Ride Reports June 2005

Loopy for Lewistown
May 1, 2005 - Led by Brian King

It was sunny and mild at Lewistown Elementary School when the seven of us gathered for the club's first leisurely D ride of the year. Along for this trip were Susan Benjamin, John Gorham and his daughter Emily riding tandem, Dawn Hough, Brian and Alice King, and David Yonkoski.

Alice King, Dawn Hough, David Yonkoski, Susan Benjamin,
and Emily & John Gorham

Once we got out on the road it was a different matter. Less than five minutes into the ride, we hit a mighty headwind coming from the west. We nervously made jokes about being blown off the road and breathed sighs of relief when we rode into cover provided by the tree line.

Susan Benjamin leads the way on her vintage Schwinn while
Alice King and Dawn Hough work to keep up.

The rest of the ride was alternately mild and breezy depending on our location, but we all managed to stay upright and arrived back in Lewistown unscathed after a nice 17.5 mile trip.

Adopt-A-Road Pickup
May 14, 2005

While not technically a ride, it is a gathering of club members for an activity that promotes cycling, sort of...

A bumper crop of Frederick Pedalers members came out for the first pickup of 2005 buoyed by the warm sunshine and mild temperatures. Ubber-bagels from Panera are always a plus as well. What - no cream cheese !?!  I'm sure Bill will correct this egregious oversite at the next pickup...

Gracing this fine event were Ann & Fred Abeles, Bob and Kathy Dollar, Brian King, John Munns, Bill Pakenas, Bill Smith, and Stephen Walter.

Bill Pakenas and Stephen Walter show off their bags
in front of the Adopt-A-Road sign.

While Bob Dollar graciously volunteered to perform sign shuttle duties, the rest of us ventured forth with industrial strength trash bags in hand to discover the magnitude of this past winter's assault on our cherished roadside by the motoring masses of Frederick County. Suprisingly, the haul was not as bountiful as in past years. It also helps to have a good size crew so one or two people don't get stuck lugging all the booty.

Discoveries of note this time included a men's workboot (left foot) in excellent condition and an unfired 9mm round of ammunition. After several jokes about the similarity of this find to a recent incident involving a local government offical, we handed the bullet off to a local sheriff's deputy.

For those who like to keep track of ride statistics:
  Ride Distance: 1.5 miles
  Elapsed Time: 1:41:12
  Average Speed: 0.89 MPH
  Top Speed: 9.6 MPH (Bill Smith retreating from an agitated groundhog)
  Altitude Gained: 18 feet

Everyone had such a good time, we all agreed to do it again in about two months.

Three State / Three Mountain Challenge Century
May 7, 2005 - by David Whitaker

Well, here I am in downtown Chattanooga, Tennessee on a sunny Saturday. Scenic Lookout Mountain is over my shoulder and up to a 1,000 fellow cyclists are lining up for the start of the 3 State/3 Mountain Challenge Century. I’m having a pre-ride chat with fellow Potomac Pedalers members Rick and Mariette on the new brick pavement between Finley Stadium and the First Tennessee Pavilion as cyclists line up for the mass start. Glancing around, it’s a mass of cycling helmets, colorful jerseys and fast bicycles everywhere I look. It seems that we are in the right place at the right time. Rick, Mariette and I have an opportunity to talk about places to visit later in the day throughout the newly revitalized downtown Chattanooga.

I get a chance to show them an old photo of my Grandparents and other now departed Chattanooga relatives as we wait for the clock to click down and for the century to officially begin. This family photo, enclosed in a zip lock bag, is going to sit inside my cycling shorts next to my left quad and accompany me on this century of Tennessee, North Alabama and North Georgia. It seems like an appropriate gesture since I want their spirits to ride with me as I hammer the crank arms of my Litespeed up and down those big ridge climbs, which were once home of the Cherokee Nation. Those big browed hills were the backdrop for generations of my family, both Whitakers and Winns, who lived their lives here in Chattanooga near the "Moccasin Bend" of the Tennessee River. This is the place where I was born, where some of my closest relatives still live, and where I am going to hammer my pedals really hard today in their memory.

