
So, after a few minutes, the ferry makes its way to our shore. A banner strung overhead informs us that the ferry is called the General Jubal A. Early. I half expect to see a Confederate flag trailing from the stern, but somehow we are spared that Dixie atavism.

We wait until fifteen or so cars pile on, then walk our bikes down to find a forlorn spot on deck somewhere near the back. We squeeze between one edge of the ferry and the passenger side of a Lexus SUV, whose occupants are in their fifties and apparently quite content with the level of obesity they've managed to attain here in the land of plenty, only too happy to trade in their enfeebled legs for a quartet of steel-belted radials and easy access to drive-through windows.
The guys operating the ferry are jovial, and make good-natured jokes about our obvious minority status as they accept our payment. We gaze out at the Potomac and the distant landscape, tacitly grateful for this brief respite from the day's ride.

The Lexus people are talkative and eager to show off their onboard GPS system. They are pleasant, and to be social, I feign interest and lean closer to snap a pic of the display.

The trip across the Potomac is quicker than I expected. We reach the Maryland side and, in keeping with our second-class status (but really because it's safer), we wait until all of the cars disembark before pedaling off. Evening is upon us.

[End Part 2]
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