Tuesday 30^th March, Days Inn, Bardstown, Ky Day 14

Last night is, frankly, a bit of a blur. I remember going into the the Old Talbott Tavern about six o’ clock. We met a very nice Texan couple, Ken and Jean. Jean was very talkative which suited Ken because it allowed him to order discreet extra shots of bourbon behind her back. He managed to sink these with impressive speed (“Mind, when I’m driving I only drink beer”).

I remember having quite a lot of Bardstown bourbon-barrelled ale. Then there was a bottle of wine with dinner. Then a brief tour of the bourbon shelf, back in the bar, and one last pint of the aforementioned ale. Then somebody tipped the floor sideways and the next thing I know, I’m blearily looking at the alarm clock in the motel room and it is 08.45.

Two very subdued cyclists headed out for breakfast at Mamma's diner this morning. An omelet with litres of coffee and orange juice.

After this, a short stroll up the Stephen Foster Highway ( He’s the composer of “My old Kentucky Home” and Bardstown’s most famous son) confirmed that American towns are really not for strolling, Then a visit to the town's excellent Civil War museum followed by a haircut at Arlene's barber shop. "Arlene's fifty today, it's her birthday so she's taking a holiday. My names' Lisa and It'll be my pleasure to cut your your hair today." (All I ever get from the Cypriot bloke in Southfields is “the usual?”).

Lunch was back to Mamma's for a "loaded chilli cheese dog", which was both disgusting and delicious, . A browse around a not very good second-hand bookshop and then back to Mr Tubs' to collect my laundry. (Freshly cleaned and ironed clothes. Best 8 dollars I've spent so far.) .

Perhaps not the most exciting day in history but not having to get on the bike this morning was a really nice feeling. The weather has taken a turn for the better and sunshine is forecast for the next few days. Most of these are over “gently rolling hills” according to the guidebook. So things looking up generally.

Monday 29^th March, Days Inn, Bardstown, Ky Day 14

17.30

Today was just dull. A uniform grey sky that didn’t change all day. Cycling. mostly into the wind. over fairly boring countryside. Lots of little Stepford- like towns. Nobody about. Very strange and a bit disconcerting.

Everywhere we have been, there are little signs and posters up, often on people’s lawns, campaigning for local officials: X for sheriff or marshal, Y for magistrate, even Z for Town Jailer. Why would you want to be a jailer? Steady work I suppose and you would meet people.

Anyway, over several hundred miles, in all the towns and counties, all the candidates have been men Then suddenly, in Mercer County there was a poster asking you to vote for Thelma Bradley as Magistrate. A few hundred yards down the road it was “Vote for Cleo Baker . Jailer for Mercer County.” I didn’t check to see if all the candidates for all posts were women but it seemed a strange coincidence.

Nothing to see all day really. Not a restaurant, diner or even a garage to break the monotony. Just the cold gradually seeping into you. Lunch was a hastily eaten sandwich, bought in a garage first thing this morning .

Chased by dogs again. They rarely get too close. Just outside Mackville, Mike was chased by a Pekingese while I had an arthritic mongrel lumbering alongside me. You’re more embarrassed than afraid.

We reached Bardstown at 3 and checked in to Days Inn which is reasonably near the historic old part of town (which I suspect is not very large.) Tomorrow is a REST DAY ( one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language) and I suspect drink may be taken this evening.

(My first task was to drop off my laundry at Mr. Tub’s laundrette in North St. I’ve had enough of rinsing out my smalls in the shower.)

Sunday 28^th March , Country Hearth Hotel , Harrodsburg, Ky Day 14

20.00

Breakfast this morning was oat meal and toasted bagels eaten, sitting in the lobby of the hotel, watched by a sleepy clerk. It was now British Summer Time at home while here the Weather Channel was trailing an hour long special on tornados.

Out on the road by 08.15 and the first 6 to 8 miles were on wonderful, flat, empty roads. Even when it started to drizzle it felt good to be gliding along. The rain gradually got much heavier later but with waterproofs on, it didn’t matter that much. The hills were much gentler now and we kept up a good steady pace. I definitely prefer cold conditions. Give me bad weather over hills anytime.

