What you Find on the Roadside | A Photo Essay
Gravel biking Asheville, North Carolina July 13, 2024. All photos were shot on Fuji 35mm film.
July 13th, 2024.
What you find on the roadside is a reflection of your own mind.
On the Blue Ridge Parkway outside of Asheville, North Carolina, Davis and I ascended to Mount Pisgah via the gravel bikes we purchased two years ago.
“God!” Davis yelled. I turned around. He was about 25 yards back and unclipped off the bike.
“What’s wrong,” I asked I realized now that we were going to have to push our bikes to majority of the way up. There’s no way his quads, nor mine for that matter, were going to handle this steep grade for another 10 miles.
“I just can’t peddle anymore,” Davis said huffing and puffing. Vrrrrhmmm. A car thrashed around us.
“I’m pretty worked too,” I said. I thought I could keep going, but I wasn’t sure how much further. I certainly wasn’t going to leave Dave behind here.
“Just go on without me,” he said.
“Nah, I’m not leaving you here. I mean if you want to wait, I can try to go up, and get the car. But I’m in this with you.”
“I just want to take a quick break. I’m dehydrated,” Davis leaned over his bike.
“No problem. All I have is this one bottle left. And I definitely should have brought some food,” I picked up my black plastic cycling bottle and inspected it.
Are we going to make it before dark? I dreamt of cold beer and medium rare steak.
We’ve been here before. Of course, we are going to make it to the top, but this is going to suck for the next couple hours.
“Okay, let’s go. I’m hopping on the bike until I can’t push any more,” Davis said.
“Sounds good. Let’s do it!”
Hopping back on the saddle, we began peddling again, and I lead the way up the mountain focusing intently on breathing. My legs felt less and less capable. I glanced back once again, and Davis was off his bike.
I unclipped, somewhat relieved (because at some point I was not going to be able to continue on the saddle) and disappointed that we both weren’t fit enough to make it without unclipping. Our quads simply couldn’t handle the load.
Need more fitness, I thought.
I waited for Davis to catch up, and heads down, we pushed our bikes together in unison. Embracing the loathe of embarrassment as large trucks, racing sports cars, and chugging motorcycles whipped right by us, we tried not to make a scene.
A gentlemen in a bright red pickup truck slowed down beside us.
“You guys alright? Do you need a ride” he asked.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I both said. Davis waived him arm indicating for him to move along. Davis looked like he was done for.
Coming upon a tunnel cutting underneath the rocky mountainside, we briefly saddled back up to make it through the darkness. The echoes of cars reverberated out of the black as a moonless midnight tunnel. Davis’ headlight died, so we only had mine. My tail light was dead, so we only had Davis’.
“Why didn’t we charge them up before we came,” I laughed.
“At least we have a headlight and a taillight between us,” he said.
I turned mine on as we approached the tunnel, and we pushed through lightless abyss. The green light flashed on my light indicating the battery was low. I set the light to its lowest setting. I lead the way, and Dave blindly followed.
“Let’s hurry because my light is going to die,” I said.
We made it through two or three tunnels. A cyclist had not passed us yet. Our egos remained in tact. The finish line was still miles ahead of us. One foot in front of the other, I told myself. Vehicles zoomed by, and we moved over to the grass. Then back onto the road.
What if a car smashes into us and that’s the end? I remind myself of my mortality.
We stopped at the next overlook towering above the Pisgah National Forest and sprawled our brick heavy legs across the concrete and squirted water into our mouths. Sweat poured down our rosy cheeks. I only had a little bit of water left.
“Should I go get the car?”
“No, I’m pushing this bike up,” Davis asserted.
Pushing my dark green State Bicycle gravel bike up and up along the grassy roadsides, I unzipped my bright yellow and skin tight cycling shirt to allow some air to funnel into my burning skin. The sun beamed down on us, and I gasped for the sweet mountain air in my nose. My lungs stung, and the adrenals in my gut fluttered.
