urban bicycle journeys

I had been bicycling on the Blue Ridge Parkway for about two hours when I came upon a picnic area called Cumberland Knob. Just south of the North Carolina/Virginia state line a marker indicated the spot where construction of the Blue Ridge Parkway began September 11, 1935. The Cumberland Knob picnic area was built only two years later, in 1937. This was back when infrastructure projects got done quickly.

The previous three days Tootie and I had been visiting with several New Orleans based friends at our friend Kirk’s mountain house near Sparta and Roaring Gap NC. Tootie was leaving to drive home the three hours to Chapel Hill NC and she let me off nearby, where US-21 crosses the Blue Ridge Parkway. (She then drove another couple of miles to play one last game of pickleball!)

My plan was to cycle north on the Parkway on my Bike Friday for three days. Most of the trip would be in Virginia. I planned to terminate the trip at the Roanoke airport where I had reserved a rental car, about a hundred and twenty miles away. The weather promised to be eight or ten degrees cooler than most of the southeastern U.S. People do come to these mountains in the summer for a reason. On this three day bike ride the Parkway elevation varied from about 2300′ to 3200′ going up and down the whole time. On the third day there would be a big descent the last five or six miles into Roanoke.

Once on the Parkway there was hardly any traffic. It had rained early that morning but the skies had cleared.

The Blue Ridge Parkway was conceived in an era when the idea of a car was still a delight, when people lucky enough to own a car wanted somewhere to just enjoy the drive. Even Robert Moses, the sometimes vilified New York City bureaucrat who tore down cities and built freeways in that same era of the 1930’s; he built parkways, although not this one. Parkways were to be something now not fashionable, a place to relax in nature while staying in your car. The Blue Ridge Parkway continues to be that kind of space, a linear National Park. It seems well maintained and keeps its founding vision that protects sight lines so that the motorist sees only mountain vistas, trees and fields and the occasional barn, never billboards or suburban sprawl or gas stations. The Parkway is routed on the high ridges to achieve the best views. I don’t know the numbers but I suspect that actual car traffic on many sections of the Parkway is down. In 2023 who goes on a car ride for a good time? Most modern drivers want to stay in a car no longer than necessary. The biggest users of the Blue Ridge Parkway now seem to be motorcyclists and drivers of specialty cars, like older convertibles, plus a few locals and some RV’s. There are definitely bicyclists but I saw less than ten per day.

It is peaceful out here. While there is no bike lane per se a bicyclist feels quite safe.

A major issue with cycling on the Blue Ridge Parkway is its intentional remoteness. There are hardly any stores or restaurants or hotels near enough to the parkway for a bicyclist to reach easily. Unlike my typical style of bicycle adventure, I had planned my lodging in advance. I brought my own food with me on the bicycle, enough for the first two days, including bread, peanut butter, and honey.

Picnic areas are infrequent enough that they never seem to appear when you need them. Earlier on this first day it was not lunch time yet but I stopped at a lovely picnic spot just to rest a few minutes, soak up the silence, maybe do a little reading. There was no one around.

I ended up eating my peanut butter and honey sandwich lunch that first day while sitting on a guardrail. I then continued cycling north on the smooth Parkway surrounded by nature and little else.

I had prearranged an Airbnb that night a few miles north of a spot called Fancy Gap VA. Although you could not see them from the Parkway at Fancy Gap there were a couple of stores on the crossing highway. I went to a gas station and bought a prepackaged cold Starbucks milk coffee drink, then rested on their bench in front. I watched a group of motorcyclists. Some had come from faraway places like New York State and Ontario, Canada.

It seemed like a good idea to also buy one can of beer, to-go. I could drink it later after I had cycled the two miles further to my Airbnb. Tastes in beer in America have become very specific. I like craft type beer such as porters, ales, and IPAs. I like to patronize the smaller businesses that make these beers. Most mini-marts I have visited carry something to fit my taste. Here at Fancy Gap VA they had a huge selection of single cans but nothing I fancied. There was a lot of Bud Light and hard seltzers. In the mountains of beer in the huge cooler they did have one type of IPA but only in a sealed full six-pack. Sigh. I skipped the beer and cycled on towards the Airbnb.