Much more open country today and the mountains are gradually receding. Or so Mike says, I still get a bit nervy every time we go around a bend. Nevertheless, today was probably the easiest for cycling so far and very welcome it was too. Mike and I agree that 40 miles or 5 hours a day is the optimum for comfortable cycling. Usually we are forced to exceed this by about ten miles and/or an hour. That’s just the way it goes.

We did have one moment of drama today. About ten miles from Harrodsburg, a bridge we were due to cross was closed for repairs. If we couldn’t get across, it would add another 25 miles to our journey. I could feel the lower lip trembling again as another late arrival loomed. But no, as the Indiana Jones theme tune suddenly struck up, we stormed the bridge. Clambering over the side through a hole in the fence and hoisting our bikes and bags up behind us, we scurried across, weaving our way through cement mixers, fork lift trucks and generators. Mike did get a bit carried away, making machine gun noises and throwing imaginary hand-grenades, but it was still stirring stuff.

Then it was all downhill to Burgin “the friendliest little city in America” according to the guide book. Well, the people in the Village Diner were very nice and so were the Burgin Burgers.

The last 4 miles from Burgin to Harrodsburg were a bit of a slog on a full stomach but we made it with a minimum of obscenities. The waitress in the diner had told us about the Country Hearth and it was a good shout. Dinner was in the Dairy Queen next door. My second burger of the day washed down with iced tea. Still tomorrow we should be in Bardstown, the Bourbon capital of the world. I love those biscuits.

Holiday Motel Berea KY 21.00 Saturday 27^th March

Linda cooked us a hearty breakfast while telling us tales of shooting possums and raccoons with her rifle at 2.30 in the morning , and seeing off a deer poacher with a 22 Magnum.

“I was kinda worried so I went and told the sheriff. He said I shoulda shot him and let the fishery and agriculture boys clear what was left away. Deer poaching is a federal offence.”

A lovely woman.

We set off at 9.15 on a very cold frosty morning. It soon warmed up though and turned out to be a fine spring day.

What cattle there were are gradually giving way to horses as we move deeper into Kentucky. The properties are smartening up a bit too. Lots of them have a plaque outside with the Ten Commandments on and the words “America’s moral foundation”. I’ve got off to read several of these carefully and have yet to find any mention of “Thou shalt not drink alcohol” but there it is. A check on the internet tells me we will be in dry counties till Monday at the earliest. Not that this bothers me of course – I just think Mike seems to be getting a little more tetchy these days.

We had hoped to reach our destination, Berea, by lunchtime but we had misjudged some of the distances so it was nearer 4 when we arrived. On the way we stopped for lunch at a garage and a local started giving us directions. He told us that we would pass through a place called Big Hill. (guess why that call it that) and seemed keen to impress us.

Local: Have you been down Big Hill before?

Mike: No, this is our first time. We’ve just come from the North.

Local: Did you ever go down the old Big Hill before they resurfaced it? That was a HILL.

Mike: No, this is our first time.

Local: You can get up to 50 mph on Big Hill. You done it before?

Mike: No, this is our first time. We’ve just come from the North.

Local: So this your first time on Big Hill?

Mike: I think our burgers are ready.

Well it was a really big hill, bigger than anything so far. But for once it was all downhill. Mike went down yeeha-ing like Slim Pickens at the end of Dr Strangelove. As a fully paid up member of Cowards, Wimps and Allied Trades, I stuck to the hard shoulder, brakes on , with everything clenchable clenched

Berea is a pretty small university town, that tries, perhaps a little too hard, to be quaint. A red brick university campus with lots of little bright white book shops and arts and craft places.

We stayed on the edge of town in motel land as the one central hotel, The Boone Tavern ( a name that momentarily but falsely, raised my hopes) was way too expensive. The Holiday is small motel but perfectly ok . The silver haired old lady who checked us in was warning of drug dealers who sometimes tried to use the place so I thought better of asking for the nearest bootlegger.

We bought some cheap US phones in Hazard , mainly to keep in touch with each other in case we got lost. It turned out that Mike’s didn’t work properly so we changed it at the local branch. This took a little longer than planned because the, very helpful, young assistant, Colt, had a broken arm. So things like dialing a mobile or opening those vacuum -pack plastic containers they came in (often using a knife), were somewhat difficult. Fascinating to watch until Mike, the wet blanket, started helping him.

