Making a Permanent

Mark pulled up to my garage at 6:13 am and two minutes later we set off to ride a three hundred kilometer route that I hoped to become a RUSA Permanent. Eleven months earlier the two of us rode a similar route, but due to road closures and course-plotting errors, that route was not appropriate to submit to the Permanents Program. I made changes that I hoped would be a big improvement over the previous route, and today we were to find out.

The beginning of the route has some of my favorite features – riding down Arthur Ashe Boulevard with its beautiful architecture and then into and through Byrd Park and across the “Nickel” Bridge to roads alongside the James River. With little car traffic early on this calm and bright May morning, we were able to enjoy the first hour of the ride to its fullest.

We arrived in Midlothian, a bustling suburb of Richmond, as the commuter traffic was beginning to pick up. We were riding the opposite direction than most commuters, but there were still plenty of cars, trucks and school busses around us. This lasted about an hour, and for the most part, we had a lane we could take or wide shoulders or even a bike lane here and there.

Soon after crossing the Swift Creek Reservoir, the surroundings become far less suburban and far more rural. Traffic fell off dramatically. At thirty-two miles in, I made note of a well-stock convenience store, but Mark and I had plenty of food and water at this point, so we kept riding. The terrain fell to meet ancient creek beds and rose again until falling for the next. As we continued more west than south, the outer fringes of the Piedmont added their mark to the rolling landscape.

We turned onto the road that traversed Sailor’s Creek State Park, which is the site of the final battle of the Civil War for the Army of Northern Virginia and the immediate precursor to Lee’s surrender to Grant at Appomattox Court House. The park has a nice visitor center with very friendly staff, clean restrooms and water fountains. There are a variety of souvenirs for sale there and sometimes there is packaged food. We made a quick stop, taking a few minutes to chat with a volunteer who was planting lovely flowers, and then continued on our way.

From Sailor’s Creek it is just under 5 miles to the High Bridge Trail, which we were going to take into Farmville. I was really looking forward to this section. I had gone to college a few miles outside of Farmville, and my school friends and I often went swimming in the Appomattox River underneath the bridge, well before the time of it becoming the crown jewel of a 32 mile rail trail and state park.  

The gravel surface of the trail is easy to do on 23 cm (does anyone still ride this width?) or wider tires, and my 28 cm tires were nice and comfy. Mark’s 35 cm tires were downright plush. We only got to ride a little over a mile on the trail; however, for as we approach the first road crossing after the trailhead, we were motioned to stop by two park rangers. They informed us that the bridge had recently been resurfaced and was closed for eight miles as engineers load tested the work. This was grim news because our only options to get to Farmville were to ride on highway US 460 for two miles or backtrack and add 25 miles to our ride. The highway almost always has car and truck traffic, and the speed limit is 65 mph, which makes it decidedly unfriendly to bike traffic. I thought that there would be a shoulder on the side of the highway, so we decided that it was worth the risk to ride it. We turned off of the trail and onto the road that led to the highway.

When we reached the intersection with US 460, I discovered the rideable part of the shoulder was much smaller than I had expected it to be. The asphalt went about 18 inches past the painted lane marker, but about 6 inches beyond the lane marker were rumble indentations, which were not very nice to ride over despite our wide and supple tires. This left less than a foot of asphalt between the rumble strip on our left and the egg-sized gravel which covered the remaining 10 plus feet of shoulder. As I turned onto the highway, I fantasized I was on my mountain bike riding the longest skinny I had ever attempted. This helped keep my fear down. Almost all of the vehicles passed us from the left lane, so it turned out to be not too horrible, but I would prefer to never repeat a trip on that stretch again. I will definitely be checking the status of bridge and trail before riding it.

Soon we were off the highway and onto the business bypass. We crossed the town limits and passed the off-campus apartment where I lived my last year of college. We pulled onto Main Street, and Mark immediately went to the Uptown Cafe, a coffee shop where we had stopped the year before, but I had other ideas. I had been looking forward to getting a hamburger and fries from Walker’s Diner, which has been serving hungry folks since well-before my college days began. Our last time riding to Farmville, the pandemic restrictions meant that Walker’s was closed, so I had been denied its tasty treats. It sits catty-corner to the cafe where Mark had stopped, and I convinced to him to get back on his bike and cross the street. Unfortunately when we got there we discovered that Walker’s was on summer hours and only open Thursday through Saturday, so back to the cafe we went. The cafe has a wide and tasty selection of cyclist fuel, and their coffee is quite good, too. We ordered coffees and sandwiches and ate at a sidewalk table in front of the cafe.

We did not dawdle over our meal and soon were back on the road. We crossed the Appomattox for the last time and set off through mile after mile of farmland. The afternoon air was light and fresh as we pedaled along fifty miles of smooth country roads. We consider stopping in Cartersville but decided to pedal on across the James River, finally stopping at George’s Tavern Market in Goochland County. The small lot was crowded with a line of cars and trucks that snaked down the road. News of the Colonial Pipeline shutting down had sent some folks into a panic, which caused a run on gasoline. As I put my mask on to go into the store, I overheard folks say that other nearby gas stations, including the Exxon across the street, had run out of gas. I went into the store and brought a bottle of water to the counter.

“Aren’t you going to buy gas?” the cashier asked me. “We are the only ones with gas for miles around.”

“I don’t need gas. I’m on a bike, so my fuel is sandwiches.”

“So aren’t you going to buy a sandwich?”

I was still chuckling over the cashier’s comment as we made our way through the lines of cars and back onto the route. As we rode through Goochland and Louisa counties the traffic picked up a bit and we passed fewer and fewer farms and more and more rural housing. As we entered Hanover County we hit some commuter traffic, but as we were still far from any major population centers, it was fairly light. The motorists passed us safely and the journey had been almost stress-free up to the point of arriving at Ashland.

There are plenty of stores and restaurants in Ashland, but we decided we did not need to stop, and continued on to the finish in Richmond. We followed along the route that is well known by Richmond cyclists as being the safest, but it is still heavily traveled by vehicle traffic, so the last hour was spent in the company of cars, especially during the final mile and a half of the route. Crossing the I-95 entrance and exit ramps on Arthur Ashe Boulevard is tricky, especially if one follows the “sharrows” marking the supposed safest path. As I always do, I took the center of the right lane until I was well beyond the exit ramp’s entry onto the road. From there until the bus station there is ample room on the right (usually) to stay well away from large vehicle traffic. At the bus station, I once again centered myself in the right lane, and I held the position for the remainder of the route. The street has a 25 mph speed limit and there is a left travel lane for passing, so I never feel guilty about taking the lane on Arthur Ashe Boulevard.

It was still light when Mark turned off towards his house, as it was moments later when I reached my house. I put up my bike and headed to my front porch to enjoy a cold beer and reflected on what was the sweetest 300 km ride I had ever done.