Deep in Appalachia, where water flows in streams banked by rhododendrons and mountain laurel, pedal strikes on eons-old rocks are commonplace. Humidity hangs heavy here. The forest canopy is thick, blocking out the sky. Varying shades of green that Crayola attempts to match negates the blue. Dirt smells rich, full of life.
“Why are we stopping?”
“Break t…
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