June 11, 2001.
Bardstown to Hodgenville, Kentucky. (33 mi.) Mile 978
Land
of Lincoln's childhood
Our new cycle touring friends, the
Helms, stayed in a motel last night, but we
discovered even more cycle tourists sharing our campground the next morning: two
young women in their early 20s, cycling from Colorado east; and two guys (Dale and Paul)
in their early 20's, cycling our direction on the TransAm route. They had
heard friends talk about the Bikecentennial Trail, and thought, "We gotta
do it." Without much prior bicycling experience, they bought Trek 520s and
gear and headed out. We asked if they would do anything differently. They shook
their heads soberly, recalling the Appalachians, and said, "We'd train."
Paul and Dale were as glad as we
were to be out of the hills of Appalachia, and also, to be leaving those
notorious eastern Kentucky dogs behind. They had not taken the dogs too
seriously until a pit bull ran in front of Paul's front wheel when he was
going 20 mph, causing a crash. Paul was not hurt seriously but the dog limped
off, wiser, we hope. Another dog chopped into his pannier trying to get at his
furiously pedaling legs.
We caught up with Paul and Dale
later at a lunch stop that offered "All You Can Eat". Watching Paul
make repeated trips back for more reminded me of our son Colin's story. He and his
Aussie cycling companion Craig were bicycle touring across the Australian
Outback, when, after many long, remote miles, they came to a roadhouse that advertised,
"All You Can Eat." The owner, not figuring on the
appetites of two 22 year old male bicycle tourists, soon became alarmed at the
number of trips Colin and Craig were making back from the buffet with plates
heaped high, and stepped in to tell them they had had enough. Craig protested
loudly that the promise of "All You Can Eat" was the biggest rip-off
he had experienced since watching "The Never-Ending Story." The other
customers in the place sided with the bicyclists until the owner agreed to let
them have their fill.
We left Bardstown, "the second
oldest town in Kentucky", without checking out the Museum of Whiskey
History and Home of Three Governors (not the same place), but with no regrets.
Again we bicycled through more rolling Blue Grass farmland. We did stop at the site of Abe Lincoln's early childhood home, where he lived
for 5 years until almost 8. A cabin replicating the one Abe, his
sister, parents, and cousins lived in sits on the original site. This
homestead was the most fertile of any that Abe's father owned, yet the
hardships of the early life of our 16th President are impressive in contrast
to American life today.
Cabin replicating
Lincoln's boyhood home on the original site.
We were glad to make it a shorter
day, since temperatures climbed to 90+ degrees. We caught up with
the Helms at our destination in Hodgenville, Abraham Lincoln's birthplace and
a fact Hodgenville will not let go unnoticed. Our new brake pads were waiting
for us at the post office.
A Catholic church
in Baptist country
Our destination for the evening,
which was advertised as motel, campground, and laundromat, proved to be only a
run-down motel. We made the best of it, got a room adjacent to the Helms,
washed out some clothes by hand, strung a clothes line, and enjoyed an evening visiting with
the Germans while Mike and Peter adjusted the new brakes. Sometimes a motel
does not mean a modem connection. This motel has only one rotary dial phone, at the motel office, where the owner
is reluctant to let us connect
the laptop
We learned that the Helms are
grandparents too, but both
retired recently. Their apartment in
Hamburg is paid for, and they have budgeted for bicycle travel to see America. Their knowledge of U.S.
geography and history surpasses that of many of the Americans we have encountered on
our route, and their impressions of Americans are interesting. We cannot deny
our dependency on cars when we sit in a campground with
them, as we have on two occasions, and watch fellow American campers get in
their cars and drive 100 yards to the campground laundromat or garbage cans. Living in
Hamburg, Maren either commuted to work on her bicycle or used mass transit, never
owning a car nor learning to drive. When we ask Peter what he makes of the
huge lawns we have encountered since the beginning of the trip, he says that
he thinks Americans, when they are through with work, "want still to be
doing something that is like driving a car", referring to the ride-on
lawnmowers. It's as good an explanation as any.
Maren und Peter
