A night fueled by caffeine and a road obscured by the dark and the rain. An episode or two of mild hallucinations but when it is 4am and you are running on fumes, you are bound to be on the receiving end of some mental trickery. A safe arrival and some much needed sleep.

The tour is complete. Just not in the way originally envisioned. Planes, trains, and automobiles. Hitch hiking and some shorter days. But, in the end, still a bike tour. Close to 750 miles of riding covering something in the realm of 1200 miles to Asheville. The final 1160 miles by rental car. We are in one piece and so are the bikes. We are healthy and uninjured. We rode through some incredible terrain and met some amazing people along the way. A successful trip.

We had decided in Boone that we were satisfied with the tour, and that it was time to head back. Matt’s knee was still giving him problems, not to the point of injury, but it was running to risk of becoming tendinitis if we kept pushing it. Plus, the further south we head, the more spread out the facilities become and the further apart our way stations lie. The tour past this point just isn’t doable with out a support vehicle, a fully loaded touring bike with camping gear, or a drastic change to our route or schedule (adding at least a week to our time table). Better to get back to Austin healthy, happy, and early than hurt, haggard, and out of time. This is our last host and our last stop. The ride up to the race was a nice one to end it on. Super challenging and with a party atmosphere finish. An afternoon in the sun watching people clear hurdles and run up hills.

6:30am roll out followed by an hour and fifteen in 37 degree wind gets us to the airport. A quiet route with a mid ride sunrise. A Jeep Patriot rather than the compact we had reserved. The size of a mid-sized with less than a compact’s interior space. The bikes actually had to be put in on their side, one on top of the other to get them to fit.

A Will Black run in at Sunny Point Cafe, the day after his P12 win at the NCCX 3 (Hawksnest) race. In addition to getting to chat with a Texas transplant, we enjoyed another amazing breakfast before getting on the road. This time on the road was in a rental car rather than the road bike.

Endless rows of waves like the surf approaching the beach. A forest of trees revenged by beetle infestations and acid rain. New growth trying to outpace the two assailants. Bleached trunks jut skyward reminding of the growth that used to exist. Growth that used to requires ascension to the top of the viewing post to see the landscape that is no longer so throughly obscured.

A Korean motorcycle gang stroll up the sweeping ramp. Surveying the point of interest, Clingmans Dome. Over 6,600 feet in elevation and a 360 degree view. On the way back down I take their group photo for them. Like us, today is the last day of their tour. Strangely, one is from Boston, and two are from NY. Riding a similar path, we exchange stories of our individual adventurous. We are returning home south, and they are getting ready to head back to the north east.

Through the Indian Reservation and the last bits of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. Past Blue Ridge Lake and the Ocoee Whitewater Center. Host to the 1996 Olympics canoe, kayak and slalom events. It is offseason, and the run is a field of boulders rather than rapids. The dam is not open, and the result is a small stream rather than a rushing river.

11 miles to the base in a headwind on rollers and then about 3 miles up. One short downhill, no false flats, a little under 3 miles of pavement, and nearly 1200 feet of elevation change. An average grade of 8.1% resulting in a very hard Category 3 climb bordering on Category 2. At the top, ready to be done, we arrive at the day’s cyclocross race, 4200 feet above sea level. NCCX #3 @ Hawksnest aka Spooky Cross. A course of off camber sandy slopes, a pump track, a this year dry, last year muddy, run up. Challenging technical turns. A dynamic race paired with good music and free food.

The three main climbs come and go. Difficult, but nothing close to the one to reach Peaks of Otter back in the beginning of our parkway experience. Open and closed woods. Gaps exposing closely cropped verdant fields with munching shaggy faced cows.

A second breakfast at Bluffs Lodge in Doughton Park. Eggs over medium, grits, sausage patties, and of course, coffee.

Slippery rock walls blasted to make way for the ribbon road. Ferns and moss cling to the shelves as water drips from the saturated soil above.

A straightforward day ending in Boone, NC. Our second rest station. A couple days rest a day or two behind schedule. This will be a chance to refuel our bodies and do some needed maintenance on our bikes. A through cleaning and re-lubrication is in order.

This is one of the low rain times of the year, from what I read, but we sure seem to be getting wet a lot recently for a dry season. Today is warm, maybe 70, and we are not being harried by the wind. So, that is an improvement weather wise. Soaked to the skin, but not uncomfortably cold.

The plan is a little unclear today. Dugsur, 221 to Hillsville, then 52 south through Fancy Gap to the parkway. We want make it to Boone, but I don’t see that happening. Over 100 miles is a bit much in these hills and driving rain just drags out the day. Yep, not going to happen in a soggy chamois. We are just going to ride until it feels like it is time to call it quits.

The rain comes in waves. A heavier storm is bearing tornado warnings, but, for the time being, the ridge seems to be safe. We are at the Sparta turn off which would require us to drop down off of the ridge into the valley, 14 miles. That seems to be a waste of 14 miles today and then another 14 miles just to get back on the parkway tomorrow. We take a risk and continue south over a couple of moderate climbs but nothing serious.

The Blue Ridge Parkway has limited options when it comes to places to stay and places to eat. 45 miles into a continuously rainy day and we reach the turn off to 21, the road to Roaring Gap. It is this or another 30 miles to the next possibility. No matter what we do today, it will have to be a two day run to Boone. Tomorrow is supposed to be dryer and clearer. Today seems like a good one to end early. Our first motel of the trip. Breaking another goal to stay on couches the whole way home. No matter. This is as good a place as any to dry off and for our kits to dry out. It is off season and in the middle of the week which results in us having the run of the place; an entire motel empty save for two wayward cyclists.

