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.
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.
More garbage weather.
The guy in the fourth picture is the kind fellow who opened his bike shop on a Sunday to keep me in supply.