Baba Yagas' backyard

It's strange to be in the forest all day. I'm starting to hear things, noises from off to the side, rustles as the woodland critters duck and cover. The noise of tire on rock and gravel creates a constant white noise that blurs the senses a bit. We talk to each other now and then, trying to pass time or wake each other up as we constantly pedal, pedal, pedal, but we're too far from each other to have a real conversation. The danger of the trail, the roots, holes, dips and rocks force us to keep a distance, so we can see what's ahead of the tire, move out of the way if needed. Constantly, the road shakes us and numbs our hands. On either side, we're surrounded by water, tepid green mossy stillwater on the right, almost level to the road, and on the left is the river, powerful and strong, below us mostly, a drop long enough to hurt if anyone were to fall. Climbing, always, to some degree, we can't stop pedaling, on the rough ground we'd come to a stop. We see others, once in awhile, more often as we approach the small towns that come up occasionally. Some are day trippers, decked out in gear and oufits, and others look like they live there, bearded and dressed in mossy colors, watching as we roll by. Every once in awhile, a house or cabin lies off to the side, sometimes inhabited, other times it's hard to tell. We approached a small, two story shack out of curiousity and the shuttered window opened suddenly, a woman at the sill, calling her husband downstairs to greet us.

There's beauty everwhere. Water at our side. Trees reach over and protect the path. Small dams, occasionally, creating little falls. Several deer have come across us, full grown and long legged, bounding away at our approach, graceful and silent. A turkey ran into the path and zig-zagged for 25 feet in front of us before finding an opening it could escape into. Rock formations carving the land in half, splitting the trail away from everything else. The sun making itself known once in awhile, blasting through the canopy and warming us, who weeks ago hid from it when we could and now crave its warmth.

The people are different as well. Friendly but aloof, with a flatness to their speech, a strange accent. I miss the sway of the Carolinas and the roundness of Georgia. We came across two bikers in need of help, both of whom turned it down. We're being recognized now, most people guessing Minnesota (when Jeff's speaking), but someone nailed us as Wisconsinites today. Far enough away to be a foreigner but close enough to be known.

Watching the change in the people, the trees and the feel of the land has been a high point for me, something I'll remember.

Tonight we'll sleep well, beat up and tired, our legs feeling all of the last four weeks of abuse. Tomorrow we head to Cumberland, MD, and ready ourselves for the final climb to the peak of the Eastern Continental Divide.