The clock ticks down. The sky is blue and I feel a slight chill in the air through my layers of sun block. I am not fooled by the morning chill and am glad I am wearing a sleeveless jersey because I am going to get rather warm cycling up the ridge climbs over the next several hours. A little more sun block for the nose and the pace motorcycles start their engines and begin moving forward. Rick, Mariette and I wish each other fast, fun, and safe rides as we click into our pedals and saddle up. Here we go! The movement of hundreds of riders is a pure adrenaline rush and I move steadily to the outside and follow several cyclists wearing blue “Outdoor Chattanooga” jerseys as we begin sprinting toward the pace motorcycles. They seem to have this drill down as they make effortless turns through downtown Chattanooga. Hundreds of cyclists are moving fast through downtown and soon we are going up the US27 expressway ramp and over the Tennessee River bridge leading northwest. We exit down a ramp, make a left and the pace quickens. The pack thins out on an extended uphill dash toward the Cherokee Boulevard tunnel. My heart rate jumps as I go into a heavy spin movement up the hill toward the tunnel. The front pack has separated into maybe a hundred riders and it is going to take me over to the first mountain climb. That mountain will sort everything out on today’s ride.

We make a fast left onto Signal Mountain Road and pass the Baylor School where my brother, father, and grandfather attended high school. My heart rate is reading in the mid-170’s bpm although I am feeling okay. The pack continues to gain elevation at a fairly aggressive pace, but not going all out. This pace seems quite fast though, but this what I need right now. My legs want to hammer. When I got to the ride start this morning I was listening to an old Flatt and Scruggs bluegrass tune over and over. Right now it is pounding through my head at a really fast pace and it is like a metronome that is driving the rhythm of my pedals:

"Oh a long long time ago when I left my home to roam
Down in the hills of Tennessee
Was the sweetest little girl that was ever in this world
Down in the hills of Tennessee.."

Yes, I just want to hammer every hill in sight and am getting the opportunity early in this ride. On this leg of the ride I hear a lot of hard breathing around me, including my own. I seem to be within my aerobic threshold and am not going too hard yet. Well, even if I go a little harder, I know that we will get a couple of miles of flat recovery just up ahead. My focus here is to stay in this pack! I will get a chance to catch a drink from my water bottles as we turn left just up ahead.

At last, we make the left turn onto Suck Creek Road and I grab a water bottle and try to bring my breathing under control. The cytomax in this water bottle tastes particularly fine this morning. We cross the railroad tracks and it is time to reach back for a gel pack and let the glucose do its work. The first mountain climb of the day awaits us just a couple of miles up Suck Creek Road and I want to be ready.

Look around at the scenery here David! The grand old Tennessee River is to our left and Raccoon Mountain sits big as life on the far side of the river. To our right, Signal Mountain rises up although the tree cover mostly obscures my view. I can see the morning fog rising above the Tennessee River about a mile or so in front of us. This is surely one of the most scenic river gorges in the United States and I want to take in the sights and smells. Morning fog on the Tennessee River is one of my fondest memories of my youth while living in the Chattanooga area and this inspires me to shift to a bigger gear and begin to move up in the pack and get ready for the long climb up ahead. I guess that the gel has made an impact.

Here comes the climb. The pack crosses the bridge over Suck Creek at a fast pace and the road begins to bear off to the right and go rapidly uphill. Gears are shifting all around me. Fortunately, it is a tree covered climb with nice pavement at a rather gentle grade. No need for the climbing gears yet. We move briskly up the first mile of this five plus mile climb and then I begin to hear riders yelling. I look up the road and see the first breakaway riders stand and begin to rock their bikes on up the road. Man those guys look surreal, almost like pro climbers in European races. They stand and start gunning up the road, rocking their bikes in quick movements to put distance on the rest of us. This starts a lot of movement as various riders move up quickly on my left to chase down this breakaway. I am not following this. I have no idea what awaits us up higher. No way I can sustain a sprint pace on this mountain and I am not going to give up my legs when we have three and a half more miles of this ridge climb to go. I keep up my brisk pedal motion and stay secure with all the hard breathing riders around me. Although I feel strong today, it makes no sense go anaerobic and possibly explode this early in this century ride. Keep spinning a moderate gear at 80 rpm, and work to keep my breathing in rhythm, and remember to stay focused on this climb.

Cousin Jim told me to look for the Prentise Cooper sign on my left and to expect one more short climb before the downhill. I finally see the sign when I am nearing five miles on this climb. I then begin to move up on the left. I start to go a good bit faster to catch several riders who have passed me. One final uphill grind up ahead. Shift into a hard gear, stand, grab my brake hoods and throw my legs hard into this one. Catch those yellow and red Atlanta medical jerseys on this last minor hill. Caught them. Now hang their wheels and get ready for the downhill of a lifetime. We are flying across the top and here comes the downhill. Oh boy, here we go!

