Legend has it that Hayter's Gap is the most grueling climb of the trail. I won't argue with that. It's not the longest or the steepest, but it's the perfect combination of the two to drive any mortal man insane. 3.7 miles of unrelenting 10% grade. It only covers about half a mile as the crow flies, but it winds up and around the side of the mountain. This feature of the trail usually becomes a focal point in most people's day as it truly is the single most challenging obstacle so far.
Randomly saw John again, too. I was finishing my lunch on the side of the road and he pulled up. It's true what they say- you really do keep running into the same people along this thing.
You know those cheesy god/angel shows on TV? You know, the ones which feature a different sour-fated faith-doubter in each episode, overcoming some great drama with the aid of an angel or god in the form of a helpful neighbor. Well, I actually experienced a perfect scenario for one of these tales today! Before I go into the story, I'll preface it by explaining that I am not suddenly given to supersticion and mysticism, but if somethig were to sway me, this would probably do it.
It all started as I began my ascent up the business side of Hayter's Gap. I gave John a head start since he usually climbs much faster than me, and I didn't want him to feel weighed down. We agreed that whoever made it first would wait for the other and then ride down the other side together.
Keep in mind that in rural Virginia, there are NO services of any kind for dozens of miles at a time. I had alreay put in 80 miles (60 before lunch :) and I did not expect to see any signs of civilization until my day was through. Hayter's Gap is one of those roads that is so twisty and steep, that no one has ever thought it a good idea to build anything along the road. It is just woods. Woods and Up.
As I began the climb, I decided that the best course of action was to just hunker down in the lowest gear, look down, and pedal until it's over. I knew 3.7 miles up that steep a hill could take over an hour, so it was time to just commit. Even in the lowest gear, it's work getting my loaded bike and my own fat body up that hill. I could feel a little relief after washing my hair six times in the motel last night and pulling out about a pound of it with every pass of my hand, but it wasn't enough weight loss to make this climb easy. So anyway, I'm off. It's happening, and there really is no turning back. You can't stop on this kind of grade because you'll never be able to start again, and you can't go any slower or you'll just tip over. So I'm plugging along and trying to wrap my head around the reality that I will be doing this for what will seem like an eternity.
About half way up the mountain, there was a flat spot. It was only maybe 20 feet before it began climbing around the next corner, but I made the decision to take a break. I figured I'd be able to start back up on the flat area, and my heartbeat was resonating in my ear drums so I made the executive decision to let things cool off a little bit before tackling the next half hour. All the while, crazed locals had been speeding by me in loud trucks and motorcycles, each one sending chills through my veins as it whizzed by.
After drinking from my bottle, I realized that I was down to less than half a bottle of water. I had two empties and just a few sips left. At this point, I started to think about the unknown that lies ahead... Maybe it gets steeper, what if there is no water up there, what if I run out and start panting, will I just run out of gas and roll back down to the bottom... Not a good feeling when you can still see the hill ahead winding up the mountain with no end in sight.
It was at this moment that a huge, shimmering white pickup truck came along. This is the Virginia hill-country equivalent of a gallant white steed, by the way. As he rolls by, we nod and ackowledge eachother. Just then, I see his brake lights come on and he slowly rolls back to where I am standing.
The driver is a man of probably 60 years, weathered like a man of closer to 75. From within the truck, he says to me, "How are you doing, son?"
Still panting a bit, I reply with as friendly an air as I can muster, "Oh, you know... Getting through it!"
I then heard him say in his rough but comforting southern drawl, "You got enough water there?"
Holding up my meager supply for him to see, I think I was trying to present myself as resilient and firm, but nonetheless dried out. I let out a little chuckle and said something like, "Oh, I'll live... Why? You got any water in there?"
He let out a complementary laugh to even the odds and shook his head. I never expected him to have it, but hey, he did stop. Just when I thought he was about to convey some standard southern salutation and drive off, he looked back over at me and said with twinking eyes and a little smirk, "How about an ice-cold Gatorade though?"
As I tried to process what he had said, the man stepped down from his truck and began walking toward the tailgate. I noticed he was wearing all white and walked like he was 10 feet tall. A slow but sturdy gait carried him to the back of the truck where he lifted the lid, opened a cooler and drew from it a glistening red bottle of salvation.
I had only just begun to comprehend what was happening. In my time of dire need, this man rolls by and offers me the best thing I could have possibly been offered. I thanked him and said, "You are really saving my day!" I couldn't think of anything else to say. It also occurred to me that while this man had stopped here, not a single vehicle of any kind passed going either way. We were just on the other side of a blind turn and still, he had no reservations about stopping.
As he handed me the Gatorade, he looked me in the eyes, paused for an instant and said, "Just remember to pass it along to someone else when you can."
I knew exactly what he meant, and I looked right back at him and promised that I would.
He climbed back into the truck, fixed his cap, and took off. Just as suddenly as he had come upon me, he was gone. Vanished into the woods. I couldn't hear his truck struggling up the hill like all of the others that had passed me before- he was just gone.
A couple minutes and a sip of Gatorade later, I began my ascent once more. Still reeling from the excitment of such a great gift, my morale was restored and I knew I would make it up the hill alive. And the trucks and motorcycles resumed as well.
When I got to the top, John was waiting or me like he said he would. I asked him if he had seen the truck or the man, and he hadn't. I told him that the truck was huge and bright white with lights all along the top and the guy was giving away Gatorades, but John had seen no such truck.
There is something amazing about me being stopped and out of water just as this guy happened to be driving by with a cooler of Gatorade. If I had left my motel half an hour earlier or later, this may never have happened... Or would it...
Anyway, I'm not saying that I believe a 900 year old man collected 80,000 different species of spider along with everything else and singlehandedly repopulated the earth after surviving a total genocide of the entire human race, but I am impressed with the way people's paths cross in ways that elude our understanding.
Alright. Sorry for the long one, hope you enjoy the story and don't forget to check out my other thing:
TrackMytour.com/2220
Location:Council, Va
I am pleased to see that after a long day of pedaling and apparent hallucinations you still have your humor about you. God speed and no I don't think he (or she - your choice) has a hand on your shoulder but I like the saying.
ReplyDeleteOh, by the way - yes we have met albeit a long time ago. I worked with your dear Mom.