Whiteville to Wilmington, NC—65 miles

Saturday, October 8, 2005

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We were about to discover what it was like to ride for three consecutive days in the rain. There was a steady rain as we prepared to ride. Since the motel didn't offer a free breakfast, we headed next door to the Waffle House. By the time we got there the crowd of cyclists had diminished and we had a hearty breakfast.

As we were leaving town with the late stragglers, we saw a small animal run into the road ahead of us. It was a disoriented kitten, running in and out of the road. One of the other cyclists jumped off his bike, waved a car away as he yelled at the cat to get out of the road. He was able to herd it to the side and chased it as far as he could away from the road.

That was our excitement for the day.
The ride to Wilmington was pretty uneventful. The first rest stop was at a small church adjacent to Lake Waccamaw. One of the volunteers told us about past floods caused by hurricane Floyd, the story being prompted by the steady rain of the last 3 days. They had seen much worse.

As we rode the skies gradually cleared and it was time once again for sunscreen. The only climb of the day was the bridge coming into Wilmington.
For the last 13 miles the route followed US 421, a major highway that was nearly devoid of traffic on this Fall Saturday. We arrived at the final stop, Battleship Park, home of the battleship North Carolina, across the Cape Fear River from Wilmington.

After a lunch of fried fish, hush puppies and salad, washed down by the free beer, we took our bikes to be packed on the truck.
They would be driven to Asheville the next day. It appeared that the boys packing the truck had also discovered the free beer and were helping themselves. Not a good sign. Since the recumbents were difficult to pack, they were left until last. We weren't about to leave them in the hands of the lads, so we decided to wait until they were safely aboard. It was a long wait, from about 2 p.m. when we arrived until after 6 p.m. when the last of the recumbents were loaded in two layers. It probably would have been better not to watch.

We caught the last shuttle into town and the adventure continued.
As we rode in the shuttle I called the motel and was told that our bags were not in the lobby, they were nowhere to be found. At the first stop I jumped out to see if the bags were taken to the wrong motel. No luck. Same was true at the next stop. When we finally arrived at the motel, sure enough, our bags didn't seem to be there. We called Amanda who assured us that they had been dropped of there and to check in the back room. The clerk took a quick look and assured us they were not there. Amanda said to look again, so I followed the clerk to the back and after a thorough search, much to my relief, found them in a back closet.

After cleaning up we walked through town, stopping a jogger (he must be a local I thought) to ask about the best seafood restaurant in town. He mentioned the Pilot House Restaurant where we had a very good meal of salmon, shrimp, fried potatoes, baby green beans, and a good beer on tap with a typically inane name that is long forgotten, something like Fat Stupid Guy Ale. It was a pleasant end to a long day.

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