Wow - This is a FAST downhill with a switchback or two that compels me to feather my brakes to avoid any unpleasantness. There go the yellow and red jerseys down the road, but I would rather follow than lead on this long unknown downhill. This descent goes on forever and I hit 48 mph. Eventually we reach Powell’s Crossroads at around mile 20. My arms are almost fatigued at this point. It appears that the climbs and fast downhills are over for a while. Time to find a big gear, a strong paceline, and pedal briskly across the flatlands.

A large paceline begins to form and I am fifth from the front. There are some really strong legs in this group so I want to get comfortable and let this train lead me on down the line at around 24 to 25 mph. This is very flat to lightly rolling terrain with little to break up our momentum. We can hammer along here without going into the red zone. The paceline grows as we gobble up more and more riders and seems to have grown to 30 or 40 riders in what is now a double paceline. Luckily, there are hardly any cars on these roads. I see several of the yellow and red Atlanta jerseys and more blue "Outdoor Chattanooga" jerseys, also club jerseys from Birmingham, AL, South Carolina, and an Asheville North Carolina racing outfit. A lot of the jerseys and cycling shorts say "Hincapie" on them. It appears that George Hincapie’s line of cycling clothes must sell well down here in the Southland.

I sit on the wheel of a rider in an Ashville, NC club jersey. He has a smooth and easy pedal stroke and he looks comfortable in the saddle with predictable riding skills. This guy is strong and probably rides his "Seven" bicycle on up to Mount Mitchell as a regular training ride. I also notice that most of the riders in this group appear to have shaved legs. I guess that I am in with a Master racing set. Nearly everybody speaks with accents that tell me that I am not on a club ride in Maryland or Northern Virginia today. One guy yells out at a dog, “you don’t want no part of this action” and everybody smiles as the dog moves off the road.

A fast tandem has moved up and our overall pace quickens a bit. There are very few cars on these back roads and we are outright flying. We keep moving at a brisk pace for what seems like 20 miles and the only interruptions are the occasional crossing of train tracks and a couple of turns. Somewhere in the distance I can hear the sound of a train horn and I look up when we ride underneath I-24 wondering just where we are in Tennessee right now. I sense that the Tennessee River must not be far off. Okay, I can now see the river in the distance and it looks like a really big lake. We must be near TVA’s Nickajack Dam. Uh oh, nearly all the riders in my paceline turn off at a rest stop just before the "Blue Bridge" over the Tennessee River. I feel okay and I keep going. This could be tough going to be solo with no other riders to serve as a wind shield.

Okay, I drink a lot from my bottles, eat some of these malted (melted?) milkballs and go into "bridge mode" to catch a solo rider 200 yards up the road from me. I push the tempo and get to him and he and I cross the “Blue Bridge” together. Soon two other riders are on our wheels. We turn right and move into a headwind from the west and we begin share pulls as we approach the Tennessee Valley Authority’s Nickajack Dam on our right. The headwind here seems tough, but I bet it is not too strong. I am having to work harder now though. I must keep my pace up on each of my pulls and take the wind so the others can recover on this stretch. I move up to do another pull, drift back and then I do one more strong pull up a hill where we turn left.

We are around mile 50 right now and the four of us have moved back into hill country. Low and behold it's Cousin Jim Whitaker in his trusty pickup truck coming down the road toward me. Talk about surprise - I am always glad to see Cousin Jim, but never more than right now! I am getting low in water and he is holding ice-cold lemon-lime Gatorade out the window of his truck for me. This is completely unexpected and is truly fantastic!
Take a moment and put my feet on the pavement. I thank my Cousin for showing up out here in the middle of nowhere Alabama. Hey, how the heck did you ever find us way out here? Jim tells me that the Sand Mountain climb is just up ahead and he has been all over looking for us. I drink profusely and jump back on the saddle. Jim then drives along taking a photo or two and then he stops and lends a floor pump to a cyclist who has just flatted right up the road. This is an example of true to life Southern hospitality! I will see him down the road.

I am on with some other riders and I eat another gel and start stretching out back muscles to get ready for that big climb up Sand Mountain. I keep noticing all that red clay soil by the side of the road. We don’t have that up in the mid-Atlantic. This reminds me of a Gillian Welch tune:

"Now Jordan’s banks are red and muddy
And the rolling water is wide
But I got no boat so I will be good and muddy
When I get to the other side.

