We had breakfast at the Inn the next morning along with an Elder Hostel group who were hiking the Appalachian Trail "the gentleman's way"; they spent each night at the Inn, then drove out to the trail each morning to hike a segment. As we ate, we all prayed that the road over the gap would be open. The rest had been nice, but we were all anxious to move on. We left the Inn around 8:45, but not before Rick threw out his back while loading his panniers. The sky was clear and the roads dry, but we were surrounded by signs of the flooding: flattened grass, debris on the road, and orange "road closed" signs. The ride began casually, then started to climb, up over the Brandon Gap. The climb began gradually, similar to many of the roads in the Cascades, but then we turned a corner and the road shot upward, "Uh-oh!" Michael said when he saw the increase. The last two miles of the climb were some of the steepest on the trip. I was in my lowest possible gear (which is lower than on most bikes) and I still had to stand in the pedals and hammer to get to the top (If only I knew about the hill that was yet to come!)
Dad and I reached the top first (me in none to pleasant of a mood). My face was bright red, and I felt like I had taken a shower in sweat. Looking back, I could see the countryside below, at the bottom of the hills. The brick buildings and rolling fields tiny from such a distance. Dad took pictures of Michael and Rick as they reached the top (Rick still in excruciating pain because of his back), then we all pulled rain coats over our sticky bodies to keep us warm on the 12% descent. "I'm trying not to use my breaks," Michael told us before we started down what would be one of the steepest downhills of the trip, "They're pretty worn out, so I'm trying to save them as much as possible." I had no such limitations, and part way down Michael flew by me and quickly closed the gap between himself and dad.
We finished the day in the town of Sharon, just before another major climb. Jerry had been trying to reserve a motel room all day, but he hadn't found any. We flopped our bikes down behind the Congregational Church, and dad rode off to try and find a place to stay. Rick (quite painfully) tightened some loose spokes, then sat down next to Michael and I in the grass to wait for dad.
"Well, the hotel is closed," dad told us when he came back, "But I met a man who said we could camp in his year." His eyes turned to the church, "Wouldn't it be great if we could stay here? Look, there's even a canopy we could cook under if that thunderstorm gets any closer." We had already all noticed the sky slowly bruising to a dark purple, threatening another deluge.
"We should send Seth to ask at the church," Michael suggested, "He knows a lot about religion."
"And he's young and cute and can act pathetic." dad added.It turned out that dad, Michael, and I all went to ask if we could stay at the church. First, we tried the door to the church itself, but it was locked, so we wandered our way over to the neighboring house. The lights were on, music was playing, and the door was open, but no one seemed to be around. We called around the yard for a second, and had just decided no one was home, when a man stepped out carrying a thin strip of lumber. He stared at us in shock for a second, and dad hastened to explain, "We're cross-country cyclists, and were looking to stay at the church, but no one was there, so we came to see if you knew anything."
"Ah, sorry, I don't." he paused for a second, "Y'know who you could ask... two doors down there's a carpenter, Ronald Potter. His wife, Phyllis, is the organist at the church. You might try asking her. And if that doesn't work out, you could stay in my barn; it's big, and clean, and you'd have a roof over your heads. Bathrooms might be an issue, though..."
"Thank you!" dad said, and Michael and I echoed him, "And what was your name?"
"Oh, I'm Hull." He saw the blank looks on our faces and added, "H-U-L-L."
"Well, thanks Hull. Have a nice day."
We found Phyllis in her yard with three other ladies, all chatting politely. "Excuse me, is one of you Phyllis?" Dad interrupted their conversation.
"Yes." the oldest said, "That would be me." she was easily a head shorter than her companions, and she had a warm, grandmotherly air to her, "What can I do for you?"
"Well, we're cross-country cyclists and we heard that you were the organist for the church up the road there, and we were hoping to stay there tonight..."
"I'll see what I can do." she said. First, she introduced us to her guests, a woman from the town and her pen-pal from Ireland, then made her way inside to make some phone calls. The guests wished us well and walked off. Phyllis came back a few moments later, "Well, I made some phone calls, and I'm trying to reach the deacon. It'll be a while if you want to have a seat." she gestured to the deck, but we all sat down on the lawn, "Used to be we left the church unlocked all the time. But then they put in the interstate, and we started to worry about bums going in there and smoking in the pews. We don't really have anything valuable in there, but we couldn't risk the church burning down." She shook her head for a moment. "Now, I'm gonna go in to finish my poies."
As she walked into the house, I saw Michael mouthing "Pies!!" to me across the lawn.
I grinned back, "Now we just have to look really pathetic..." Despite our best efforts to evoke sympathy, we never even saw a slice of pie. Instead, we got to spend the night in the Congregational Church of Sharon... more than a fair trade.
We set up our sleeping bags in the upstairs Sunday school room, showered at a house across the street, and picked up dinner from a convenience store a short walk away. We cooked our dinner in the kitchen down stair (the church was definitely equipped to support cyclists.) After our meal (for dad and I, a stir-fry followed up by a quart of Ben&Jerry's), we returned to the Sunday school room. Rick stretched his back, Jerry called home, dad updated his journal, and Michael and I engaged in a grueling game of Biblopoly. After that, we all headed off to bed.
