We stayed at the Days Inn in Fancy Gap Friday night. Supposedly the hotel was on top of a ridge, but the rain and fog were so thick Saturday morning we could barely see beyond the parking lot. According to the Weather Channel, it would clear up - eventually that is.

Over a very leisurely breakfast Paul reminisced about cycling through Juneau, Alaska. "Juneau weather is like this all of the time" he said. His eyes glazed over as he described his 5-day far northern tour. "What's that you said, gorgeous?" I asked, slightly flabbergasted. Yes. He swore he loved every minute of it.

After breakfast we did another weather assessment. Yup, it changed a little. Fog had lifted, it was colder, the wind had picked up. And it was still raining. Optimists that we are, we decided to wait until 1:00pm to make a decision about whether to cycle or not.

Meanwhile we visited the one and only Harmons combination Mountain Museum/Western Wear Clothing Outlet. I found the faded photographs of snowy silhouettes bravely traveling mountain passes and their preserved implements very inspiring. Among the items for sale were full length oil-skin coats and lots and lots of hats. Although a coat was out of the question, a rugged looking brown mountain hat caught my eye [67K JPEG]. I tried it on and looked in the mirror. Perfect. Mountain Woman. Maybe we would ride the trail after all. As I waited in line at the checkout counter to buy my hat, and some water proof boots, the wind gusted and blew the door open as a couple entered.

Procrastinating just a little bit longer we drove to Galax to pick up a good map. On the way Phil, alias the Bicycle Equipment King, enthusiastically inventoried his stock. A perfect opportunity to actually use all of this stuff!

We got on the trail at 3:00pm. We agreed to ride for a half hour or so, and if anyone wanted to turn back we would. No Questions Asked. "Besides, it's starting to clear," we told ourselves. Within 15 minutes of starting, a squall blew in. Blowing rain. Hard blowing rain. My brand new waterproof boots worked quite well. They did a very good job of keeping the water splashing down my leg IN the boot. My feet were swimming within minutes. This is a lesson I have to re-learn every few years. By themselves, waterproof boots do not keep your feet dry on a bike, no matter how much you want them to. Period, The End. Fortunately the squall blew over fairly quickly.

We stopped so I could empty the gallon of muddy water out of my boots and change into some dry tennis shoes and socks I had in my pannier [90K JPEG]. We all looked at each other. "Anyone want to turn back?" Phil asked from under his bright yellow full rain suit hood. "Not me" I said. Alaska Paul was not deterred by a little wind and rain either. On to Pulaski.

The rain tapered down to a very light drizzle and before long stopped altogether. It was snowing instead. Most of the rest of the ride to Pulaski was in blowing snow, albeit some consolation that the wind was not squall strength and the snow did not stick. By the time we reached town we ran the gamut of precipitation. We were riding into sleet. Instead of headwinds, we had headsleet. It was also dark. Phil was in his glory as he switched on his full set of lights and handed me an extra battery.

We climbed the last 9 blocks straight up a hill from downtown Pulaski. We went directly to the basement entrance in order to stowe our bikes and clean up. Absolutely covered in muddy trail grit, we miraculously managed to keep the white carpet throughout The Inn relatively clean thanks to a big laundry sink. The Count Pulaski Inn is a big cozy 80 year old B&B with lots of good reading material and interesting collections. "The Countess," our hostess Flo Stevenson, was very accommodating. Over hot cocoa she duly ooh-ed and ahh-ed as we recounted our trip .

Mr. tough-guy-ride-through-anything Paul got The French Room [50K JPEG]. We got no end of giggles teasing him about his floral canopy, matching fluffy comforter, pink sheets, lacy pillows, gold trimmings and fragrant pot pourri. We went so far as to get a cheesecake like photo of "Pierre" in his abode. Our room, The Polish Room, was rather plain in contrast, but very nice with an inviting king bed. The warm iron radiators throughout the house were our dryers. Our gear was toasty by the next morning.

There were two restaurants within walking distance, The Elks Club Saturday Night Italian Buffet and All Country. Because the menu appeared to have a little more variety we braved the cold, windy night on foot for All Country. A bouncer met us at the door. "Um, Can we get dinner here? " we timidly inquired. He pondered for a moment. "Yeah, yeah. You can get a pretty good dinner here." He kindly waved the cover charge and told us we would get faster service if we ordered directly from the bartender. Sticking out like sore thumbs we walked across the smoke-filled room, past the stage where the band was getting ready to play. My new mountain hat was the only thing that fit in well with the rhinestones and cowboy boots. Although the bartender was friendly enough, after a quick glance at the menu we wisely opted for The Elks Club.

The Elks Club was great. All-You-Can-Eat lasagna, spaghetti, rolls, salad and ziti. The dining room was upstairs in one of those old blocks downtown, with wood paneling and an elk antlers over a big brick hearth [53K JPEG]. Down the hall an oldies dance was in progress, playing distant Glenn Miller tunes. I got "Death By Chocolate" for dessert and Paul and Phil got our servers mothers' homemade carrot cake.

Sunday was crisp, with cold temperatures, clear blue skies and bright sunshine. Our breakfast was delicious and elaborate. We ate at a candlelit dinner table with fresh flowers for a centerpiece and soft music. Fruit was served in crystal goblets and our food carefully prepared and arranged aesthetically on our plates, garnished with kiwi slices.

Much to his delight, I had to borrow some of Phil's' woolen goodies for the cold ride home. We actually got to see where we were riding this time too. After exploring an ornate train station and imagining times goneby, we hopped back on the trail. We stopped to take pictures of some intricate rock formations, and the icicles hanging off of them. A thermos of hot tea provided by The Countess served as the perfect rest drink. At a trail side snack bar we met a group of boy scouts and couldn't resist bragging of our previous days adventure.

But the most meaningful event of our trip came on Sunday afternoon. Cycling up a small incline I felt what I would describe as a slight punch in my abdomen. After thinking about it for a few minutes it occurred to me that I'd just recognized my baby's movement for the first time. Being almost six months pregnant, it was about the right time. Yes, I was sure. That was a kick. Testing her soon to be bike legs, perhaps? We look forward to telling our daughter about her pre-natal adventures.

For more info on The New River Trail State Park call (540)236-8889. To make reservations at The Count Pulaski Inn call (800)980-1163.

Back to the Tarwheels Bike Club.