But when I pass through the pearly gates
My gown be gold instead
Or just a red clay robe
With red clay wings
And a red clay halo for my head"

Okay, hang tight with this group of riders. The Asheville jersey is back and before we know it we are off into the woods again and the road is going uphill fast. This must be Sand Mountain and from the look of it this is quite big.

This road has a steeper grade and a rougher pavement than back on the first mountain climb. I start shifting to my lower gears and going into a climbing rhythm. I let the Asheville jersey go and I settle down into a pure climbing posture as I begin to work my way up Sand Mountain. I hear the birds singing and a woodpecker appears to be knocking the living lights out of a tree up somewhere higher up the mountain. I go around a tight switchback. The road keeps going up and I am not sure how far this climb is supposed to go. So, I shift my thoughts from my legs and hard breathing and begin to think of the lyrics to an old Delmore Brothers tune called the "Sand Mountain Blues":

"When it makes you lonesome to hear that freight train blow
Then you will know I’m riding, but I didn’t want to go
It’s a lonesome feeling, Sand Mountain blues"

I am thankful that this climb is tree shaded and I decide not too put my heart rate too high on this one since I don’t have a clue how many miles this road goes up before it levels off. I stick near several riders and several others have passed me. They must know this climb well. After around 3.6 miles or so, we seem to have gotten up to the crest of old Sand Mountain. No time to hang back and recover. Move up quickly with another cyclist in white and green Florida jersey on my wheel. I need to catch those three jerseys up ahead of us. I begin to sprint to bridge over to them, which is particularly tough since they are moving quite fast. Get to those riders David! Okay, we are back on at last. Now get my breathing under control. Up in front is that strong-legged cyclist in the blue "Outdoor Chattanooga" jersey who passed me on the climb. He seems to want to pull this paceline at a rather brisk pace along the top of old Sand Mountain. I hope he doesn’t want too fast, but this guy is really powerful and I intend to hang on for this ride!

We appear to be over 60 miles into this ride now and the views off of the brow of Sand Mountain of the Sequatchie Valley are incredible! I move up to do a half mile fast pull and quickly fall back to see only three riders holding on now. Keep this pace going and keep fluid going in me. Cousin Jim appears to be up the road on the left taking photos but I am going way too fast to do anything but extend the fingers of my left hand. The blue jersey rider is back in the lead and this pace is brutal! Two other riders finally pull over at a rest stop and the blue jersey rider keeps trying to set a land speed record up here. Since it would be foolish to go up here alone, I hang onto his wheel and refuse to let go.

Finally, the blue jersey cyclist begins to slow so I pull up to take a several mile pull all the while hoping that the long downhill off of this mountain is just up ahead. I can’t seem to find that downhill, but I must keep going at this 22mph pace. Mile 75 or so and we start to go downhill at last. A couple of riders pass us and I try to swallow more gel as we take the tricky descent off of Sand Mountain. This must be Georgia now. I down as much Gatorade as I can and stay with this group as we begin to descend off of Sand Mountain. Let the cool air flow around me and get my heart rate back down now.

Wow what a downhill! This is one that will make you smile from ear to ear!

Down in a little valley between the mountains. Low and behold, there is Cousin Jim along side of the road with more cold Gatorade. Man do I need it right now! I stop very quickly and we shake hands. He tells me to drink up and I drink one Gatorade outright and pour the other into my water bottle. I do not fill the other water bottle because I must be careful to not carry too much fluid to the next mountain climb. Everyone tells me that the road up Burkhalter Gap is pretty steep and if I carry too much weight I may want to toss a full water bottle before I crest that beast.

Slow up just a bit for some turns and down more melted milkballs. I see a rest stop ahead and I ride under their water sprinkler to cool down before the climb. Nice idea! Okay, I t urn left onto Burkhalter Gap Road, and hear somebody ahead of me groan "This is really steep! Where are my extra gears?" Welcome to Burkhalter Gap David. Yeah buddy. This is a Real Hill Climb!!!

