As we were about to set out after breakfast, a Forest Service volunteer asked us about our route plan, and suggested we ride up the Virginia Creeper Trail rather than the road route shown on our map, because of heavy traffic on the road which winds up the mountain. It turned out the volunteer, Marsha Wikle, lives in Palmetto, very near our home. She also recently had a bike crash causing the identical injury to one I suffered about 15 years ago.
We took Marsha's advice, having learned to give heavy weight to local knowledge if it comes from a cyclist (and little weight otherwise). The trail follows an old railroad bed and the part we rode gradually climbs 1000' over 12 miles, so steadily that we felt we were hardly climbing at all. The trail is gravel and dirt and mud, so we rode at a slow speed, but the weather was cool and clear and we were riding beside a creek with constant rapids and waterfalls, so we were in no hurry.
Our route over the Appalachians crosses two major ridges. Today we rode over the first. The Blue Ridge Parkway, which lies a few days ahead, runs along the top of the second one. The trail got us halfway up to today's 3700' summit, and the road the rest of the way up was nowhere as steep as some of the hills we've been over before today. Since the pass was not marked with a name on the map or on the road, we decided to name it Pussycat.
Quickly descending from Pussycat Pass, we reached the Lost City of Troutdale, which our map said has 494 people and "all services". i.e. a restaurant, grocery, service station, motel, post office, and a hostel. It was our planned lunch stop. Problem was, there wasn't anything there except a couple of houses. At the end of the day we looked at the satellite view using Google Maps, and confirmed that what we didn't see isn't there. Strange.
We pressed on, and since we were still descending it didn't take long to reach the next town, Sugar Grove. Just as we stopped for lunch (standup minimart fare) we got a flat on the left trailer tire. By the time we ate and fixed the tire, it was 3:30, so we knew it would be late by the time we finished the day. And it was.
After the descent from Pussycat, the terrain was easy riding, up and down on small country roads, with plenty of pastures, farms and cows to see. The last few miles to Wytheville, pop. 7762, was on a busy U.S. highway, without incident. Wytheville is within lodging range of the big NASCAR race at Bristol, so I was quietly worried we might have trouble finding a room at less than triple what it might cost, but we found one at a descent motel at only 1 1/2 times the usual rate, within walking distance of an Applebys, where we enjoyed a drink and dinner while watching the car race and me teasing Sandy that I'm becoming a big fan.
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