trust a weatherman as much as a politician
Tuesday was meant to be steady rain all day, a little heavier in the evening. So Monday evening I mentally prepared to wake up to the pitter patter of rain on my tent and drudge through 100 miles beneath a waterproof jacket. The dancing fireflies that illuminated the field that night made it feel like a fair compromise.
6am rolled around. Silence. A little fog and heavy dew, but no rain. So we packed up our things and rode out, rain jackets initially on to honour the mornings forecast. After half an hour, I could see my shadow ahead of me! The skies cleared and the fog burnt off in the sunshine as my hopes for the day lifted. Feeling grateful for the sunny weather I stopped to take photos and merrily tackled the tumbling hills of Kentucky with their velvet green tree tops and sparse towns.
20 miles out of Harrodsburg the temperature started to drop. Blue skies sat behind me. Dark clouds hung ahead. The wind picked up a little too. Then a few flashes of lightning triggered light rain to fall. Excited to be caught in a little storm I ploughed on, a single headphone blaring pop classics into my ear and my GPS counting down the miles to my camp spot.
What had been quiet roads started to become busier though, with cars hurtling down the narrow country lanes. A lady pulled alongside me with her window down to shout “What are you doing? It’s a tornado!”. She swung into a driveway ahead of me, pushing her rear car seats down as I pulled my panniers off to squeeze my bike into her car. With a cracked windscreen, and a deep southern drawl, she pointed out the clear signs of a tornado and recounted how her horses and dogs were out at home so she was rushing back for them. We reached a Dollar General where she reassured me the manager would take good care of me. We hastily pulled out my bike and bags so she could get her animals in safely and said our hurried goodbyes and good lucks.
In the refuge of the store, the manager introduced me to the staff and showed me the amenities to wait out the tornado. Tucked in the staff room, I dunked strawberries in peanut butter while the wind and rain battered the metal exterior of the store. We watched as the front moved west on the radar, edging away from us. The rain persisted.
The manager and I had a shared destination! He lived in Harrodsburg - so we again squeezed my bike and bags into the back seat and set course for a little motel. Camping in this weather wasn’t advisable. On the way, he shared the history of the town - where the original buildings stood and why they’d been moved, the notable battles of the civil war, and proximity to Lincoln’s birth place; and his own history - Germanic origins, a vast family of endless cousins, and a background in genealogy.
Once we reached the motel, Buddy helped me get the room, cart all my stuff in, and checked that everything was in order, before leaving his number in case anything went wrong. This degree of kindness felt at odds with the warnings and glares I’d received from previous strangers in Kentucky.
Since then, the weather has brightened. Smiles and waves have become frequent again. Dogs bark excitedly rather than aggressively. Just a few 100 miles and I’m past a rough little pocket of America. I’m sure I’ll be cycling through more of them, but it’s nice to know they’ll be brief and there are people like Buddy happy to help a bedraggled cyclist.