What we didn’t realize was that we were parallel with Sparta on 21. The first turn off was just a diagonal. It is 14 miles off of the parkway on 21, so the first exit, had we taken it, would have been bad riding on busy roads for many miles. Roaring Gap is only 4 miles east of our route, so it was still a good play. We didn’t end up going as far as we though we had, but at least we hadn’t gone that way. Ending early, and only 45-50 miles in, means that the three big climbs of this stretch still lay in wait.

A shower based laundry room. Soap up your kit, and then stomp on it like you are making wine. The gear doesn’t look particularly grimy, but the brown flowing from it with each step tells a different story. Lather, rinse, repeat until the water runs somewhat clear. Ring out as much liquid as possible so that the lamp shade drying rack above the wall mounted room heater has a chance at getting the remaining dampness out of it by morning.

The day begins well. Bagel sandwiches and coffee at Mill Mountain downtown. Our hosts in Roanoke, Justin and Mattie, were going to sleep in, so we left to get breakfast rather than risk making a bunch of noise in the kitchen, even though they said it wouldn’t be a problem the night before. This trip is really making me value solid sleep, no way I am going to mess with theirs.

South on highway 221. Highway is such a big world for such a narrow road. Two lanes and a usable shoulder. Reasonable grades and smooth asphalt. Left turn onto Poage Valley Road. Also known as State Route 690. Now known as the vertical death march. From steep, to steeper, to ridiculous. 10-15% grades kicking above 20. At least that is how it feels as I hit points where I am having trouble turning the cranks over standing on the pedals out of the saddle. Stupid steep. With all boilers lit and all engines on full, Matti von Kessing, the European Dreamliner, slams into an iceberg and is cracked. Hull integrity is lost. Listing, he full stops, adrift at sea, waiting for rescue. A white F-150 tug boat drags him to safety while he patches his hull and recovers the flooded cabins. I tail the bumper of the truck until the grade swaps over to gravel and I slowly slide off the back. Enough torque to make it up the slope, but not so much that you spin your back wheel for lack of traction. A damp muddy uneven road. One that keeps going up. Each turn looks to be the last until you finish it and find another. Ad infinitum.

The tug boat drops the dreamliner off at the first top. I finally arrive and we continue on our cruise. If only it were a pleasure cruise. This is the last time we take a back country road. Matt is built for transatlantic steamlining, not billy goat scrambles.

Back on the 221, the grades are less severe, but the hills are endless. Scraggly apple trees, seemingly on their last legs, with few leaves and haggard branches. Loads of red fruit litter the ground around their trunks. Ignored by the cows, unpicked by the people, but much more productive than their sorry state would imply.

We have burnt our legs on the first sortie and the arrival of the 15-20mph head winds, gusting north of 30, set the stage for a day that just wouldn’t die. We arrive at the host house drained. A day of wreckage. I am thrashed, Matt is destroyed. If we had to end in Galax, like the original plan, we never would have made it. Fortunately, I had found a host in Dugspur, 26 miles closer.

David, our host for the night, is off the grid. Spring fed water, solar fed car batteries. Our place is a small single room guest house accessible by a plank bridge. Two DC powered lights, a wood burning stove, a toilet in a bucket (filled with sawdust), and most importantly, a bed.

A dinner of couscous with raisins and almonds paired with a huge salad, some of which was sourced from their lean-to green house. A dessert of cooked pears in a thick syrup of sugar and spices. Rain pounds against the roof. Hopefully the clouds will run themselves dry by the morning.

A nearly straight shot out to the parkway. 12-15 miles. As we turn off of the 501, I can hear rain hitting the leaves on the ground. But it does not seem to be raining. At least not yet. Heavy fog is collecting in the trees and is then being blown off by the wind. It isn’t until we we pass 3000′ elevation that the real rain starts. It begins to drizzle. Rain jacket and rain cover weather. The temperature is 55 degrees and dropping. At 3500′ it starts pouring, and then at 3800′ it gets nasty. Sleet. Stinging sleet. It is too dim to wear my Oakleys so I am blinded by the ice specs pelting my face and eyes. Descending to lunch, frozen to the core. Half way done, half way to go.

Two plates of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, rolls, cabbage, dessert, and all of the hot tea I can drink.The Peaks of Otter Lodge. Dressed up fancy, but dishing out slop. Mashed potatoes from a dehydrated sack, mac&cheese out of a box, dessert from a mix. Low end cafeteria food in a place styling itself as a resort. Bad food is better than no food; take what you find and push on. And what we find is what we will get. I have finished off my last two KIND bars (Apircot Macadamia and Almond Cashew) and won’t be able to replenish for a couple of days. My next stash is waiting for me in Boone.

We prepare for weather like we had just escaped from. All of my Craft layers, base layers, leg and arm warmers, toe covers, hat, gloves, shoe covers. Embrocation on my legs and arms. My Rapha jacket over everything. I am prepared for a battle that no longer exists. The storm has broken and the sun is exposed. I am roasting, and am forced to stop and do a strip tease before I stew in my own juices.

The final 34 miles feel like a cake walk compared to the morning. Plenty of sustained climbs, but at a slighter grade and not for an hour at a time. The sun is out and we can, for the first time, see the terrain we are surrounded by. The visibility is still restricted at times, but at least there is some visibility. Red, green, and yellow flow from the valleys all the way to the ridge lines. A continuous carpet of fall. I can smell the sickly sweet scent of those that have dropped decomposing in the ditches on either side. Nutrients are returned, the soil is built. 4:30pm into Roanoke. A new early finish record.