Greetings. I'm Fletcher Moore and this is the repository for my bike tales. It's also on long-term hiatus, as my bike is stowed in my mom's attic and I have no intent to do any bike trips until 2017 at the earliest (though under certain highly unlikely circumstances, the Natchez Trace could come sooner). Read the posts below if you're interested about my 2014 trip from Chattanooga to Huntington, West Virginia, or traipse on over to to read about my various other pursuits.

The day after I returned to Atlanta my dad's truck was stolen from right in front of our house. I spent pretty much the entire time he was on the river — six weeks — retrieving it from the junk yard where it was towed after it was found, without wheels, about two miles away. And having it repaired, of course. In late August I drove up to Greenup, Kentucky and pulled him out of the river.

The 7th began with my dad's departure and ended in baseball, as all days should end.

On the 6th I determined that my bike was shot and my riding was done. So we went to Clarksdale and saw where Stonewall Jackson was born.

July 5 I rode a good ways on the North Bend Rail Trail, but I took very few photos. My dad dropped me off after we got my bike working again, hence the drive back into West Virginia. The trail is notable for it's absurdly long tunnels.

A glorious day. Until my bike broke.

The big day off. Note the menu from Hillbilly Hotdogs.

It's pretty obvious that I was just eager to get to Huntington at this point. One more flat. Or it may have been two, I forget.

Two more flats — very, very demoralizing stuff. The kid with the fish is the same kid that asked me if I'd ever driven a car.

This day was tough. I think I felt happy to have survived the day before, but I had to deal with three flats and a ton of climbing. The fellow in the fifth image is the guy who stopped and lent me his floor pump.