The Airbnb was less than a mile off the Parkway inside a small development that pretentiously included a gatehouse. I cannot imagine any criminals out here.

It was a whole house. It looked like Jed Clampett’s from the outside but actually is spacious, modern, and quite new.

There was the best TV I have ever had in an Airbnb with virtually all the channels and streaming services. There was a back deck overlooking the woods as they fall down a mountain. There might have been air conditioning but I did not even look for it. I opened all the windows to let in the crisp late afternoon mountain air.

There was a full kitchen but I had to have brought my own food on the bicycle. Canned tomatoes are heavy and meat needs refrigeration, so I had brought dried orecchiette pasta, sun dried tomatoes, and a piece of quality hard salami. I did have to lug two essential liquids up and down those mountains. It had taken some looking but I managed find both in small plastic bottles.

I poured myself a Crown Royal and water, then started cooking. The improvised pasta dish was good but not great. I had meant to bring a piece of hard Chapel Hill Creamery cheese to grate on top but I had forgot and left that in Kirk’s refrigerator! I sprinkled my pasta instead with some walnuts. I was really hungry.

That evening, in bed in the dark with the windows open, you could really hear the silence of the surrounding woods. There was no light. It felt liberating that it was so cold in the summer that I needed a blanket. I slept very soundly.

The next morning I cooked oatmeal that I had brought and dumped honey and walnuts on top.

I made a peanut butter and honey sandwich for my lunch on the road and pedaled out of the Cascade neighborhood and back onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. The cycling all day was delightful.

There was a picnic area right on the parkway but no picnickers. Maybe no one picnics anymore.

Rhododendron grows all along the parkway, sometimes in bloom.

Much of the middle and north eastern U.S. this summer has been effected by wildfire smoke coming from Canada. It was particularly bad this day and it obscured the views, not to mention making breathing difficult while huffing up these mountains.

The Virginia DOT is catching up with the North Carolina DOT in perpetuating the dated assumption that building a huge highway in a rural area brings economic development. Meadows of Dan had a population of only 72 in the most recent census but that did not stop VDOT from building a Meadows of Dan bypass on US-58. My Parkway route crossed over that bypass. You can see all the traffic.

I stayed that night in Floyd VA (population 436), a town that culturally punches above its weight. It is somewhere that feels more important than its small size. Floyd is not on the Parkway but the five mile state highway connecting Floyd to the Parkway was safe to bicycle and not a major descent.

Floyd in recent years has become a center of old-time string music. Those who do not follow this music closely might describe all of it as bluegrass but as is typical of these things, aficionados get passionate about classifications. The most famous old-time venue here is the Floyd Country Store, which is only closed one day a week, Mondays, which of course was the day I visited!

Most towns of this size in Appalachia do not have places like my Airbnb; a trendy looking newly renovated one bedroom apartment above what was, until the year 2000, the Farmer’s Supply store, sitting right at the central intersection of town, across from the courthouse.

Most small Appalachian towns also do not have the Cocoa Mia cocoa bar like the one next door to my Airbnb. I got something called an iced oat milk mocha latte. After cycling in the heat all day the concoction went down really well. I sat for a few minutes out front, then took the drink up to my new abode next door.

A little later I walked around town. Storefronts sold new agey looking stuff.

I had to to decide where to eat dinner. There was a limited selection of restaurants already and about half were closed on Mondays. The hippieish Outer Space with its “revolution juice” looked interesting, but after cycling over forty miles in the mountains I was frantically hungry and needed something hearty. El Charro offered American mainstream Mexican. You could eat outside on their back deck. Scrambled eggs with chorizo plus rice, beans, and tortillas seemed a more reliable choice. I washed it down with a Mexican Bohemia beer.

I was still hungry so I got one beef soft taco and a small house margarita, plus more chips and salsa.