Stretched out ahead of me is what looks like a death march of cyclists going up this pretty steep and unrelenting road. I ride up it for a little ways and look down to see "2.5 miles" painted on the road. Isn’t that comforting? Not much shade going up this straight as an arrow climb and I see my speed drop from 7 mph to 6 mph as I set back into a pure climbing mode. My 39x27 gearing seems a bit too large for this hill. Cousin Jim drives by and says something encouraging and all I can think of is attaching a grappling hook to his pickup and getting a lift on up the hill. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to have a rope and hook handy and I watch Jim drive on up this sun-drenched hill. I see two riders moving by me with triple cranksets and I wonder why I didn’t consider appropriate gearing. Okay David, get comfortable with the gears that you have and fix your gaze on jerseys up ahead and see if I can get up to any of them. Not a lot of luck so far, but I move my glutes back into a standard hill climbing position and grab the tops of the bar, being careful not to grab too tightly. I begin to increase my pedal power and get back to a solid 7 mph. Yes! At some point I notice a painted sign on the road indicating “1 mile” to the top. I begin to see a hang glider flying up ahead of me. Right now, I need to focus on the white sail of the hang glider. Try to float like that glider and take my mind off of this ugly sweat drenched climb. Put all power back into my legs and find a slightly higher rpm. I begin to feel a bit more leg strength at this point. I know that I can suffer through one more mile of this Burkhalter Gap Road.

Soon I see that the road begins to turn to the right and sharply increase in grade. That doesn’t look fun at all! Several riders are traversing (zig zagging) back and forth across this section of the road. Oh boy, this part is going to be really tough! I hear my Cousin Jim yell something at me from just up this road and I am clearly in the Red Zone and can barely respond. My mind goes to the family photo against my left leg. I silently ask the spirits of my departed relatives to ride with me now. This is a really tough climb and I want to do it well. I somehow find energy within me and say out loud: "This is how to climb a mountain." With my newly found bravado and a lot of adrenaline flooding through me, I stand up and start pedaling straight on up this sheer wall. Soon, the sheer grade of this section forces me to sit back down and I turn sharply to the left, then right. I am now traversing with all my might just behind another rider who is also traversing. I am taxing all body systems to get up this monster hill! It occurs to me that Coxey Brown Road and Harp Hill Road in Maryland are a “piece of cake” when compared to this final grind on up Burkhalter Gap Road.

The next thing I see, someone dressed in black with horns and looks like the Tour de France Devil is coming straight towards me pointing his red trident right at me. He is loudly saying to me, "Do not get off that bike!" Yeah right, I think to myself "I will get off this bike only when you manage to pry it out from under my dead carcass with my legs still gripping it I will not get off one minute sooner." I then tell the Devil in no uncertain terms to "Go back to France!" Those are the only words that I can manage to say at this moment. Breathing takes priority on this section of Burkhalter Gap.

I traverse once more to my left and then yell loudly to my cousin, "Whitakers Never Quit!" Jimmy yells encouragement at me and after one more sharp traverse. I stand and grind the pedals straight on up the final 20 or so yards to the crest of Burkhalter Gap. As I turn, I look back at my Cousin Jim and pump my fist into the air. Jimmy smiles at me and we both head over to the rest stop at the top of the hill. I really need to taste some cold water right about now!

The volunteers at the rest stop are really helpful. I was initially afraid that I might not be able to lift my right leg over my bike after that final section of the climb, but it seems I can do that and even walk a little bit. I fill a bottle with cold water, down it instantly and fill it again. This water tastes great! Okay, put something sugary into my mouth, chew and try to swallow. I talk to Jimmy for nearly a minute and thank him sincerely for the Gatorade and the encouragement getting up here on Lookout Mountain. I drink some more cold water and chew my last melted milkballs. Two minutes have passed and my heart rate has come down considerably, so it is time to saddle up and move out with a group of riders who are heading out from the rest stop. We are moving north across the top of Lookout Mountain. Let's go and find that downhill overlooking Chattanooga.

Four of us move on up the road. I can sense that we all gave the better part of our leg strength on Burkhalter Gap Road so the overall speed of our paceline is vastly reduced. We are unorganized and cannot get a decent paceline to work or seem to share pulls very effectively. I begin to see that we are going up a steady series of false flats and longer hills. We pick up some riders and some riders fall off. I down another gel and get frustrated with our lack of organization and lack of speed, so I do a longer pull on one uphill stretch. I sense immediately that this was not wise as I fall back in the paceline and see two of the riders that I am working with pull away from me. One guy is hanging my wheel, but he eventually slips off. Oh no, I can’t get back to the other two riders and I can feel the wind slowing my momentum on this next long uphill. “Where did my leg strength go?” I am alone with a light wind slowing my already slow momentum on this hill. Must keep my pedal cadence up and get through this part!

