RANGER EMILY HAMPSTEAD watched the tourists walk to their cars. Leaning on the counter in the Oconaluftee Visitor Center, she stretched her legs and back, waiting for Lizzie to arrive. The interpreter ranger who shared the barracks with her had a doctor’s appointment in Cherokee. Emily had offered to cover her shift before starting her own patrol on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Lizzie followed the next family into the lobby. Emily answered the visitors’ questions and directed them to the store. The boy wanted a Junior Ranger badge.

“Thanks again, Em.” Lizzie noticed Emily’s arched eyebrow. “I’m fine. It was just a routine follow-up, but I always get nervous before seeing a doctor.” Emily brought her up to speed, then walked to the locker room for her panniers and her bicycle shoes.

Soon, Emily was outside unlocking her VSF-TX-800. The fresh air at two thousand feet and the invigorating smell of pine sap in the spring lifted her spirits. She traded her ball cap for a bike helmet, and turned on the flashing lights on the front and back of the bike. The emergency equipment was securely locked in the slender panniers on the rear rack. Since leaving the professional racing world six years ago, she had learned to prefer the steady feel of a loaded touring bike to the delicate touch of a racing frame. She was strong enough that pushing against a stable frame didn’t slow her down.

She also appreciated that the District Ranger at Headquarters near Asheville did not mind that she patrolled on her bike. She had to call for backup if she stopped anyway: either a tow truck or another police unit. Either way, she did not block traffic with an NPS cruiser or SUV on the two-lane shoulderless road. (National Park Service)

The Parkway had opened only last week, so motor traffic was still light. She only saw two cars in the first twenty miles. Both had stopped at overlooks.

She overtook a line of a dozen Black women climbing Browning Knob on bicycles. They rode in single file, with the leaders (front and back) wearing bright neon yellow jerseys. If they had left the South End that morning, they had climbed above five thousand feet three times already. They looked it. Sweat poured from their noses, and their jerseys were soaked. But no one was walking, yet.

“You got this!” she shouted to them as she passed. “That’s the top.”

As she expected, the group pulled into the Browning Knob Overlook. They dropped their bikes on the grass and fell to catch their breaths.

About Emily’s height at almost six feet, the leader had the slender, strong frame of a Bantu, and jet black skin, like Emily’s friend Hilda. The cornrows were tight enough to take the helmet easily. The other women had opted for easy hairstyles, too.

“Black Girls Do Ride,” Emily said, referring to their jerseys. “You picked an incredible challenge.”

“Yeah. I almost gave up myself, but I’m supposed to be leading them.” The leader took a long pull on her water bottle. She raised her voice. “Okay, ladies. Remember not to lie down for more than three minutes, and to stretch when you get back up.”

“Yes, sarge!” mock-whined a half dozen women, with grins.

“Deirdre Bell.” She and Emily shook hands. “And I know who you are. Do you mind if I introduce you?”

“Not at all, and thank you for asking.”

“Hey, sisters, anyone heard of Emily Hampstead?” Deirdre motioned for them to gather around.

They all knew about the retired racing phenom, but only Deirdre was old enough to have seen pictures of Emily on the racing circuit. Still, they gathered in wide-eyed wonder to meet the champion. Notepads and other flat articles came out for autographs.

“What about the three minutes, Dee?” asked the youngest girl.

“It’s all downhill now, and less than ten miles. Which reminds me – after stretching, put on a windbreaker.”

“How far are you trying to get today?” Emily asked. She noticed that they were riding lightweight road machines with no panniers. That meant a sag wagon was somewhere with their gear.

“The access point on US 74. My cousin has the van. We’ll spend the night in Waynesville.”

“Are you riding the whole Parkway?”

“Only to Asheville. We rode from Mile Zero to Asheville last year.”

“Where’s home?”

“Richmond. We ride the Virginia Capital Trail a lot, but that’s not the workout that the Parkway is.”

“You got that right. And I’m glad to see you riding in a group. The drivers on the Parkway are usually looking at the scenery or their phones, so they easily don’t see solo riders.”

“Where are you from?”

“Charlottesville. Do you mind if we stay in touch? I’ll be going back next week.”

The two women exchanged contact information on their phones. The Black women mounted up and disappeared down the hill. Emily walked to a family getting out of their SUV…

***

Over the next three weeks, Deirdre did keep in touch. Emily finished her assignment on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and rode home. Her mother, Katherine, was teaching summer session at the University of Virginia. Emily rode to Richmond and joined Deirdre on a couple of rides.

In June, Katherine and Emily invited Deirdre to spend a week in Charlottesville. On Monday night, Emily’s phone rang during supper. She took the call in her bedroom, then came back.

“Guess who just got into town?”