Old-time music is frequently communal and participatory. It often consists of outwardly simple songs that become more complex as the group environment enhances them. Yes, it was a Monday night. As I was leaving El Charro one guy sat alone on a park bench, picking softly and slowly on a mandolin, its sounds echoing across the mountain air as if waiting for someone to join him.

I wanted to say hello, or play along, but I could not come up with something to say, not to mention that I had no instrument. I had not brought the ukulele on this trip. He got up and left after a few minutes.

There was music elsewhere thirty yards away. At the back door of the closed Floyd Country Store there was small paper sign. Someone was having a class in back about learning to keep time when playing old-time music. The door was open and five or six people were assembling. I stood at the door, thinking about going inside, introducing myself, and seeing if I could borrow an instrument. Once again, I couldn’t do it. I went back to my Airbnb and watched TV.

The next morning I cycled a mile to “suburban” Floyd to what appears to be the town’s premier coffeehouse, the Red Rooster.

It looked modern and well run. There was no meat on the menu. They had tie-dye shirts for sale.

I needed calories to power me through the wilds, so I got an egg and cheese biscuit, plus an oat milk latte, one pack sugar. I sat on their front porch, delighting in the early morning vibe.

There were posters on the bulletin board announcing all sorts of local music events. Looking up this performer Lara Taubman, on her website she says she is proud of her Southern roots but now lives in Manhattan NYC!

It is about fifty miles from Floyd to downtown Roanoke. To get back to the Blue Ridge Parkway, from Floyd I meandered on conventional country roads for six to eight miles to the northeast.

I then turned onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. A bicyclist in racing attire zoomed past me.

The Blue Ridge Parkway continued to be lovely and peaceful. I had thought that closer to Roanoke there would be more traffic, but this Parkway section just south of Roanoke had even fewer cars than the day before. I estimate that this whole day, going in either direction, I saw a car only about once every five or ten minutes.

THE BEAR

I had stopped to rest on a guardrail during the cycle up a significant upgrade. There were not many cars. I occasionally listen to music or podcasts while cycling, using bone conduction headphones that do not block your ears from outside sounds. A few minutes earlier I had turned on “In My Room” by The Beach Boys. I had wanted to learn the words so I could sing it sometime with my guitar. I had left it going and Apple Music continued to play various 1960’s songs. The last thing I had heard was “Let’s Hang On to What You’ve Got” by The Four Seasons. It seemed a dumb song but remained stuck my head.

Driving downhill in the opposite direction came a small and worn-out looking car driven by a fifty-something woman. She stopped and talked to me through her car window. She said she had seen a bear just up around the next bend. We talked and joked for a minute or so and she drove on. It was then silent again on this two lane road. There was no one else around, just me and the bear.

I knew nothing to do but continue forward and uphill. I rounded the next turn. I suddenly could see, maybe three hundred yards uphill, in the center of the Parkway, a large black bear just standing there on all fours. My heart thumped. Just then a car approached from behind me. The car passed me and drove up to the bear. The car slowed almost to a stop. The bear loped off the highway into the bushes. The car continued on its way. Once again it was silent and I was on my own cycling slowly uphill.

I had heard that wild animals need to know you are around so I sang The Four Seasons as loudly as possible, over and over again. I assumed the bear would not care if I kept repeating the same verse. Singing out LET’S HANG ON TO WHAT YOU’VE GOT I cycled uphill to the turn where the bear had walked into the bushes. I passed that spot and saw and heard nothing. I continued singing but accelerated as much as one can when pedaling uphill. I guess the bear feared my voice. I never saw the bear again.

I continued on a further half mile to an overlook parking area where I enjoyed telling my story to a couple of motorcyclists from Ontario.

