25 May 2012

Charlottesville to Love/Blue Ridge Parkway VA 46 miles  (TransAm 261)

“I can’t believe this Virginia!” Gina’s enthusiasm is bubbling over in the aftermath of today’s ride along the Blue Ridge Parkway. The cycling in Virginia has been outstanding thus far and our little Gina is enjoying every minute.

Today she even soaked up some history around the TransAmerica ride itself, stopping at the home of the “Cookie Lady” (aka June Curry) in Afton, on the climb to the Parkway. The Cookie Lady holds a special place in the history of cycling across America. There is even an entire book written about her, a book that is no longer in print but instead available online. The CliffNotes version goes a little something like this:

In 1976, the TransAmerica cycling route was born, a touring route stretching from Yorktown, VA to Reedsport, OR, in celebration of America’s Bicentennial. The tour was known as Bikecentennial ’76 and was ridden by over 4,000 cyclists, with more than half completing the entire cross-country trip. In the hills of western Virginia, the route climbs past June Curry’s home, a home she then shared with her parents and Uncle Benny. As the heat and humidity of the summertime season grew, so did the numbers of Bikecentennial cyclists passing their home, and in a single gesture that became a lifetime’s mission, June posted a sign “Water for Bikers”, thereby inviting another 30-plus years of cyclists stopping in for a cold beverage, cookies, and until not so long ago, a place to stay. June is now 91 years old and sadly, suffered a stroke a few years back, but the cyclists keep coming and when able, she invites them in for stories and photos and a chance to spend a few minutes soaking in the history of the TransAm and its living legend of hospitality.

So the stop at The Cookie Lady’s house was the first soaking of the day, not counting the soaking in sweat it took to reach her home and the Parkway above. The next soaking was in the views from on high, the Blue Ridge Mountains welcoming our hydrated riders with little traffic and big vistas.

And the final soaking? In the in the hot tub, of course, margaritas in hand. To some, this cross-country cycling trip may sound a like a nightmarish exercise in, well, exercise, but to Gina it’s just another lovely day on holiday.

And what was I soaking in? Self-pity might be the most appropriate term. Self-pity after the doorbell buzzed and what was waiting for me out front? This:

Gina’s empty bicycle suitcase, shipped home to make her life easier and mine disturbingly more envious. I’ve half of a mind to tuck my own bicycle in there and head East. If only the other half of my mind, the rational job-holding one, would take its own holiday and leave me be to throw caution to the wind, burn that bridge and start packing. Stranger things have happened (hello Sydney, Australia).

But before my pity party takes on too big of a life of its own, let’s note one other thing about Friday’s delivery:

Where was the Man in Brown?