My toes crammed together as sardines inside my stiff, clunking cycling cleats. Exhausted and hunched over arms extending forward, my head was down as I pushed my bike. Every now and again I would look up to see where we were heading. Down in the grass over the edge of the white lines, I noticed dead a butterfly. Dark purple and a white circle on the wing. What happened to you, I asked looking down. Whoosh… A large trucked zipped by. Roadkill, I knew.
I pushed upward following those forsaken yellow doubled lines. A chipmunk with a beautiful chestnut brown and white stripes piercing down his body gaily hopped on the rocky roadside. A used condom lay in the grass. What a weird location to find one.
“Davis, there’s a condom,” I laughed. I think he was too far behind me to hear.
We pushed through another tunnel.
Davis developed a cramp in his quads. We were so dehydrated at this point. I saw more roadkill butterflies on the roadside. Just as the butterflies, our spirits were dead and dismembered for some time.
I remember the initial jubilant ascent only 45 minutes ago.
We had stayed in a tent the night before and took our time in the morning. Eventually, descending into the National Forest, the downhill ride cutting and curving on the scenic byway into the National Forest was an exhilarating start. In the valley, the cool air was nice. We met three cyclists who were going about fifty miles that day. We were going thirty. They left a few minutes before we did, and I had this perverse notion that somehow we would catch up to them on the route.
On the upward journey, we had a sense of optimism. I knew that what we were getting ourselves into: voluntary suffering bordering on masochism.
“Davis, we are going to learn something about ourselves today,” I said.
Cruising up the gravel in the valley of the Pisgah National Forest, our bikes ate the rocks. A purplish pipevine swallowtails greeted us by swifltly flapping its flaky yet powerful wings right in front of us and guiding us up the gravel road. For thirty yards or so, this pipevine swallowtail seemed to know where we were heading straight for her brethren. Up and up she took us.
What does this mean? I thought. Probably a coincidence, right?
Then, the butterfly landed to the side and let us go.
This initial butterfly was a symbol of hope - a dream, if you will, that today we were going to discover something meaningful. Only moments later, our joy became a very intense discomfort. Were the roadkill butterflies symbolic of our crushed spirits? And what about the butterfly that lead us up the road? Was she saying, “hey, my brethren are dead on the roadside, and you’re going to discover them when the mountain humbles you.”
Patches of fire blossomed along the road. Tiger lilies grew in patches up the mountain. With stinging lungs, burning quads, blistered toes, and a dwindling spirit, I turned to Davis.
“We’re almost there.” We had miles to go.
“Shut up,” he wasn’t happy that I said that.
We’re almost there, I kept telling myself.
When it' comes to distances, I’m a toxic optimist. What’s the difference between half a mile and a few in the grand scheme of what we call time on this earth? Nothing. We are all going to die one day, and all of this experience… Will it matter? Likely not, so why take the dread of a few moments so seriously? Enjoy it for what it is even if it does suck.
What you pay attention to is everything. What you give thought creates an imprint on your nervous system. Be careful what you wish for, and be grateful for all the experiences you go through. They are your teachers.
Get out there, send it, and learn.
We made it over to the top of the mountain, and finally we felt able to saddle up again and road to our campsite. That evening we drove to Wicked Weed in Asheville for beer and steak.
‘What You Find on the Roadside’ is a short essay I started writing the morning after this adventure. Often, we don’t really know what we are getting ourselves into, and we always send it headfirst into an exciting challenge only to be humbled by our limits every time. A couple weeks ago Davis married Sarah Head, and I had the honor of giving a toast during their welcome party the night before. Along with other core memories, I told a much shorter version of this story.
Personal News
I signed up for my first race ever. It’s a gravel biking outside of Monticello, Georgia called the Red Clay Ramble on June 21st. I have no expectation other than to get in shape and learn. I have a training plan over the next 5-6 weeks that I’m currently implementing. Revisiting this story from last year is amping me up, and I plan to share with you more about this journey of getting in shape for this race.
Until next time. ✌️✨