I’m kicking myself right now for letting my Pulitzer Prize winning photo slip away. At some point on Route 936 I spotted a rusted out, spray paint grey, Cutlass Supreme with Confederate flags flying from both doors. I’ve been in the South for two weeks, but it was in this moment that I knew I had finally arrived.
Last night I had planned to split the remaining miles to Mammoth Cave evenly over two days. Perfect weather and the adrenaline rush of crossing my first time zone changed those plans. Rising rather cautiously to the sound of lawn mowers gave me an early start (no they didn’t find me, they were just doing some maintenance on the golf course). I passed several attractions pertinent to Abraham Lincoln’s life but I decided to abstain from photographing anything on the accord that most of the buildings looked newer than the shed in my back yard. I didn’t cross paths with any notable locals today; although I’m sure the guy that got the police called on him here at the Horse Cave Motel would have fit the bill.
Instead of a 40 or so mile day tomorrow, I’m going to need less than 20. Unfortunately because of the timing, tickets to one of the many cave tours will be hard to come by mid-afternoon. The tour day will still be Sunday.
I’m ready for the rest but I’m still juggling the uncertainty that comes with leaving my bike unguarded for such an extended period of time. I’m hoping to stash my stuff in doors somewhere, even if that means booking a motel room. There’s just too much to lose to be rolling the dice with people that are just passing through.
If all goes well I’ll be ready to start chipping away at the West Coast on Monday.