Someone passes me, at last, and I grab his wheel and he hauls me through a residential area toward the right turn off of Lookout Mountain. I slow up just before the right turn and drink the remainder from one water bottle. I know this downhill off of Lookout Mountain and I tap the photo on my leg and think, "Watch me on this downhill Ladies and Gentlemen, this is how it is done!"

I take one look to my right at the entrance to Rock City and nod my head to a photographer. I then begin flying down off of Lookout Mountain. This is a superb downhill and the fact that I know it well from my youth empowers me. I hear that Flatt and Scruggs song again and Earl’s fast paced banjo solo seems to power my legs to sustain a really fast cadence. I just outright hammer this downhill. I can feel my power returning as I turn my biggest gears and pass a couple of riders on a breathtaking descent of old Lookout Mountain. I don’t think that I have tucked so low in years. I fly by the entrance to "Ruby Falls" and enjoy the fast moving landscape. This is almost like a downhill in Italy and it feels too good to describe after all of the climbing we have done!

I am at the bottom of Lookout Mountain at last. My legs are really pumped and a lady police officer motions me to the right side of a set of cones as I fly by. I thank her and move up the road rather briskly. I now feel rejuvenated and I find a good gear to spin in at a high cadence as I begin to make up some time that I lost up on the top of Lookout Mountain. Soon I can see the stadium lights two miles or so in the distance as I am time trialing down Broad Street, remembering to thank each of the police officers who are holding up traffic to let all the cyclists move through unimpeded. Lots of 60 mile cyclists are moving along at a relaxed pace along Broad Street and I am flying by them. I pass over a viaduct and manage to catch up to one of the guys who dropped me on the mountain. This feels good and we hammer up to a big sweeping left turn and a then a quick right toward Finley Stadium.

One more quick left and we sprint toward the finish line with the last bit of power that remains in our legs. I see the time clock and I am amazed when I see the time of 5:56. What an incredible sight to behold! Finally, I manage to complete an organized mountain century in under six hours. Yes!!!

Fly by the finish line and down the hill. We pull over and I pat the rider that I sprinted in with on the back and tell him "Good Ride!" He says back, "I done this several times and this year I finally managed to finish it in a respectable time."

A number of people come up and congratulate us and a Chattanooga Bicycle Club volunteer hands me a green and white 3 State / 3 Mountain Challenge patch. I look down at this patch and know that I earned it. I will value this patch and I will surely be back for another one.

I then look toward Lookout Mountain and lift my shorts up from my leg and grasp my family photo in the sweat drenched zip lock. I hold it up toward Lookout Mountain and I bow my head silently in respect. It is important for me to thank those family members who are no longer here for the great ride I had today. I dedicate this ride to my Grandparents, Miss Helen and Dandee as well as to my recently departed uncle Jim Whitaker. I sense that they rode with me this fine day at least in spirit.

My car is parked right next to the ride finish and I hustle over immediately. I put away my bike, toweled off and put on clean clothes. As I am doing this I quickly swallow a protein recovery drink that I picked up at the Chattanooga YMCA. I need to get good protein back in me fast. I then walk to the food table and quickly pick up several pieces of pizza and a soda. I head right back to the finish line in order to see Rick and Mariette finish the event. Here they come and they look strong! I put down the pizza and congratulate them. Both of them have ear-to-ear smiles too as well as a little salt and sun. The looks on their faces tell me that they really liked this ride too. It feels good to congratulate your friends when all of us have just finished a ride as tough as this century. Each of us recognize that we have been to the top of the mountain and we have come back down empowered by the experience and with stronger climbing legs. Also, that endorphin high feels sooo good !!

Okay, it's time for me to hit the showers, get some healthy food, and go and visit the 4 Bridges Arts Festival. Cousin Jim mentions that we should head over to a Bluegrass music festival over at Raccoon Mountain for the late afternoon and evening. This seems like the thing to do. Let’s go on over and hear the great J.D. Crowe play banjo with Raccoon Mountain as a backdrop. Later, as I sit there in front of the stage just, before sunset, I keep looking east across the valley at the impressive vista of Lookout Mountain, I say to myself, "Hey Lookout - You’re a real hill and I’m looking forward to cycling up and over you again the next time I’m down Chattanooga way."

For more info: http://www.chattbike.com/events/3_state/3stchlng.htm