A neighbouring caravanner promulgates the eco-warrior message.
The Appalachians are looming. I can feel them taunting me. The Blue Ridge Mountains had me on my knees, Dafoe-in-Platoon-style, begging for release. I didn't get it and had to clamber shamefacedly back onto my bike - as I was in the visitor centre car park at the time. So you can understand why I'm feeling somewhat like a lamb to the slaughter at the moment.
Allow me to quote from my field notes: "The Appalachians may not be as tall as the Rockies but they are much harder to cycle with steep, rollercoaster grades. The road surface is very poor with many curves and several sections have moderate to heavy coal traffic with coal sometimes falling off these rigs so be prepared." Uh-huh.
But enough of such dire thoughts! It is a time for celebration. Yesterday I finished stage one of the trail and am now 60 miles into stage two which will eventually take me to Berea, Kentucky as long as I don't get knocked out by falling coal before then. So far eating organic has been easy. All the major places I have passed through - D.C., Charlottesville, Culpeper, Lexington - have had organic specialty stores. Everywhere else, I've managed to seek out either farmers' markets or local produce in supermarket chains. I had a good tip for Charlottesville which I didn't have time to check out - the Gravity Lounge - and enjoyed a lovely cup of fair-trade English tea in the Daily Grind in Lexington.
I also engaged in conversation, just outside Draper, which went along the lines of "English eh? Sherlock Holmes." "Yes indeed! You like those stories?" "Sherlock Holmes." "Riiiiiiight."
All through Virginia the trail has been signposted at crucial junctions, which is fantastically reassuring. And whenever there has been an horrific hill to climb, the trail ushers you onto a back road where you can hyperventilate in peace.
It has led me to hell (Ellett Valley) and back (I went the wrong way in Ellett Valley) but that also meant I experienced the kindness of strangers on many occasions, such as the guy who offered me a chance to jump in his pond as I looked "real hot". I declined but took the glass of iced water instead.
Lessons have been learned (water, water, water and tar melts in 100-degree heat) so hopefully, coal-dodging aside, this particular lamb can deal with the menace of the Appalachians.
But please, do me a favour and repeat after me: Bud Light is not proper beer.
And if anyone has any helpful hints as to how to stop a tent filling with condensation I'd be really happy to hear them!
