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A Blue Ridge state of mind: elevation isn't the only thing that shifts on a self-propelled journey through the Appalachian Mountains.

Article Excerpt
You focus your eyes on the road ahead, where the hill disappears around a steep, rocky bend. Pedals turn over in a steady rhythm, and you fight to control your breath. Beneath you, two skinny tires trace a slow, invisible line along asphalt freckled at its edges with lichen, reminding you that this isn't just any stretch of pavement, but one deeply rooted in the natural world. To your left, the landscape is brilliant with oranges, yellows, and reds on soft sloping mountains that fold into hazy horizons. It's all a nice distraction from the burning in your legs.

Welcome to the Blue Ridge Parkway--a cycling mecca. Conceived in 1935 as a way to put people to work during the Great Depression and encourage mountain tourism, it brought together private contractors, state and federal highway administrators, Italian and Spanish stonemasons, and thousands from the Civilian Conservation Corps, otherwise known as "Roosevelt's tree army" for the three billion trees they planted from 1933 to 1942. Today; the parkway unites a different group: cyclists who find refuge in the mountains that challenge muscle and mind alike.

So soak it in, keep climbing. Soon your shoulders will drop and your frazzled mind will slow to match the measured pace of your legs. You will become aware of your breath, inhaling leafy scents and birdsong; exhaling tension built up from the world you left behind in a quiet parking lot 20 miles ago.

This 469-mile, self-propelled journey isn't for the faint of heart. It traverses the very spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains that stretch from Georgia to Pennsylvania, part...

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