At the next overlook I met two friendly women bicyclists about my age sitting on the curb and eating lunch out of cans. They said they cycle the Parkway regularly. They live about eleven miles downhill from the Parkway near Rocky Mount VA and said for years they had regularly cycled unassisted up the switchbacks to the Parkway; gaining something like two thousand feet in elevation on a six or eight mile climb, an impressive feat. They also said (in their colorful Southern style) that at their age they recently had had enough of that, and both had just gotten electric assist bicycles mostly just to get up those switchbacks. After coming up the mountain they would pedal conventionally. One showed me her Lemond brand electric assist bicycle, weighing only twenty-six pounds. Achieving light weight on an electric assist bicycle can be expensive. She was embarrassed to say what it cost but I guess significantly more than five thousand dollars. The black bag on the back is an add-on, she uses that to carry her lunch.

I was closing in on Roanoke (population 100,000.) In America cycling is depressingly a game where a cyclist is constantly trying to get away from cars. Remote rural areas are fine and the gridded streets of older cities are fine. The dangerous areas to cycle in America are suburbia as well as rural areas close to those suburban areas. Approaching Roanoke I was able to skip suburbia entirely. From the south, if one takes Blue Ridge Parkway to Mill Mountain Parkway, then something called Fishburn Parkway, one can bicycle on empty Parkway type roads that look like this:

Fishburn Parkway takes a long downhill run through Mill Mountain Park where in a space of about a quarter mile it changes from that remote environment into one of Roanoke’s close in hundred year old neighborhoods. I almost worry that bears and coyotes would sit in people’s yards.

Just a few blocks away I was in downtown.

There was still time for a late second lunch. My newfound women friends back on the Parkway on electric assist bicycles had suggested I seek out Three Notch’d Craft Kitchen and Brewery in downtown Roanoke. I got a beer, chicken sandwich, and fries. I could keep an eye on my bicycle while relaxing indoors in the A/C. The descent from 3000′ to 800′ elevation had changed the weather entirely. It was now hot, just like almost everywhere else.

Roanoke has a history similar to another place I recently visited, Altoona PA. Both were founded as railroad company towns. In Roanoke’s case it was relatively late, founded in 1882 by the Norfolk & Western Railway. Steam locomotives were designed and built in Roanoke, including the famous streamlined J-class 611 which is now exhibited in Roanoke. It may be the most advanced steam locomotive ever built, completed in 1950, about the time it became obsolete.

The last major rail maintenance facility in Roanoke closed in the year 2000. Roanoke VA seems to have done a better job than Altoona PA of reinventing itself for a modern economy. The state university Virginia Tech is forty miles away in Blacksburg but in our knowledge economy that proximity seems to rub off. A new medical school in downtown Roanoke became part of Virginia Tech in 2018.

Downtown Roanoke is lively. The brewery where I had eaten the lunch was near Roanoke’s old city market, which was also full of restaurants.

The city was only just over twenty years old in 1910 when this impressive bank building opened, later called Liberty Trust. It was recently renovated as the Liberty Trust Hotel and this was where I had booked a room.

Roanoke has dozens of restaurants downtown. That evening I found a seat at the bar at a place called Billy’s, which seemed to be one of the older and more popular restaurants.

After touring recently in Czechia and eating meat at every meal I have stopped worrying so much about my health and red meat. Short ribs on polenta were delicious.

The next morning my mission was to cycle from the downtown hotel the eight miles out to the Roanoke airport. As befits a railroad town, mainline tracks bisect the downtown.

I then realized that across the tracks is the traditional Black neighborhood.

Part of the route to the airport was on a lovely wooded path called the Lick Run Greenway.

It was not particularly difficult to approach the Roanoke airport by bicycle. Dollar gave me a large Buick SUV which made it easy to load the bicycle in the back without folding. I drove three hours back to our home in Chapel Hill and parked the Buick on the street.

Just to complete the circle, although Tootie offered to follow me in our car, I declined and very early the NEXT morning I drove the Buick seventeen miles from my home out to Raleigh/Durham airport with the bicycle in the back. I dropped off the car at Dollar/Hertz and pulled the bicycle out. The first mile or two cycling from the airport was a little scary.

Most of the bike ride was really pleasant, including a long stretch on American Tobacco Trail. I was home in time for lunch.