Today is homeward bound: a final 204 miles through Central North Carolina. There are a couple of locations of historical interest that I have plans to stop by: The Trading Ford, Sapona, and the Keyauwee village. I'm not keeping my hopes up too high, though, as the exact locations of each are murky and possibly on private property.
Wanting to get as much distance as possible before the evil day star becomes intolerable, I set my sights on breakfast in Salisbury, 54 miles away. That's about the maximum distance I'll ride anyways on rural highways before recharging the scooter: ABetterRoutePlanner says I'll arrive downtown with a 13% charge. The plan is to park & walk to breakfast: though apparently, the only breakfast option on a Sunday morning in Salisbury is Waffle House.
I decide to make an attempt to stretch the range out as far as I can this morning: this means easing the throttle, going just below the speed limit, pulling out when folks show up behind me, and coasting to a stop using the regenerative "engine" braking rather than applying the brakes. Thankfully, country roads are plenty quiet at 7am on a Sunday morning.
Much of this first leg is in the vicinity of Statesville, NC. The scene is ranch houses, monstrous industrial buildings, semi-truck trailers, small rural churches, and corn. This area is known for cheap land, power, and water, so it makes sense to see all the big-named companies with multiple entrances, but it still feels unlike anywhere else I've been on this trip.
Depressingly, I began to think about how the local population lives their lives as slaves to these giant faceless corporations: you spend your 40 hours a week in a giant box following orders from your company, then you visit the church on the weekend to get orders from someone else, go home to rest, and then you die. I realized that I had just summarized my own life and felt even more solemn after that.
I arrive at the first charger with 22% charge left - 9% more than I would have usually expected and worth about an extra 6 miles in range. It's good to know that I can dial up the efficiency if needed, which has led me to a new EV mantra of "Get low? Go slow".
Salisbury, or more specifically Gateway Park, is the first place I've parked my bike where things felt sketchy enough to bring my things with me instead of just concealing the side bag. To the left of me were two people packing their belongings into a shopping cart, and to the right was someone sleeping in a bus shelter curled up against a Huffy bike from the 90s. Salisbury has fallen a long way since Andrew Jackson practiced law here.
Even at 8:30am, it's beginning to feel sticky outside. The food at the Waffle House is good but not great. I was not feeling the Salisbury vibe and questioned whether it was wise to leave my motorcycle jacket and airbag vest behind, so I cut my urban exploration short and headed out to find the Trading Ford.
The ford was an important part of the Trading Path that went up and down the coast: used by natives and colonists alike. In this area, the Yadkin was generally 1000-1500 feet wide, and this was the only point where it was possible to cross over by foot or horseback. Unfortunately, the location of the ford has since been dammed, and while you can kind of see where it once was from I-85, the closest access is blocked off by a power plant:
I also tried to get to the location of Sapona, a famous Native American town adjacent to the Trading Ford mentioned in John Lawson's explorations. Unfortunately, nothing structural remains of it, and the site is on private land. I doubt few of the locals even know that Sapona is hiding beyond these trees: