The next day, after saying good-bye to June, I resumed my trek. I was starting to experience the syndrome of “bolting,” that is, taking short cuts and pedaling hard because I was near the end of the route. “Near,” in this case meant a few hundred miles. I made my own modifications to the route to cut down on distance.

I helped blow up a few more balloons, and cleaned up after making breakfast, before leaving.

I passed a dog on the porch that was so lazy, he barked at me, but didn’t even bother to get up.

Although Charlottesville was off the route, I took a few miles detour. I was hoping that Charlottesville was large enough to have an FTD florist. Because the city was off-route, I didn’t have any idea of its layout. I was becoming accustomed to navigation in unknown cities, however, and stuck to a main street. Soon, I found a phone booth, and looked up “Florists.” There were many, but the street names were unfamiliar, and I had no city map.

I stopped a couple walking down the sidewalk. They were in their 30’s, and obviously married for a few years.

“Excuse me, do you know if there’s a florist nearby?” I asked.

They paused for a moment, then the woman answered, “Well, Gray’s is a few blocks away.”

“Oh, actually, I need FTD…” I added.

“Yes, they do FTD.”

They gave me directions to the place, then we both proceeded on our separate ways. I noticed that they were holding hands. Perhaps I had rekindled a spark of romance in them.

Sure enough, Gray’s Florist was about a mile and a half away, up a hill. I sent a small arrangement to Merrianne, so she would feel better.

At Woodridge, I stopped at the store for lunch. As I sat on the porch eating, two guys drove up in an old Pinto. When they got out of the car, I could see that they had full camouflage gear on – long pants, long sleeve shirts, sunglasses, helmets – even though it was a hot day. As they came closer, I noticed that they were wearing red armbands with Swastikas. “Oh, please,” I thought, “Don’t let there be any trouble with these skinheads.” They went into the store, emerged about 10 minutes later with a six-pack, and left.

The small town of Mineral was my Sabbath stop. I ate at the lone restaurant that night, which was conveniently right next to the lone motel.

Sunday, September 4, 1988

I attended Mineral Baptist that Sunday, and was invited out to lunch by Doug and Sally Whitlock afterwards.

On Sunday night, the restaurant closed. So, I went into the convenience store, and found that they had a full line of steam trays, similar to a cafeteria. Apparently, in Mineral, the store was the place to get food on Saturday night. I bought three or four pieces of chicken, two containers of macaroni and cheese, a container of green beans, a cherry cobbler, and some canned drinks. I finished it all.

I was able to speak with Merrianne that evening. She got the flowers, and felt much better.