Its 5 am and I can hear the rain pitter patter outside through the slightly opened window in my room. Its a mess. Clothes have been folded and stacked into piles all around waiting to be shoved into bags. Blair, myself, and Scott, our roommate and friend in Charlotte, convene in the living room and decide we can’t pack up the truck in the rain. For the second time, the move to Greenville is postponed. It almost feels as though we aren’t supposed to move. When was the last time that it rained for a whole day and a half in Charlotte?
Scott heads to work, as do Blair and I. Ok, this ride will be the last ride in Charlotte. The rain has stopped but the sky is still cloudy. The exodus will occur tonight.
Moving to Greenville just feels right. I’ve been making the drive down I-85 since I was 14 years old, forced to leave before dawn to make the cat 5 start time at Donaldson Center to start off the season and again in October to end it. Greenvillians look upon their city as the cycling mecca of the Southeast and they are probably right (although I would add Charlotte has made heaps of progress in the last three years). Lots of winding, interesting roads, small amount of traffic, mountains within riding distance, George and Rich’s influence on the city, not cold enough to snow often (knock on wood!); Greenville is the place to be if you want to ride bikes. And that’s exactly why I’m here.

There will be four of us living together in the shadow of Paris Mountain: Blair Turner, Andy Baker, Thomas Wrona, and myself. Oh and Andy’s enormous, bear-like, small horse, German Shepard puppy named River that has paws bigger than my hands. One of the neighbors already introduced herself back in early December when I came down to check out the house. ‘We’ve got a real quiet cul-de-sac here’, she was keen to mention, ‘and we like it that way.’ Don’t worry Lisa; the only noise from this house will come in the morning from the Pre-Ride Playlist and the new speakers Blair got for Christmas!

Alder. From Greenville.


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