![]() ![]() I watched her hand fly across the paper with a shushing sound between each butterfly mark she made-surely not proper words. Her hair was the same colour as mine, and she was plump, too, like me. He didn’t have a uniform and spoke to us as if we were four, not eight, as he told us that a bad man had sent Mrs Finch to heaven. The policeman who did the speaking was the sort of person who thinks that everything they say is important. There were two policemen and one policewoman she was writing everything down. I would have both liked and feared times like that. As opposed to those times when we were allowed to be bad and noisy and not do what we were told. On the third day Miss Squire showed us into our new classroom, after telling us that the police would be talking to us and that we must be very good and quiet and do as we were told. I don’t know why they bothered saying all those things-they were quite true and I knew them all already anyway. It was two days since I’d been kicked, punched, spat on, had my hair pulled or my lunch stolen, been whacked on the head from above by Sam Marsh standing on a desk like a little swine god, or been told that I was a stupid ugly Yank and that my parents didn’t love me. Gossip, however, flowed like blood around the school: “Mrs Finch was murdered by a demon and her brains are all over the radiators.” Naturally I didn’t dare to speak to him, and I don’t think that anyone else did either-it was a very different time. The following day we were shown into the big classroom that was usually only for assemblies and gym. The first we knew was when school was cancelled for a day-the joy of it! I spent it reading, eating PB and J sandwiches and picturing the word ‘jelly’ kicking the crap out of the word ‘jam’. No one had really touched me up to that point. Back then there was nothing about letting people grieve, especially children. I was talking about Mrs Finch’s murder, wasn’t I? We children didn’t get to see the body, sadly, and we weren’t even allowed to go to the funeral. They left me enough money to pay their death duties and to bury them. I saw nothing to contradict that statement between my birth and their deaths, which occurred in their seventies and my thirties. I presume that it was chosen because my parents are horrible and evil people. ![]() And everyone would stare at me, hoping for a reaction, and a few would snigger. “VirGINia CREEper, Pay Attention!” some harpy teacher would snap at me, while I daydreamed of sunshine and decent gum. In the eighties my two friends (two! I had a spare!) humoured me (hey, check that British spelling! Really useful ‘u’ there) and called me Ginny C, but as an eight-year-old I was at the sort of school where they call you by your full first name, no matter what, and if you transgress then they throw in your surname as well. But none of that was really important, of course. I was also a pudgy little mouse-short and plump with flat colourless hair and a slight overbite. If you’d told that class of little Brits that their children would wear t-shirts that said ‘New York’ or ‘Boston’ then they’d have been furious and disbelieving. I am American for a start, which was a lot less acceptable in the seventies than it is now. It took the other children’s minds off their usual activities, such as bullying me. This is on mountain bikes.It was a relief when our teacher was murdered. We did about 16 in the peloton compared to 13 or 14 on our own. I got with three other old guys and formed a little peloton. She did about 10mph on level without draft and 11.5 with. My wife wasn't comfortable riding that close to me, and I am the fastest rider, so I followed her. If she goes behind, it will be easiest for her. Get to one side or another a bit as crosswind dictates. Follow about 6" to a foot off the rear wheel of the person in from of you. You can also save a lot of work by drafting like the road guys do. The max grade on these things are 5%, and typically much less, so regardless of which direction you are going, just pick a gear where she can spin comfortably and enjoy. Not ideal, but but seeing it is the only real bike I have. I just rode my XC race hardtail, with the fork locked out and a little more air than usual in the tires. The surface of High Bridge is a very fine hard-packed gravel, almost like pavement actually, so your hybrids should do fine. I haven't ridden Va Creeper, but have ridden a good bit of High Bridge State Park, which is another Rails-To-Trails in Virginia. ![]()
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