There have been so many times on this trip when I've had to tap into deep reserves of strength and courage I didn't know I had. My resolve was tested yet again when I faced the prospect of leaving my toasty down mummy-style sleeping bag on a 36° morning. I ended up using a technique similar to the one I've used many times to swim in cold water: jump in and start flailing like mad to get your circulation going, all the while muttering, "Cold. Cold. Coooold!"

Obviously I wasn't about to lounge around outside and cook oatmeal, so I packed up hurriedly and promised myself I'd stop at the first diner I came to. Luckily Buddy's Restaurant, whose sign featured a tophat-wearing catfish and whose parking lot contained enough cars to signify that a decent meal could be had, was only a few miles down the road. But I ate in a slightly less lackadaisical fashion than usual, knowing I had 74 miles, my longest day yet, ahead of me. The goal: Natchez Trace State Park.

Despite the cold it was a spectacular day for a ride. I quite enjoyed Route 70's huge rolling hills, thanks to my ever-expanding quads, calves, glutes, and lungs, and I happily noted that Tennessee does not seem to share Kentucky's obsession with rumble strips. In Kentucky the rumble strips cover the white line and entire shoulder of even the smaller roads, thus forcing you to ride in traffic lest any bolts, or your sanity for that matter, be shaken loose by the vibrations. Maybe Kentucky has a higher percentage of sleepy drivers. Maybe it's all the bourbon.

It is rare that a particular craving correlates with a source for its fulfillment, but once I had ridden 30 miles or so and started thinking I could sure go for a slice of pizza, a sign for Pizza Villa magically appeared. I pulled in and ordered a couple slices of pepperoni pizza. The guy explained to me that they didn't sell by the slice, but they had just made pizza for the buffet and I was welcome to have as much as I wanted as a free sample. "It's so good we know you'll come back once you taste it."

"But I'll never. . . " I corrected myself. How do I know I'll never come back to Waverly, Tennessee? Anything is possible. "It's highly unlikely I'll ever come back here. I'm just passing through." I added, "And I'm going to eat a LOT of pizza."

But he wouldn't accept payment. "Don't worry about it, there's nobody in here anyway. Someone's got to eat it. Enjoy!" That I most certainly did.

I will admit that I briefly entertained the notion of cutting my 74 mile day in half when I encountered a motel, RV park, and campground complex in a lovely setting on the banks of the Tennessee River. On the other hand, the temperature had warmed up to the point of near-pleasantness and it seemed a shame to waste so many hours of daylight. I did take a break on the bridge to stretch and contemplate a rusty old conveyer belt contraption on a trestle and wonder what it could possibly be used for before pressing on.

There is something about riding on the highway that makes you feel like a serious, hard-core bike traveler. I think it has to do with all the drivers rushing past, eyeing your bike loaded up with bags, and thinking, "Now that is a serious, hard-core bike traveler." So leaving Route 70 for the winding country back roads that led to Natchez Trace State Park transformed the whole nature of the day's ride and felt like a fresh start. The 45 miles behind me seemed to disappear and suddenly I was just a person on a bike ride. It was FUN.

But I did start pushing myself once I felt the daylight running out and darkness settling in on the lonely wooded road. I still had close to 10 miles to go. Somehow I often seem to find myself in a frantic race against the sun, having to go all out just as I'm becoming tired, concentrating in order to keep up a brisk pace when I want most to slow down, and berating myself for taking too many breaks that lasted a little too long.

But as I crossed a bridge over the interstate I encountered a glorious view: headlights, like bits of fiery fallout from a spectacular orange sunset, streaking through the darkened valley. I suddenlty realized that it would be dark when I got into camp no matter how fast I rode, so instead I slowly savored those last few dusky miles, watching fading red sky flicker between tree branches like fireflies.