The next day’s ride from Warsaw to Augusta was characterized by the steepest hills we’ve climbed yet, followed by miles and miles of wonderful rolling hogback ridge; steep drop-offs on both sides supported picturesque small farms, pastures running down to woods of oak and hickory; modest, but well kept farmhouses with gardens and orchards heavy set with fruit. Early August, and America is at its most fecund.
The haze-filled valleys made it seem as if we were riding in the sky, and our speed cooled us. The roads are very narrow, but the traffic light and drivers considerate.
In Foster we stopped for drinks and snacks at an old store, the kind with oiled floors and pot belly stove, and that still sell kerosene lamps. We enjoyed talking to the owner, an older lady, who took our picture before we left. We’ll be push-pinned up beside the antique cash register, beside pictures of the community’s weddings, new babies.
In Augusta we had a bed and breakfast all to ourselves. The owners live across town and have house guests so they made us an offer of a reduced rate if we fixed our own breakfast. Deal. We picked the biggest room overlooking the river, and made ourselves at home.
Another hazy sunset over the river. This one could have been painted by Turner; the Thames, not the Ohio.