Spruce Pine, 1971

I met Barbara shortly before I made this decision, so I told her about my plans. At one point, she wrote a beautiful, illustrated poem about what my leaving meant to her that touched me very much. I still have the poem, but I haven't read it in 25 years.

At some point we drifted into the idea of making the trip together. The leaving date would have to be pushed back to the first of June and the number of miles reduced. Still wanting a big slice of Canada, I cut New England and New Brunswick off of the route, and I intended for us to go through New York into Quebec before turning west, in all, a 5,000 mile trip. In addition, I passionately wanted to tour the Blue Ridge Parkway, so I left it on the trip as well. In fact, I was fairly obsessed with our trip through North Carolina: I could see it by closing my eyes, and I dreamed about it at night.

I had earlier tried to buy a lighter-weight bike than my Varsity, but the demand was making them hard to get, so the Schwinn had been overhauled instead. For Barbara, I purchased another Varsity, this one with a 21-inch frame with upright seat and handlebars (her insistence). Besides being heavy (my bike weighed 40 lbs. and hers 45), the Varsities also had a narrow 40 - 100 gear range.

Since we had ten weeks between our marriage and the trip, I figured that we could ride up to twenty miles on the week day afternoons and up to one hundred miles on the weekends in order to be physically prepared. Barbara was not the athletic type, but she was no wimp. She felt self-conscious about her body because she was a little heavy -- 150 lbs. and 5' 8" -- but that was far from being fat. We had been on hiking and caving trips together, and she had no physical difficulties that I can recall. She took to cycling readily, demonstrating no bike handling problems in spite of not having had a bike as a child, showing no fear of traffic, and not tiring easily. She wasn't very fast, but she didn't travel at a boring speed either, so getting enough mileage seemed easy. In fact, she even agreed to sell her car and to use only the bikes for transportation.

On the better days, we accomplished the distance goals. I think we rode 20 miles on one afternoon ride, and on two weekends, we rode to her mother's and back, 25 miles each way. We also practiced camping in the backyard and on a very short overnight trip. I also took a ride each day while Barbara was at work, partially to build up, partially for pleasure, and partially to remove tension.

However, Barbara rode a total of only 430 miles during the ten weeks. When you consider that her normal week included 20 miles of riding, that meant most afternoon and weekend rides just didn't take place. Besides the trips to her mother's and the short camping ride, the only other long weekend ride ended in her getting very mad at me and returning home, with me following behind. The 430 figure really stuck in my memory when it also became the total length of our trip.

Before the car was sold, Barbara's mother's cat had had a litter of kittens, and Barbara wanted two, which she named Spanky and Pooh. The names were very appropriate: Spanky had an open, outgoing nature that took everything in stride; Pooh found life to be a terrifying experience; even when brave, he acted like Barney Fife. We agreed that the cats would stay with her mother and be sent to us but, before we left, Barbara insisted that the kittens come along, so they rode in a basket on the front of her bike. When we left, they weighed 3 pounds together; when we returned, they weighed a total of 17 pounds. Barbara also carried about five pounds of cosmetics in spite of the fact that she had never used much makeup.

I might add also that I tried to persuade her from making the trip. She had not been willing to ride the miles I thought she needed, and I was afraid that her underpreparation would cause her problems.  I would be perfectly happy if she met me on the West Coast.  However, she was very strong about wanting to go; in fact, she said she would go without me if necessary.

Bessemer - Birmingham, 25 miles, June 4.

Barbara's route included a climb which had her worried, but she made it OK and enjoyed the downhill. The rest of the ride was flat and uneventful. When we reached Gadsden and stopped for a brief rest and to phone ahead, she was really excited. The sixty mile distance had really worried her, but she had made it with no problems. Although we didn't know it at the time, that would be the longest ride she ever made in one day.

Birmingham - Gadsden, 60 miles, June 5.

Our arrival in town was not without incident. Some fellows, driving by, had said something, and Barbara had cursed them in return, so I had found myself surrounded by four guys looking for a fight.

During the night, an amusing event happened. We had allowed the kittens to wander outside, but some dogs had come and chased them into a tree. After I chased the dogs away, Spanky came down, but Pooh was stuck in the tree, and I could not coax him down. Seeing a plank, I rested one end under his feet and held the other end near my shoulder. Pooh understood that I wanted him to descend, but he was afraid. He put his front feet on the plank and stopped. I then played him a dirty trick. I jerked the plank out from under his feet and then pushed it back against the tree. Pooh, as a result, came rolling down the plank like a black rubber ball, bounced off the end, hit the ground running, and shot into the tent.

