Bicycle Touring Across the USA!

Knee Pains in the Shenandoah

I wound up stealth camping at Bold Rock Hard Cider due to the on and off drizzling. It sucked since I had to stake out the place for 6 hours to make sure no one could see me, but eventually it worked out.

The next morning on the 21st of August I wound up venturing down two dead end roads since I veered off the path for a while. I later realized that behind the stop signs are markers for how long a road is and if there isn’t one then it connects through to another route. This became really helpful down the road. I continued on cycling after wasting 8 miles. I headed down Route 151 South and took Route 680 where I passed a bunch of apple tree farms. I wound up grabbing a few apples for the road and washed them in the Tye River where I was able to bathe and rid my body of some sweat and odor.

Montebello Campground
Outside of Montebello Campground, resting my knee, getting some ice and reading.

I then followed Crabtree Falls highway, which went into Montebello. Between the steep grade of the Shenandoah Mountains, knee pains, and the bugs this was definitely the toughness day thus far both mentally and physically. I learned it’s best not to veer off the track even though I was trying to avoid the steep grades of the Blueridge Parkway. I ended up on a longer trail with the same grades over longer distances.

I sent out another postcard today when I reached Montebello Campground. I was also able to stealth charge my battery pack without it getting stolen. I plugged it into the wall of the building and put a trashcan in front of it to keep it out of view. They also had ice so I took this opportunity to ice both of my knees for 20 minutes on and off while I built a fire and used my whisperlite to cook my dinner. The whisperlite is a bad ass Bunsen burner by the way. My food was ready in the matter of minutes but I wound up singing my shirt in the process. Since it was ruined to lighten my load I wound up throwing it on the fire. The pasta was delicious despite my fuel source being gasoline. I was able to shower and enjoyed a peaceful night’s rest in my bivy sack at the camp site.

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Brian Cray is not a cyclist. He’s not a hitchhiker. He’s not a train hopper or an adrenaline junkie. He’s just an ordinary man with gypsy blood in his veins, who can’t seem to settle down. Nothing defines him. He goes wherever this world takes him on this journey we call life, roaming the world, at will, by any means. He aspires for a life of indefinite travel, a tiny home in the woods for him and his wife, and any work that keeps him wanderin’. Brian Cray is a travel writer at heart, sharing his stories with the world one keystroke at a time.


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