I left Avanelle's and continued on my quest to navigate through tiny West Virgina backroads to Charleston. The majority of my morning was spent on a lovely road name Kinechole Run Road, which was to take me through the unincorporated towns of Benson and Churchville and eventually connect up with Route 119 into Charleston. I came to a Y intersection, consulted my GPS, and sure enough discovered I had taken a wrong turn somewhere. To complicate matters further, I realized after standing there for a couple minutes that I could not even remember which road I'd just come from. Perhaps people with no sense of direction ought not to take long-distance bike rides by themselves, but it is far too late for that now.

An portly older fellow named Bill whose house, I couldn't help noticing, was proudly flying the Confederate flag, drove over to me on the most enormous camouflage-green four-wheeler I've ever seen and greeted me with a big grin. He had just bought it yesterday and was taking it out for its maiden voyage to check on his herd of beef cows up the hill. I guess Benson and Churchville are so small as to be practically non-existent, because Bill had never heard of them, but he gave me directions into Weston. I knew this to be a more roundabout route than my own cleverly crafted route through the backroads. But seeing as I had no cell phone reception I thought it wiser to follow Bill's advice and get back to the slightly larger towns and roads.

And I certainly didn't mind when this route led me to the Olde Mill Diner in Jackon's Mill. I'm becoming a serious diner connoisseur, and I gave this one 4 stars. Maybe it was the warm cozy respite from the cool overcast day outside, the cheerful centerpieces made of foil leaves, April's exceptionally friendly and efficient service, or the delicious breakfast concoction called the Sunrise Platter: homefries, ham, sauteed peppers and onions, and scambled eggs all piled up and topped with melted cheese.

Or perhaps it was due to the particularly good company I had, a guy about my age named Adam sporting the (OK, I admit, quite attractive) combination of smart-person glasses and dirty work jeans who came in and sat in a neighboring booth. We started chatting and I invited him to join me since he'd just ordered his food and I was still slowly plowing through mine. He was a super nice guy, an alum and current employee of West Virginia University, working on sustainable agriculture methods. He had been working this week at the 4-H extension in Jackson's Mill building something called a high tunnel—something like a greenhouse that extends the growing season for a month on either end. It's always a pleasure to hang out, no matter how briefly, with an intelligent person doing something interesting and important that they clearly care a great deal about.

It's funny—being on a bike for so long, my perception of distance has completely changed. Adam mentioned that he lives in Morgantown but is working in Jackson's Mill all week. It took me 3 days to ride from Morgantown to Jackson's Mill. I asked, "Where do you stay when you're down here, do they give you housing?" He gave me the tiniest hint of a strange look and answered, "No, it's only an hour and a half away. I've been commuting."

Right. You can do such things when you have a car. I've forgotten.

Adam had assured me that Route 119 would be very nice ride, and he was right: like the other West Virginia roads I'd been on it was incredibly scenic while at the same time being astonishingly flat. The one drawback was the weather: after 40 chilly, drizzly, overcast miles I was shivering when I arrived at Cedar Creek State Park. I plunked my stuff down at the campsite nearest the bath house, and since I was one of maybe 5 people in the entire campground I didn't feel at all guilty about hogging the hot shower. I decided to stay in there until I got so hot that going back out into the cool air would feel refreshing. To make good use of my time, I even did a whole sequence of stretches and yoga poses, strategically positioning whatever body part I was trying to stretch under the gloriously high-pressure stream of hot water. I think there's money to be made from this concept. Perhaps a YogaShower brand waterproof video device that attaches to your shower head, with accompanying DVDs to guide you through your workout.

Oh, and to distract myself from the long cold ride, I started working on a country song called Avanelle. It really has nothing to do with the real Avanelle, I just like the name.

Avanelle don't stay mad
What I done ain't that bad
I promise you I'm more or less innocent
My eyes mighta wandered
But all night I pondered
And I'm pretty sure temptation ain't a sin.

Avanelle, Avanelle
Come on in and sit a spell
Hug me and kiss me like you used to do
We danced once, maybe twice,
But that girl wasn't half as nice
Nor a mite near as purty as you, Avanelle.

Rumors 'round town
Say that I run around
But to prove that I'll always be true
I got my paycheck and spent
The part that don't go to beer and rent
On tulips and daisies for you, Avanelle.

One day your prom queen looks are gonna fade
You'll probably get wrinkles and varicose veins.
And when that happens, you'll be satisfied
With a man who behaves himself most of the time

Avanelle, Avanelle
Don'tcha make me go through hell
Don't leave me here all alone
Avanelle, Avanelle,
I'll be down by the wishing well
Throwing all my pennies in and wishing you'd come home.