We ate at the Ocoee Inn--no french toast on the menu; but good
pancakes. Saturday, October 19, 1996
Departure time: 10:45; temperature: 54°.
It was a foggy morning, so the sun didn't shine in our motel window and we overslept. Actually, I think the windows were frosted too. It was quite nippy.
We ate at the Ocoee Inn--no french toast on the menu; but good
pancakes.
After breakfast, I dawdled a bit trying to fix the Vista light bracket that was damaged when I fell yesterday. While I was working on it a gust of wind knocked the bike over and I lost some hex wrenches in the gravel. I was NOT off to a good start. Eventually, I found the wrenches, but gave up on my repair attempt.
While not real fancy like the Inns of Banff, The Ocoee Inn was
a pleasant place 
to stay in a gorgeous Appalachian
lake setting.
The lake was as beautiful this morning as it was yesterday.
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About 4 miles west of the Inn on US-64, we stopped for a while at the Nantahala Outdoor Center store. I get their catalog in the mail, but had never visited one of their stores before. I enjoyed looking at whitewater gear instead of bicycle gear. I bought a new neoprene retainer tube to hold my Oakleys around my neck.
Heading west on highway 64 from the Nantahala store, I missed the highway 411 exit and kept on riding west on 64. Ritt caught up with me about 1/2 mile west of 411 to remind me. That was nice of him. We turned around and went back to 411, then south.
About 10 miles later, we crossed into Georgia on the "Old Federal Road," which a historical marker explained follows a course established 1803 between Tennessee and Georgia across the Cherokee Nation.
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We stopped at McDonalds in Chatsworth for lunch. (The odd angle on the Georgia sign is due, as usual, to the angle of the sun.)
[I considered keeping the following saga to myself, but concluded that if I am going to adequately convey what it is like to travel cross-country by bicycle, I must to chronicle the the hard times as well as the good.]
It is tough living in a motel room every night with somebody you barely know. I don't know of anybody that has made it across the country by bicycle with the people they left with (other than the famous RAM (Ride Across America) riders Lon Haldeman and Susan Notorangelo, who are married). All the folks I know of who have undertaken cross-country tours had fallings-out with their traveling companions and ended up going their separate ways at some point in the journey. A group of four riders (two men from TCBA, my bike club; with two women who responded to their advertisement for riding companions) riding across the continent from the west coast to the east coast on the Adventure Cycling northern tier route, broke up into four solo riders by the time they got to the Mississippi. I hear that even Dick Rutan and Jeanna Yaeger never talked to one-another after they went around the world in the Voyager aircraft.
In my view, not having sufficient "space" is the primary explanation for the phenomenon. Neither person has any privacy. I should have known that staying in the same room for more than a month with Ritt wouldn't work. There were times on the Alaska Highway that I kicked up the pace to get away from Ritt. Staying in the same room every night for two weeks took its toll on Ritt and I. We parted company at Chatsworth, Georgia.
I enjoyed riding with Ritt, but hated rooming with him. Even if we had more in common (like age, interests, socio-economic standing, sleeping patterns, etc.) the lodging arrangement would have doomed our trip as a joint endeavor. The lesson learned is: NEVER plan on rooming (or tenting) with a riding companion on a long bicycle trip.
Beyond the "space" problem, I was concerned that my creative efforts were being stifled by our living arrangement. My sleeping habits are extremely erratic and I often work on my computer in the middle of the night while watching television or listening to music. Ritt was bothered by my activities while he was trying to sleep. In seeking to avoid bothering Ritt by foregoing computing or the noisy distractions I was accostomed to, or even trying harder to sleep while Ritt was sleeping, I was stifling my own creative energies. It wasn't working.
Several times, I had suggested to Ritt that we each get our own room whenever possible, but he rejected that idea. I stewed about the lodging problem from Ohio to Georgia, trying to think of a solution. When we left Michigan, Ritt had said that if we didn't get along, I just needed to point him to the nearest airport. As early as Covington, KY, I had pointed out to Ritt that we were close to the Cincinati airport and that I thought it unlikely that we could make it together to Florida.
I failed so miserably creatively with yesterday's web page that I decided it was time to confront the issue head-on. As we reached the Atlanta area, I told Ritt that I enjoyed riding with him but was unwilling any longer to room with him and would not be paying any longer for his lodging (I had been paying for the motel room every night, including even the extra person increment--an arrangement that I came to resent). I told Ritt that it was a free country and that he was welcome to continue riding with me, but if he didn't want to pay for his own lodging, Atlanta was one of the busiest airports in the world and a good place for him to get a cheap air fare home to Arizona. I explained that I thought the next cross-road was the fork in the road where a rider heading toward Hartsfield International Airport would go straight and toward Stone Mountain would turn left. While I was looking through my map collection for an extra Atlanta area map to give to Ritt, he became furious, accused me of "abandoning" him and went storming off at a speed I'd never before seen him muster.
I found my extra map and got on the road, continuing on our original course, down 411 toward Georgia 140, thinking Ritt was ahead of me and expecting to catch up, discuss the matter further and give him the map if he wanted it. But, about an hour later, Ritt passed me. We conversed only briefly before traffic separated us. I told him that I though he was behind me. He said he'd stopped to buy a Georgia map. I figured Ritt would have calmed down and we would be riding together and discussing travel plans, but without saying another word, Ritt took off at his newly discovered "warp" speed. I expected to see Ritt at the 140 intersection, but he wasn't there and I had no idea whether he'd ridden toward the airport or Stone Mountain. I had no choice but to continue on my planned toute. I never saw or heard from Ritt again. Our friendship ended.
I had expected there to be a town at the intersection of 411 and 140, but there was just a crossroads. I also misjudged the terrain. I did not expect any more mountains once I cut south from Ocoee, but, turning left onto 140, I started climbing through the North Georgia Mountains (actually the Appalachians).
The hilly scenery was beautiful like Kentucky and Tennessee.
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I found myself struggling up some 8-10% grades. Just north of Canton, seeing me struggling up a steep hill, a man in a pickup truck pulled up alongside of me and asked if I'd like to "hitch a ride to Canton." I responded: "No, I think I can make it, thank you." Then I hit a couple more steep climbs and wondered whether I was wise to had waved him off. I made it; so it must have been the right decision. I don't like "cheating." I reserve my "sag" rides for occasions where assistance is essential, not just desireable.
When I got to Canton, I asked directions to the motels and was
told there was only one--the Days Inn, about 1/2 mile east. When I got there,
the desk clerk advised me that the motel was full and that there wasn't
another motel room available in the area, the closest one being 20 miles
south on I-575. I explained that I didn't have the energy to ride another
20 miles, couldn't ride on I-575 and that it was almost 7:00 PM, so almost
dark. I showed her my map and asked if she had any other ideas where I might
find lodging for the night. In another example of how understanding folks
are around America, she called the owner and asked if she could rent me
the overflow room (an extra room for emergencies). He assented and I got
a room. Whew! That was close.
After checking into the motel, I walked over to a strip mall on the other side of the street and ate a fantastic dinner, complete with a Corona beer, at a Mexican restaurant. I then went back to my room and updated the website.
Total miles today: 83.
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997
