though, it continues its downward journey toward the river
styx.
 |
| Gypsum flowers open as calcium carbonate is exuded |
It was about this point that the unwelcome masses began to grumble. The newness had worn off, they were ready for their fix of ‘next’. That’s the problem with sharing your adventures/existence with Americans… we’re so pampered for entertainment that boredom is a close and constant companion. I could be more sympathetic if it were born in quiet displeasure and desperation, but it almost never is. The Grand Avenue tour ends as it began, with steps. These were up, which should have caused further gripe, but were met with nearly universally quickened pace and heightened chatter at the anticipation of the end of a 4 hour tour, a 4 hour tour.
No comments:
Post a Comment