Throughout the trip, whenever dogs appeared, the cats would make a beeline for the tent. One day, when we had stopped to rest and dogs appeared, Pooh headed for the bicycle.

Gadsden - Ft. Payne, 35 miles, June 7.

On this day, we continued along at the foot of Lookout Mountain, a route that is almost flat, and we had little traffic as well. When we crossed the Alabama state line into Georgia, Barbara showed some excitement again.  When near the Tennessee line, I found a dirt road leading into the woods where we pitched our tent.

Ft. Payne - Tennessee line, 43 miles, June 8.

I also discovered a new problem. Barbara had insisted on riding in front, when I could have been blocking the wind. Now that we were hitting some hills, she would just coast down them instead of pedaling. So, I was riding my brakes all the time. I could understand a low speed uphill, but the low downhill speed was frustrating.

That afternoon, I found a tiny quarry for us to camp in (I have never been able to locate it since).

Tennessee line - Ooltewah, 30 miles, June 9.

In the afternoon, we arrived at Ocoee Lake, and, at the last minute, decided to camp at the lake rather than going on. We hadn't bought any food for dinner, so I volunteered to go back to the last store, but Barbara didn't want me to leave, and she said she thought we had enough. I don't think she was afraid of strangers; I think she was afraid that, once out of her sight, I wouldn't return. She enjoyed staying at the lake so much, that I decided for us to stay a second day. I also convinced her to get rid of much of the unnecessary weight she was carrying, and to set a good example, I also added items to the pile. For instance, I had purchased two miniature stoves, so we could cook faster and also have a spare, and now I got rid of one.

Ooltoweh - Ocoee Lake, North Carolina, 24 miles, June 10.

Our route for this day was the most difficult so far, yet Barbara was a trooper, so we managed to accomplish good mileage too. We first followed the Ocoee River up through its gorge, a beautiful ride. Then we had to go through the wasteland around Ducktown (destroyed by sulfur dioxide pollution), where at last we could buy food. The rest of the day was hilly and hot, but we did so well, that we even passed Murphy before we found an isolated spot and camped. This success after a day of rest suggested to me that her biggest problem was lack of preparation.

Ocoee Lake - Marble, 57 miles, June 12.

When we stopped in one town, for some reason, she decided that she wanted to cut my hair. So, using a bench in a small town park, she proceeded to do so. Several men came to watch, in a friendly way, and started a conversation with her. One of them suggested that rather than moving to Canada that we just stay there. From then on, Barbara seemed to see this as a reasonable offer on the part of the community that we should have seriously considered.

That night, she insisted that we camp in some people's front yard. I'm sure the people were astonished at my request; I was even more astonished when they said yes.

Marble - Bryson City, 36 miles, June 13.

After crossing the top of the mountain, we began to descend at good speed, when Barbara spotted another restaurant. So, there we stayed for a time.

By the time we reached Lake Junaluska -- where she had gone to summer camp -- it was already getting late, and I was worried about where we would camp. Right there, Barbara indicated. Right there, on private property, without asking permission or anything? That's what we did.

Bryson City - Junaluska, 43 miles, June 14.

Then we had the parkway to deal with. In leaving Asheville, one makes a monster climb. Barbara's dislike for climbing, seemed to have lessened at the beginning, perhaps because of the thrill of the parkway. However, it was a very long climb and a very long day for me, as I was the target of her frustration.  We couldn't make it to the top in one day, of course, and once again camped where we were not supposed to.

Junaluska - Craggy Gardens, 31 miles, June 15.

That evening, after passing the road to Spruce Pine, we again reached an uphill climb. Barbara became angry again. Near the top of the hill, we saw woods on the right and followed a logging road to a good camp site. I don't know what she had been expecting. Did she think that once we got past Mt. Mitchell that it would be downhill all the rest of the day? At any rate, that evening she attacked my idea of having chosen to travel on the parkway and every other decision I had made. She said that she had not come to be just riding a bicycle all the time; she expected to be working on her art also. I agreed to leave the parkway and descend to highway 11 in Virginia, but I had no illusions about such a change creating any improvement. I knew that highway 11 was not flat in Virginia as it was in Alabama.  I also knew, that while she had not prepared enough, that it was her attitude and not her strength that was the problem.  So, that night I was terribly depressed. The only way I could save the trip was by leaving her, and I was not willing to do that.

Craggy Gardens - Spruce Pine, 40 miles, June 16. 

On June 10, 1988, 17 years later, I reached Spruce Pine on my way home from Pennsylvania. I deliberately traveled the Blue Ridge "backwards" because I did not want to renew old bad memories and regrets.