October 12

Yesterday I was passing through a working class neighborhood, small houses on large lots in a wooded area between large farms, and got chased by dog. I can't outrun the most feeble dog, so this guy, a fair-sized hound pretending to be viscous, pestered me for about 150 meters, with my shouting at him reaching a crescendo. He finally left off without biting me, which is the test of viciousness. I rode another 400 meters or so, and became aware of something a little different in the sound of my passage. I looked around, and a much smaller dog was following me. I told him to go home. He wouldn't. I thought he would get tired and give up in another 400 meters. He didn't.

This was a day of anxiety for me. My maps had indicated country stores, from which I needed to get food and water for the night, but two of them were closed, the day was getting late, and if the third, about ten miles away, was closed I would have to start begging. I had no time for a small, young, friendly, black and white shorthaired attractive dog. I pedaled as fast as I could, convinced he would become exhausted and quit. Three miles later he was still with me, his tongue scraping the pavement.

At last I came up on a man walking a dog with two of his children. I told him what was going on, and asked if he would just keep the dog there until I was well out of sight. He did that, and more. He said he'd take the dog back to the neighborhood where he picked me up, and look for his owners.

I do not have room for a dog on my trailer or my journey. That is kinda sad.

Erin had told me, when I was drying out in Larton, that Virginia got 9 inches of rain during that storm. Which is why the rivers are muddy, and why I rode through two six-inch deep ponds on the highway today. About 11:00 this morning I stopped to talk to a man, in his seventies, who was patching up the water damage at the end of his driveway. His farmhouse was way back off the road. He said that twelve inches of rain fell: he has a gauge that maxes out at six inches, and it filled twice.

I spent two nights in Suffolk, pronounced suffuk, and then rode 66 miles, ending up well into North Carolina. There is birdsong in the air and morninglorys blooming on the roadside. There is a "Gimme gimme gimme" bird. The roads are flat and pedaling is easy, but stores are still scarce between towns. I bought another novel, Ordinary Heros, by Scott Trurow, which I shall read forthwith.