Dinner was in a nearby Crackerbarrel, a chain place doing “down home country cooking”. Actually it was pretty good. I had catfish, turnip greens and pinto beans. Mike had meatloaf, lima beans and corn. Both hearty and tasty. Washed down with apple cider, a sort of apple slush puppy.

A party of school kids came in and sat near us, all wearing T-shirts saying “Odyssey of the mind”. Mike says this is what we are on. Hmmm. Being more of a religious bent , I think rather of Hebrews 8:13 “Jesus Christ. The same yesterday, today and forever.”

Linda’s Victoria B&B Booneville KY 21.00 Friday 26^th March

A very hard couple of days. 130 miles in wind, rain , hail and snow (and the occasional glimpse of the sun). Sometimes, if the only thing that is getting you up a steep hill is the dogs chasing you, you have to ask yourself if you are really enjoying this. I am sure this will pass.

Sign seen outside a church “Christianity is a verb”. Wait till I tell them back at school.

Yesterday

Left the motel at 07.20 yesterday morning and crossed the state line in to Kentucky about a mile down the road. My main memories of Virginia: The warmth and friendliness of the people, (although they did become noticeably more reserved as you moved south). The churches - each town, no matter how small, would have at least one, usually two or three, usually Baptist or Methodist, well kept and prosperous looking and always with a small white wooden steeple. The endless hills. And a bag of bananas.

We had breakfast in the Rusty Fork, a diner in Elkhorn City , managed by Eugenia, who could have been Dolly Parton’s younger sister and was “proud to be a hillbilly” . Everyone very friendly and offering advice on the route.

Eugenia said that if we hung around till evening we could join in the karaoke.

Customer “what ya gonna giv’em Eugenia, ‘Oh lonesome me’?

E. “Hell no. ‘Lonesome, ornery and mean’. That’s me. They lurv that one”

We headed on.

Real poverty here in Kentucky. Old shacks everywhere ( though some with 2 or three cars outside). Dogs barking and sometimes chasing you. Roosters crowing everywhere. People on porches usually waved or said “hallo”. Some would just wordlessly stare as we passed. Generally very quiet – a bit eerie, really.

It’s coal mining country but the industry is dying. They do both strip and shaft mining and you could see the veins of coal cut through the rock in the hills above us. What do people do for work now? Not a lot, by the looks of things.

The day had been forecast to be tough and it was. Five steepish hills at regular intervals. Cold and windy with a steady drizzle of rain. Energy sapping stuff. Lunch was a coffee and a hastily grabbed burger at a small hut in Melvin, about half way to Hindman.

Despite the length of the trip we were making good progress and got to our destination at 5.15 which was pretty good going all things considered. We were knackered but after 70 miles the day was over.

Or so we thought. We were told there was nowhere to stay in town, Not a motel, hostel, or even a council skip that we could nestle down in. The nearest was in Hazard (where the Dukes come from), 20 miles away ! Sod it. Nothing to do but go on. This was when the rain really started. ( I discovered that it is difficult to cycle when you are weeping hysterically.) Then something strange happened. A sort of mad, Zen calmness took over. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it but I suddenly felt very detached and relaxed . We had to go on and we did. Huge trucks flying past, drenching us with spray. Mud and gravel all over the road. We tore along, completely drained, eating and drinking everything we had in our bags. Gatorade, water, cashew nuts, Snickers bars, At one stage I was thinking about eating my bicycle pump but decided I couldn’t break it down into bite sizes pieces . At 7.30 we reached the edge of Hazard. Outside Wal-Mart someone directed us to a hotel, just down the road. It was a GH Guest House (they used to be Holiday Inns) with large, really comfortable rooms and wireless internet. Our first stroke of luck all day. I discovered that Fulham had been knocked out of the FA cup the previous day but was past caring.

We had been cycling for 12 hours and done 85 miles. We tucked into beer and fajitas at a local Mexican place before crashing out, tired but horribly smug and pleased with ourselves.

Today.

We slept late and headed off at 09.45. It was raining when we left but this quickly turned to snow and the first 6 miles were the scariest of the whole trip so far. Visibility was very poor on a fast moving busy road. It really wasn’t safe. We eventually turned off the main road and on to a quieter one and the snow slowly eased off. From then on it was just a grind. Only 44 miles but it seemed a lot longer and the hills, nothing special really, seemed even more annoying than usual. I was probably just tired from the day before . Chased several times by dogs and once by a cockerel.

