Mother Nature and the mountains sucked out my Supergirl status today. The day started overcast and misty, 60 degrees and one dog chase after another.

I swear those dogs in Hamptonville had a system. When one gave up the chase they passed the baton and the next one started. The cat and mouse routine reinstilled my belief that the "dogs playing poker" poster is TRUE. At the end of the day the mutts meet in some shed and they swap stories over a card game. The bulldog has the cigar in his mouth. The collie is passing a spade under the table. The poodle is serving drinks and they're all rehashing how they "chased that bitch on a bike."

After the dogs it was the mountains. Stone Mountain to be exact. 21 miles of up. It all began in Elkin at an elevation of 1,142. "The drive to Sparta is 45 minutes by car on Hwy. 21," said a bunch of locals. That mileage is hard to convert when you multiply bike speed x hill x distance.

Hwy. 21 was well paved. I had about 10 inches of shoulder and the trucks were giving me a wide berth. By 12 miles into the hill I was starting to feel it. Granny gear, alternating between standing and sitting, but always pulling.

I'm not complaining, it's all part of the adventure but soon I was praying to crest the mountain. I was up amongst the treetops, after a couple more miles the
temperature dropped and the rain started. It's at this point when I'm almost afraid I'm going to die. Then, a while later you fear you won't.

It took several hours and finally I arrived in Sparta and I was wiped. Stopped at the Chamber of Commerce for directions and recommendations on a good diner. Robert was nice enough to help me with both. Only problem at the Chamber, there was no chair for visitors and I could feel my head getting woozy and my legs were about to give way. I swiped a couple of pieces of grape hard candy and headed out the door.

Right next door was the General Store. The chalkboard in the window said "CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP & GRILLED CHEESE $3.39."

The diner was actually at the back of the store. There was medium priced retail up front. Lots of wools and cottons with a lumberjack theme. Walking across the business in my hard, plastic soled biking shoes I sounded like a horse on their hardwood floors. Heads turned, but I kept on moving. Hot soup was my mantra.

The diner seemed like it was located in the next county. My legs hurt to the bone.

"Can I help you," asked the waitress about five minutes after I pulled up a stool. I thought she was just another customer at the counter, working on her bottle of Mountain Dew and large slice of peanut butter and chocolate cake.

"I'll have your chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese," I mumbled almost to the point of being too tired to eat.

"We're outta soup," she said pushing back her unfortunate pink cap she was probably forced to wear. "Made two pots today and they was gone by 2 o'clock
this afternoon."

I was literally dumbfounded. It was 3:05 p.m. and my brain felt like putty. It's no wonder I can't find anybody to come on these trips with me.

I put in an order for grilled cheese, coffee and water. I got the bottom of the pot of coffee. "I'll make more," said the waitress who swung back around the counter as if being pulled by a magnet back to her lonely dessert. I didn't know it was break time ... again … so I asked if I could get the water. The waitress sighed, "If I don't write it down I forget." Like, seriously.

Thank God the grilled cheese was the best ever. Big pieces of heavy wheat bread, the grill lines were deep and dark on the toast and the cheese oozed over the crust. Never got more coffee. I guess it wasn't written down.

A half-hour break and I was feeling a little better. Went to change out of my wet clothes and tackle the last 10 miles, crossing the state line into Independence, Va.

"Looks like a pretty hard ride today," said a man standing over my shoulder as I pulled a dry shirt out of my bag. I feel bad for that man, he showed a genuine inkling that he cared, and it was just enough to open the door and out poured my spontaneous pity party.

"And they didn't have any chicken noodle soup," is how the sniveling started. "And the dogs, and the mountain, and the rain," I said in the halting pattern of crying that took me back to age five.

Oh my God, I think I scared Bob. Hell, I scared me! I was crying about soup! And I'm not a crier. I definitely needed a break.

Bob's wife Brit came over and asked him what he did to make me cry. "Go git this girl a glass of water, it's all right darlin'," she said in a motherly tone that made everything all right.

After I settled down, we got out the maps and wiped away the tears. "Another 10 miles and you'll be in Independence," said Brit. "And it's mostly downhill from here." Downhill ... I almost started crying again.

I ended up with 65 miles on the day. Crossed the state line into Virginia. The United Methodist Church must have felt sorry for me too because they couldn't see me sleeping on their floor in the church hall, so they set me up at the town hotel.

Today it's raining. All day rain according to the weather channel. After yesterday's show it's time for a break. I'll keep you posted. I still have 13 days left to make it back to Milwaukee.

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