Day 13 brought us to Berea, KY. The hills are lessening in how long they last, but the grade at times brings on the under-the-breath cussing. Coming into the ride, I hadn't had the opportunity to do a lot of hill climbing as I am a flatlander. The hills around central Illinois are mere bumps and cannot truly be called hills. Here, the hills are definitely hills, monstrous, gnarly, quad-thrashing hills. I've always been a hill lover, and even after Hayters Gap and the ride to Breaks Interstate Park with its seemingly never-ending hills, at times having to pull upwards of a 10% grade, I still love hills. The challenge they offer is not just physical; the psychological is there as well. If anything can make a person stronger mentally, it is definitely the hills.
The 50 miles today were an easy going 50. I decided to just cruise along, use the ride as a kind of recovery ride. Since the distance was shorter than it has been the last few days, and the day is absolutely gorgeous, why not slow down and really see the countryside? So that's what we did. We stood on top of a hay roll and took goofy pictures. We stopped midway down a 2 mile stretch of a 6% grade to take pictures of the hills that rolled gently into one another. We chatted about the pink house that none of us stopped to take a picture of and were kicking ourselves for not doing so. Little pink houses . . .. I'm still hesitant to stop and take pictures. Still feel the need to "get 'er done." Need to work on that mindset.
My little spot after arriving in Berea.
Marigolds
The smell of marigolds isn't completely pleasant. It's not completely offensive either. It's somewhere in between. It's a smell all its own. Hours after my hands have moved their long stems, cupped the blooms in wonder, I have to pause what I'm doing -- making the bed, vacuuming the house, hanging up clothes that had been unceremoniously dropped on the bedroom floor -- when the faint whiff of marigold drifts up to remind me of my time with them. Marigolds are just lovely. Whenever I see a marigold or smell a marigold, I'm taken back to my childhood. To a movie that for some reason became a part of who I am. I was only eight when the movie came out, but I remember having a very strong reaction to it, and every summer when I plant marigolds, I think of that movie: The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man in the Moon Marigolds. I try to watch it at least once a year, and since the marigolds I planted this summer are blooming, I thought the time is perfect to watch the movie
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