A good lunch in Buckhorn, 18 miles from Booneville. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans. Most of the clientele seemed to weigh about 30 stone and moved around each other slowly and carefully, like sumo wrestlers.

We had booked Linda’s B&B before leaving Hazard as it was the only place in Booneville and we didn’t want to get caught out again. Linda said she would let us have her summer house as it was vacant and, as her house was out of town on a hill, if we rang when we got to Booneville she would come in and pick us up in her truck. (Our second, saintly Linda).

We did as directed and while waiting for Linda to arrive, I went into the store to buy some food for the evening (there was nowhere to eat in town). I bought steak and jacket potatoes and asked an assistant where the wine section was.

“Sir this here is a dry county. So’s Buckthorn and most of the counties hereby. Only place you’ll get liquor is from a bootlegger. “

I asked him where I could find the nearest bootlegger but he thought it inadvisable for a stranger to go around looking for one in town.

How much more can one man take?

Linda picked us up and drove us the two miles to her house, or rather houses. A feisty lady, full of life, with an easy, hearty laugh. We stayed in our own large two-bedroom house just up the hill from her own place. Very roomy and comfortably furnished. Linda’s own house was full of antiques and curios, the walls covered with her own paintings of flowers. The garden was also full of strange bits and pieces including a fully dressed, shop window dummy. A strange and wonderful place. Lots of birds including some Red Cardinals, small and bright, a wonderful shade of red.

We ate our steaks, washed down with root beer (disgusting mouthwashy stuff), and, at dusk, watched the deer creeping cautiously into the garden to eat the corn that Linda lays out for them. Then we retired to our rooms (Separate rooms – what luxury) .

Gateway Motel Breaks Interstate Park, Rosedale VA 19.30 Wednesday 24^th March (Day 10)

Icy start again today, so back on with all the waterproof gear. Mike complains that wearing tights and undershorts gives him a VPL. In the overall scheme of things, I don’t think this is one of our biggest problems.

We can’t face eating in the garage for a third time so cycle six miles into Honeker and eat in a diner, the Farmers Café. Lovely little place with a bunch of good old boys sitting around a table putting the world to rights. They discussed the Health Bill (against), the War ( against) and The Dixie Chicks (for). Two bowls of oat meal, scrambled egg and toast, my favourite breakfast now, and then back on the road.

The road was quite busy to begin with and early morning mist didn’t help but gradually the sun came up and we started removing items of clothing (not as we went along… you know what I mean).

The road quietened down after 12 miles and after we passed through a town called Council there was a period of about 7 miles of fairly flat road in warm sunshine, some of the nicest cycling so far. Very load bullfrog chorus all the way.

We reached Birchleaf and could have had lunch but decided to press on to Breaks Interstate Park, 13 miles away. This was our intended stopping point for the day but we were going well and thought that if we could get there early, we could have lunch and carry on for another few miles, cutting down on tomorrow’s long run.

It didn’t quite work out like that. The climb into Breaks was very long and it was getting hotter. Mike was quite happy, rhapsodising about the smells, sound and sights of the countryside. I was absorbed in an internal soliloquy that consisted of variations of just two words.

When we reached the entrance of the park there was a ranger who gave us good and bad news. The good news was that the Break Gateway Motel was open and it was a good place for an overnight top. Also we had reached the highest point in the park and it was all downhill from here to Kentucky, The bad news was that the motel restaurant was closed till next week . There was a diner 8 miles away but that would mean cycling 8 miles back uphill to the motel – not a good idea. There was nowhere else to stay remotely within range, so we booked into the motel – we’d worry about food later.

It’s a very pretty place at the bottom of a valley with a stream running nearby. We unpacked and while Mike planned the next days’ route I checked the TV for the weather report. At lease I intend to until I discovered the Western Encore channel, which shows nothing but old cowboy films and TV series. I quickly found myself engrossed in Yellow Tomahawk, with Rory Calhoun; a wonderfully politically incorrect film, full of people of scalps.

There is a small general store near the hotel from which we managed to rustle up a three course lunch/dinner consisting of , crisps and a salsa dip, microwaveable roast beef and Irish stew dinners, followed by bread and processed cheese, This was washed down with Budweiser and a bottle of Australian Merlot. It could have been a lot worse. We had the beer sitting outside our room watching some other residents throwing horseshoes up on a hill.

