Disappointment

For months, I’d planned to ride my bike from Sugarlands Visitors Center to Clingman’s Dome along with two friends the Monday of Thanksgiving week. My friends were sick and unable to join me, but I planned to go at it alone. I was already anxious because of the 21-mile climb. Then the morning of the ride, my mother said something about it being a sign I shouldn’t go. When I stopped to make sure the access road at the top was open, this is what the ranger said to me:

“I strongly discourage you from riding. It’s dangerous, and people are looking for bears and not for cyclists.” —a local park ranger at Sugarlands*

With those words, my heart sank. Add the park ranger’s comments to my being nervous about the climb alone and my mother’s comments, and I was so deep in my head I was starting the ride with a major mental deficit. If you’re an endurance athlete, you know the physical effort is often less than the mental effort.

After debating in the parking lot for a few minutes, I decided to go for it. I’d planned this ride for months, and I was terribly excited about it. I threw on my neon yellow jacket and took off. Within the first mile and a half, I saw my first bear. Or rather, the driver of the car in front of me saw his first bear. The driver stopped his car in the middle of the road and got out to take a photo. Seriously, he stopped in the middle of the road with a 40 mph speed limit and exited his vehicle. For the next 1.5 miles, there were two more bears and lots of cars pulled over to take photos. Around the third mile of the climb, I was buzzed for the third time. I yelled at the driver about giving me at least three feet. The passenger threw her hand out the window, waved and hollered “sorrrrrrryyyyy.” That sorry doesn’t do me much good when I’m in a ditch, lady, but I suppose there’s something to be said for her not being a jerk about it.

I pulled into the next roadside pulloff, and I looked up at the beautiful landscape before me and felt tears form in corners of my eyes. Today wasn’t going to be the day I made it to the top, and I knew it. I was a ball of nerves and I couldn’t shake the fear of being hit. I’ve only experienced this a few times on rides, but it always shakes me and hits me in a deep mental crevice that’s hard to find my way out of. I turned around and enjoyed the short, fast descent back to Sugarlands. I don’t know if I would’ve made it to the top, but I think I would have. My legs and lungs felt strong, and I am the strongest this season that I’ve ever been on the bike. I’m a slow climber, but I’m a steady one.

The more I thought about what the ranger said, the more frustrated I became. So many of my friends have completed this ride, and I’m sure others from across the country have as well. I was the only cyclist I saw that Monday, but I know I’m not the only one making this trek. I stopped back by the ranger’s desk to talk about it further. His two main responses in discouraging me were valid. For starters, people were looking for bears, not cyclists. I saw absolute evidence of that on my ride and the day before when I took two of my nephews and my niece through the park. And two, there’s no berm or shoulder in the Smokies, much less a bike lane. The ranger did note the 3-foot law, but that’s a Tennessee law and most of the cars I saw were out-of-state plates. How would they know this law?

While his responses may have been accurate, I also think they are the issue. If people aren’t looking for cyclists, let’s train them to look for us. While there may be no berm or shoulder or bike lane, state law dictates fair use of roads. A ranger’s job is to protect the park’s visitors, and that includes tourists looking for bears and cyclists trying to complete a bucket list ride. There aren’t any “share the road” signs in the park. There aren’t any “cyclists may use full lane” signs. There are no signs explaining that state law requires motorists to pass cyclists at a minimum of three feet. There aren’t any markers with a bicycle in any form or capacity. By adding signage, it creates visibility and awareness for drivers. It lets motorists know they might see recreational cyclists here so be on the lookout and pay attention. It automatically lets drivers know I’m there and tells them to look for me. It doesn’t ensure my safety, but it goes a long way in creating a safer environment and awareness.

There are no brochures or pamphlets or information about cycling to Clingman’s Dome or through GSMNP anywhere I could find inside Sugarlands. There is information about cycling through Cades Cove, but it’s not the same allure as the Clingman’s climb. Habits and perceptions are not going to change until we change them. Drivers aren’t going to look for cyclists unless we help create awareness and educate them on rules and laws. That starts with signage, with awareness, with advocacy and with an encouraging mindset rather than a discouraging one.

I changed out of my cycling gear and went for a short hike along the Appalachian Trail after I gave up on the cycling adventure. Somewhere along the border of Tennessee and North Carolina, I sat down on a giant rock and just cried. I was sad and disappointed. I had been looking forward to this day for weeks, if not months. It hadn’t gone as planned, and the emotion of those failed expectations combined with the beauty of the mountains broke me.

As with my many other failed cycling attempts, I’ll try again and I’ll succeed. I’ll ride with friends, and hopefully with less traffic. I’ll start earlier in the morning so traffic is less of a concern, and maybe I’ll go in the dead of winter to avoid the bears. In a dream world, I’d pedal past signs alerting drivers I’m there and waving motorists cheering me on as I climb. I’d ride completely unafraid of a car passing me too closely. I’d get to the top and snap the most beautiful photo of my bike against the backdrop of the highest point in Tennessee and my favorite part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from cycling (and cycling with diabetes), it’s not to give up. You could miss some spectacular moments if you do. (I did still manage to find some JDRF friends to ride with while home, and I was able to pedal alongside my niece so it was a successful trip in my book. I’m looking forward to logging more miles over Christmas break.)