I saw two riders come and go during the night. I woke frequently and checked the time. At 3:30am I was fairly alert after 6.5 hours of sleep. I noticed the concrete was still pretty warm even though it was late and cool out. That's when I developed the theory that there was some exothermic decomposition going on in the pit. So, my thanks go out to the people of Dalton for crapping in the pit toilet and keeping me warm through the night. Seeing as I was awake and feeling pretty good, I figured this was as good a time as any to keep on riding. I was hopeful that I might be able to finish mid-morning.
I say I was feeling good, that is, until I got back on the bike and realized that my legs were dead. It was all I could do to soft-pedal. The slightest incline would reduce me to grinding away in my granny-gear, and anything significant, I walked up. At 5:30am I got sleepy again and laid down on a gravel road for a few minutes, keeping my helmet on as a pillow. I wore down the battery on my helmet light, switched to my handlebar light, and slowly made my way through an overgrown section of The Snake. I made it to the next trailhead just as the sun was coming up.
The next two sections seemed to take forever. I stopped to eat and rest a lot. I walked up most of the hills. Every time I attempted to put out any amount of power, my legs collapsed under the burn of lactic acid, I presume from all the hike-a-biking the day before.
Eventually I made it to the ridge that led to Highway 27, where I knew there was a gas station that I desperately needed, since I was now out of water. I followed the gravel road down to the highway only to find that my GPS said I was off route. I briefly hoped it was wrong again, but I knew what the topography should look like. And I knew I was not in the right place. This was frustrating, but I made my way to the gas station to take a break. I ate a chicken sandwich, half a hamburger, drank a Sprite and half a Gatorade. I filled up my water bottle thinking that would be enough to get me to the finish, "2" hours away. It might've on a normal day but not when I'm already dehydrated and it's 95 degrees. And not when it actually takes 3 hours.
I pedalled to where the trail should've dumped me out and somehow found the will to backtrack the singletrack that I missed. It only took about 15 minutes to correct the mistake, but it was soul-crushing to pedal any extra when I already felt like I was dying.
I climbed up the last ridge, watching my GPS track closely, making sure I didn't miss another turn. Some nice singletrack put me out on the next highway. I felt like I was home free. I quickly ran out of water as I started the "Rail-Trail to Hell" in the mid-day sun. My body knew it was almost over and started shutting down prematurely. Everything started to hurt. The last few miles might've been the most painful, but I kept grinding away, knowing I was almost to Alabama. Just before drying up into dust, I reached the finish, marked by a lonely gas station and a ride waiting to go back to Mulberry Gap.
Conclusion
Am I glad I did it? Definitely. Would I do it again? Eh, maybe. I can't help but strategize about how I'd do things differently. I'd definitely like to do more bikepacking but maybe under more relaxed conditions. My body took a beating from the North Georgia mountains; I developed some slight nerve damage along the side of my right hand and in my left big toe. I can't tell if the feeling is coming back or if I'm just getting used to the numbness. On the positive side, I'm no longer afraid of the dark or long distances. I also have a new appreciation for everyday comforts like showers and beds. I feel like I can ride anywhere, anytime, and regular life seems a little bit easier. It's always about the journey.
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