There is no internet again or phone signal which is really quite irritating. Amazing how quickly you come to rely on them. Apparently they can’t get a signal down in the valley. So nothing really to do after dinner but revise tomorrow’s route, watch an episode of Gunsmoke and turn in.

From our guide book;

Breaks to Hindman 70 miles

“Start the morning with a long descent from Breaks Interstate Park into Kentucky. At 3.4 miles you cross the state line. Today’s ride goes through the heart of Appalachia coal country. You’ll be travelling on 2 lane roads and one 4 lane road with a wide shoulder. It’s a long tough day, perhaps the hardest of the trip with minimal accommodations (sic)”

Can’t wait.

Oakes Motel, Rosedale VA 20.30 Tuesday 23^rd March (Day 9)

It wasn’t snowing outside when we got up today and the roads didn’t look icy , so we decided to go on. The weather forecast predicted snow showers. Flicking through the channels, I found one showing Casablanca. Suddenly our warm hotel room seemed a very snug comfy place that only a fool would leave.

Breakfast was three bowls of oat- meal and watery coffee in the hotel. Oatmeal has assumed great psychological importance for me. A couple of bowls of that and I am ready for the day. Out on the road at 08.20. 1 hat, 1 balaclava, three shirts, a waterproof jacket, leggings, waterproof over-trousers, waterproof socks and waterproof gloves. It was still freezing.

We were on a busy road but it was reasonably flat and the rain was still holding off so progress was steady. After about eight miles we turned on to a quieter road and gradually the houses, just shacks in some cases, became more infrequent. We would often go for a mile or so without a car passing us Probably all at home watching Casablanca.

It started to rain as it got a bit hillier but it was still fairly easy going. This is definitely a poorer part of the state. A few cattle and horse here and there. No stores, or amenities of any kind.

Many of the homes let their dogs run free around here. Mike was chased by a couple of Labradors for a while , then it was my turn. The first time another Labrador, the second something smaller and a bit more vicious. I didn’t stop to find out what. Luckily I was bombing down a hill and got away. I think they only run the length of their own home turf anyway. Even so, the first chance I get, I intend to invest in a couple of hand grenades.

The dreaded hill came at Hayters Gap about 20 miles in. First there was a descent of about 2 miles, which , despite all my moans about scenery, really was something. A dark forest of tall pine trees which seemed to close in on you as you descended ever further. At the bottom a fast moving river. A real primeval feel to the place. You knew you were going to have to pay for this but it was well worth it.

There were several false starts to the hill. You would think you had begun the climb only to turn a bend and then the road would flatten out. It felt a bit like waiting to be punished at school. You just wanted it over.

When it came, it was what the guide book said; Three and a half miles rising at 8 to 9%. No problem for Bradley Wiggins but he hasn’t got panniers full of dressing gowns, hair driers and cake. It actually wasn’t that bad. We stopped for several breathers and gulps of Gatorade and it took us about 45 minutes. It would have been murder if it were hot.

We stopped at the top to take a photo and, in the few minutes this took , Mike temporarily lost his sense of direction and started off back down the hill, on the path we had just come up. It was soooo tempting but, reluctantly, I called him back.

The descent from the hill was very rapid and quite scary. It got very cold as you descended and my hands were really painful from keeping both brakes squeezed on.. This wasn’t helped by finding out that my waterproof gloves are rubbish. They keep water out but they also keep it in. Once the lining gets damp from sweat, it rapidly gets cold and very unpleasant. I’ll replace them the first chance I get.

The last ten miles into Rosedale were easy but they were also our introduction to Route 80 which we will be following for the next couple of days. According to the guide book “You’ll find yourself on a busy 2 lane highway on the way to Breaks. Unfortunately it’s the only way to get to the park. There are many trucks and it’s “red-neck” country, Indeed it’s a dangerous road.”

What larks!

Rosedale is two garages, a Rest Home and the Oaks Motel. We arrived earlier than we had said so were not surprised to find the motel closed. Lunch was in the garage across the dual carriageway, the one you could sit down in to eat. We both had the day’s special, a Western Steak Hoagy and chips . This is a baguette with an elongated beefburger in it and a bag of crisps. The thought that we would be coming back here for dinner did not make the heart soar.

