Beyond the Blog Day 14 (May 11) - Eastward Bound

Although my two days at home were not quite halfway, it was my mental midway point.  There were so many challenges on the front end, from uphill mountainous climbs to pouring rain.   With these behind me, only the piedmont and sandhills kept me from making it to the coast within the next 10 days.  A naive assumption on my part, because there were still many obstacles before me, but the mountains had really gassed me and it helped knowing that I’d be running to flatter land.

This was the first day that it was just me and Monty.   I can imagine that it is difficult the first few hours figuring out how to crew for me.   I try to make it easy but probably don’t, since I’m not overly verbal.   But Monty is a veteran marathoner and has many, many miles behind him.  He is an easy-going guy who always seems comfortable in his environment.   He is a yoga instructor and a fisherman (I learned later he actually fished commercially).  

I picked him up at his house on Union Street in downtown Concord, said hello and goodbye to his wife Carolyn (married 35 years!) and off we went.   As I said in my blog post for that day, this was all very familiar biking territory, beautiful rural land with rolling hills and small towns, each populated with a fair share of vicious dogs.   Dogs would plague me until we got to the coast, although I never actually got bitten.   So there’s that.   But I rescued a turtle, so perhaps the dogs sensed my benevolent intentions that particular day.

I passed through the historic village of Gold Hill heading to High Rock Lake.   This is really some of the prettiest countryside in North Carolina, and with Monty expertly learning how to crew for me in the first 30 minutes, I had very little to worry about.  My energy level was okay, having slept in a hotel the night before and gone to bed by 7 pm.    As I headed over the bridge at High Rock, a flock of swallows burst up from the bridge and followed me in a busy cloud, birds spiralling about me, veering off to catch any unfortunate bug that happened to be around.   I love watching the acrobatics of these birds, and it reminded me of sitting on the Tuckasegee 10 days earlier, seeing swallows dart madly about the surface of that wide rolling river.

I passed down a shady road through Pooletown headed towards Healing Springs, on the historic Bringle Ferry Road.  This is old country, settled in the late 1700’s, and the names reflect a practical approach to where you were and what was ahead.   Just imagine the old Bringle Ferry, creaking along ropes stretched across the river, expertly piloted by Mr. Bringle or his sons.   I love that imagery.   

Healing Springs is basically an intersection, and it gets hilly headed into Denton, the next town over.  Denton is perhaps 3000 residents with a small downtown, and it was someplace I had always wanted to visit because there are many Sextons living there.  I don’t know what wayward branch of our family made their way south, but I knew there was a Sexton reunion here every year (we have not made it yet, after living here 25 years).   Interestingly, Monty also wanted to visit the cemetery because there was a branch of his family, the Coggins, also here.   But neither of us was feeling overly warm about the town.  On our drive in, we had been approached twice by suspicious neighbors who wanted to know our business, as we idled on the side of the road.  With event signs plastered all over the vehicle, it seemed to me to be pretty obvious.  But we garnered much distrust, apparently, and although we were able to explain everything satisfactorily, it left a bad taste in our mouths for paranoid Denton.

I met Monty at the cemetery, about 2 miles from my completion point for the day, and it was a bleak place.  I found at least five Sexton headstones, some quite old (1800s) and Monty found his kin as well.   We vowed that, given the proper relocation spot, we would move our relatives from Denton to a more welcoming piece of earth.   Maybe that is a bad idea, perhaps their spirits have long since become friends with each other and are quite fond of their real estate.   We’ll have to consult a spiritual advisor beforehand, lest we bring bad mojo down upon ourselves.

I met Monty down the road about 40 minutes after that, close to the hamlet of Martha, my strength flagging from a very long, hilly day with its own share of drama.   We were lodging in Asheboro that night, and the hotel wasn’t bad.  Again, lots of weekly workers coming and going, but there was a decent sports bar next door and we grabbed dinner and a beer.  At least one, maybe two.   I went to bed as early as possible but I think Monty went back that night.   I couldn’t blame him.   As a travelling companion, I was very boring with my 7 to 8 pm bedtimes.