“The circus?” Katherine said. Emily rolled her eyes.

“No. Antoine.”

“Who’s that?” asked Deirdre.

“Another cyclist.” Emily shrugged. “We raced on the K-bikes team in high school.”

“And you took him to the prom,” added Katherine.

Diedre looked at the two women. “Main squeeze?”

“More like old friend,” said Emily. “We keep crossing paths, but then our paths diverge. He’s in the Army, so we go years between dates.”

“He rides?”

“Yes, and he’s fast. Feel like some serious stroking?”

“Sure!”

The next morning, Emily led Deirdre to the Belmont neighbourhood, where Antoine lived. He met them at the door.

Seeing his muscular frame always gave Emily a thrill. His features and colour betrayed his Yoruba heritage: medium height, sturdy shoulders and bold features in a round face. Not jet black like Deirdre, but almost. His paternal grandparents emigrated from Nigeria in the 1960’s and settled on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. The grandfather had been an engineer at the NASA Flight Facility on Wallops Island.

“Deirdre Bell, this is Antoine Dewberry. The fastest guy in the UVA Cycling Club at the time.”

“C’mon, Em,” Antoine said, “only because you’re not a guy.” He started to say something else, but stopped.

Emily watched Antoine and Deirdre stare at each other for at least thirty seconds. Something electric passed between the two. Deirdre spoke first.

“Whoa! That was weird.”

“Yeah. Anyway, very pleased to meet you.” He held the door. “Come in. My mama is already at work.”

A half-hour later, the trio crossed Charlottesville on the bike lanes of US 250, then settled into an easy pace on the Three-Chopt Road west to the Blue Ridge. Deirdre had also raced in high school and college, so they set up a little peloton, trading leader positions every two miles or so. Twenty miles later, they stopped at the Rockfish Gap Country Store.

“Omigod, it hasn’t been an hour,” said Deirdre. “I’ve never averaged twenty-five miles per hour before!”

“Happens all the time, drafting Emily here.” Antoine nudged Emily’s shoulder. “She made us all look good on the K-bikes team.”

Emily smiled and dropped her eyes. Then she tilted her head.

“Ever been through the Claudius Crozet tunnel?”

“No. They finished it while I was in undergrad,” said Antoine. “Never had time.” Deirdre shook her head.

“Good. Let’s climb to the Ridge, then come back through the tunnel.” They mounted up and followed their tour guide up the steep mountainside.

On the way back, Emily dropped behind the other two. She enjoyed watching her friends get to know one another. They seemed excited to meet someone whose African heritage did not include the American chapters of slavery. They even knew some of each other’s ancestral language, Yoruba in his case; Duala in hers. Emily understood some of their experience, having watched her best friend Hilda navigate the American experience without that history. With Hilda, they shared a unique perspective on both the United States and the African diaspora.

***

Deirdre and Antoine swapped contact data back at his house. The trio took in a movie on Wednesday. On Friday, Emily and Deirdre rode back to Richmond, leaving at the crack of dawn and pulling into Deirdre’s driveway at sunset. Emily spent the night, then rode home on Saturday.

Emily got a call for an assignment at Glacier National Park. Only five or six weeks for a maternity leave. Normally, she might have turned down a park two thousand miles away for such a short stint, but she had never been there and had always wanted to see it. She rode to Chicago, then caught the Amtrak Empire Builder to Glacier, Montana, to report in.

The week after she settled in at Glacier, Emily got a call from Antoine.

“Hey, friend, are you still in Charlottesville?”

“Yes, but I have orders to Fort Bragg, reporting next month. I wanted to ask you about stopping in Richmond for a few days.”

Emily grinned, though he could not see it.

“Going to see Deirdre?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you, uh—”

“Antoine, since when do you have to ask me to date someone?”

“Well, uh, you were my first, and so far my only, y’know.”

“I watched you two when she was in Charlottesville. There is something magical there. Don’t let it get away.”

“But—”

“Antoine, Antoine. I know what deep love looks like. Take my word for it. She’s a keeper. You’ll always be my friend. Always. So will Deirdre, I think.”

“Thanks, Em.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve got to go on service. Please let me know how it works out.”

***

The next year in March, Emily took a travel nurse assignment at the Womack Army Medical Center in Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Deirdre was waiting with her bicycle on the platform when Emily rolled her bike from the baggage car. In May, Emily was a bridesmaid in the Bell-Dewberry wedding.

The Dewberry families would continue to cross paths with Emily and Katherine for many years…

© 2026, JT Hine

I hope you enjoy these snippets of Emily’s life after the last book of the E&H trilogy, Emily Is Hard to Kill. Find links to the novels and short story collections here. Enjoy!