The Oaks Motel is for sale The owner, Chester, is 78 and his wife doesn’t look much younger. I was going to ask if they had internet access but when I looked around the disused restaurant which now serves as a sort of office/ workshop, I didn’t bother. Nothing much later than the seventies. We paid cash because Chester, a lovely old man, had some trouble using the touch-phone to get our credit card details registered.

The room was fine, warm and big enough to get the bikes in. All we really wanted. We spent the rest of the afternoon dozing and reading, and headed back, to the garage for dinner.

We both had baked spaghetti in a meat sauce and chicken wings that, for some reason, were boneless. The food always arrives all at once, so you end up having a sort of buffet. No booze of course, so we scuttled back across the dual carriageway with our, now customary, brown paper bag, containing two large bottles of Heineken lager. We will start showing up on traffic reports soon .

.

Travel Inn Motel, Glade Spring VA 21.00 Monday 22rd March (Day 8)

Out early at 07.15, looking for breakfast, Clear blue sky after a night of heavy rain. We stopped at a diner just outside Wytheville. Large oatmeal, toast and scrambled eggs. Usual sort of crowd; mostly small groups of middle-aged men, mostly wearing baseball caps. Just like us, in fact. At this time of day you will nearly always find a couple of policemen, sitting on their own, eating breakfast. At least one of these will not be a slim gentleman. One old boy on his own in the corner, a dead ringer for Homer Simpson’s dad, yells sarcastic comments at most of the people entering. We escape this

The telly was on and the big news is that the Healthcare Bill has been passed. A real piece of history.

The TV weather forecast looks bad. Rain and snow showers in Virginia, just as we are about to embark on a few really difficult days.

It’s not a long day, about 46 miles but there are ominous clouds ahead and it starts to get very cold mid-morning. Provided you don’t have to cycle into the wind, I actually prefer this to hot weather which I find really draining. Mike doesn’t agree.

I have grown to love US-11. A good road surface, manageable hills (mostly) and you still get to see most of the countryside (and, unfortunately, a lot more road kill). It’s saved us a good few miles and a lot of nasty hills in the last couple of days. My heart sinks whenever we turn off it but today we leave it for the last time. I’m on the lookout for its equivalent into Kentucky.

Lunch is in the Riverside Café in Chilhowie, a one-street town on US 11 . Hot beef and vegetable soup and an open turkey sandwich. The latter consists of two pieces of white sliced bread covered in mashed potato and a couple of slices of Bernard Matthews’ finest, slathered in gravy. It’s filling and warming which is the main thing. I order tea and get a gallon of iced sweet stuff. Beverages of all sorts are definitely a problem.

We deviated from the guide book route today . Instead of heading for Damascus we stayed on the main road which saved us ten miles and more importantly will save us about 5 miles of tomorrow’s trip which looks a real nasty one. It means that we are staying the night in Glade Spring which sounds more like an air freshener than a town. When we got here it seemed to be made up of a couple of garages, a factory and two motels, but there was an Italian restaurant right next door to ours, so it was fine by me. We got here at 2.15. An early finish was really welcome as the temperature continued to drop.

The owner, Ken, was Indian and I asked him about the high number of Asian run motels. It turns out that 60-70% of budget motels in the US are run by people from India, It apparently started about 40 years ago with one family, the Patels, and has continued to develop. Ken was born in Bombay (he called it Bombay) and lived there till he was 15. He came to the states in 1986 on a green card and became a citizen after 5 years. .He still visits Bombay from time to time but Virginia is now definitely home.

He asked me what I thought about the Health Care Bill being passed. I knew it was going to be the wrong answer but I told him that I thought it was wonderful news. He was very diplomatic and said that we would see.

Snow began to fall shortly after we got in and continued all evening. A bit depressing

The Italian restaurant turned out to be a no-alcohol joint, not even “Bring your own.” It was going to have to be wine in the motel room again. A little more depressing

The garage didn’t sell wine. Oh how we laughed.

Fried peppers and mushrooms, spaghetti and meatballs and a cup of tea (hot) then back home with a six pack of Newcastle Brown and a bar of Hershey fruit and nut.

So we have the steepest climb of the whole trip tomorrow then two very long days on a busy, coal-truck bearing road .

And it’s snowing.

“These are the times that try men’s souls”