The fewer the hills the better the day

      No camping gear to pack so after breakfast at Handi Mart I was rolling at 7:30.  A slight hill to begin with bit the road leveled out and it clear sailing for a good thirty miles. Shortly after passing over the Alabama line the Tennessee River came into view.  A huge river that rivals the Missouri and Mississippi.  The bridge arched over had graceful appearance which added to the grandeur of the tiver. The vista on both sides of the bridge were wonderful.    Had there been hills like the past three days, I might have stopped at the campsite just over the bridge.  Instead I pushed onward with twenty-five miles behind me.  Through the small corner of Alabama into Mississippi there were several climbers, one in particular which went for a good two miles.  After breaking for lunch at a historic pull over, the remaining twelve miles I covered brought me a nice federal campsite with a shower no less.  Being cloudy all day keep the heat under control but the last five miles the rain descended upon me leaving me pretty much soaked. The rangers who checked me in gave me a spot down by a nice lake one hundred feet from facilities. Upon arriving the first objective was to seek shelter at the facilities. While waiting for the rain to abate I shed my wet riding shirt, dried off and slipped on my T-shirt. Even though the rain tapered off, I assembled my tent and carried it over to my site and staked it down. A couple of trips carrying my inflated mattress, sleeping bag other sleeping gear got me set without risking getting everything wet. Next, the glorious hot shower followed  by putting my wet riding clothes in a drier. Such luxury!  For dinner I had enough to do the job knowing that the restaurants were a few miles away.  With fifty- two miles covered today I packed up early.  Tomorrow it is forty miles to Tupelo.

Torturous up hill climbing that ended well

     Not only did a woman bring me food last night but as I was riding out of Merriweather Lewis camp ground, one guy shower me with granola bars and another gave me  four liters bottled water. A good nights sleep followed by these two acts of kindness was a good start to the day.  What was to follow was a thirty miles of uphill climbing over three hours.  A wrong turn due to poor signage put me two miles behind  due to lousy signage, which is a frequent occurrence. The road  gradient was manageable  but my speed was reduced dramatically  three to eight MPH.  A few somewhat level areas interspersed but hills were always lurking around the corner. A few very brief stops to eat a few granola bars, drink water and rest my legs helped.  With six miles to Collinsville and over three hours of strenuous riding I had to stop for refueling (lunch) and to give my legs a rest.  During my ride, my back up battery life was almost depleted forcing me to shut my phone off and forego use of my rear flasher and music headset.  Anyways, I sat on the grass thirty feet off the road in the shade with my bike leaning against a cotton wood  tree.  Thirty minutes later I was rolling again having had a decent lunch.  A few miles along, a couple riding the other direction stopped after my inquiring about what was in Collinwood.  More than just a convenient store they gave me the lay of the land, an actual town with a visitors center, restaurants and a park to set up camp, hallelujah! With temperature in the low eights and my energy spent, I walked into the air conditioned center. The volunteers were wonderful, they gave me the key to the shower room, where to eat and that I could sleep at the fire station if I first checked in at city hall just a stone’s throw from the visitors center. The hot shower was utterly divine where I also washed my riding closes.  Feeling domewhat human again, I walked around the corner and had a BLT and both a large glass ice water and sweet ice tea.  Dessert followec in the form of a two scoop ice cream cone at the local Hasti Mart which included a deli and other upscale amenities. Off to the fire station where the door had been left unlocked for me. The woman at city hall had called her daughter who worked there and told her I would be over later in the afternoon.  A/C sleeping quarter, nothing special but a comfortable bed and a TV to entertain myself.  Bed time was several hours  off so I caught up with my emails and call Betsy to give her the lowdown.  Tomorrow, I have thirty miles to ride to reach the Tennessee River and a bicycle only campsite.  Once again, no shower facilities or town but I stocked up on food and my battery and other devises are charged. Not as many hills but seeing is believing. 

A trying day

     Some days just do not work in my favor. After toast and coffee with Vic I packed everything up and headed out. Before entering the Trace I stopped for a real breakfast at the same country store I did when I arrived yesterday, great place, excellent food and a down home Tennessee atmosphere.  After about sevens miles down the road on the Trace I had lousy feeling swept over me. I stop and checked my electronics department and sure enough I had left my battery back at Vic and Pam’s house on the back porch. After calling Vic he drove out and delivered it to me, a true act of kindness. That battery allows me to charge my phone, headset, rear flasher and front light when I don’t have access to an electrical outlet.  It has save me many times. Well, that put me forty-five minutes behind schedule which would cost me as the day heated up. Once on the rode again I clicked of twenty-five miles before breaking for lunch. Although the surroundings landscape is scenic and parkway very bike friendly, the road is a roller coaster.   Long climbs creeping up hill at three to five MPH ( including two steep hills where I had to walk) followed by thirty MPH decents up to a mile.  All day long, up and down, after forty five miles of this torturous terrain I reached Merriweather Lewis camp ground where he died and is buried. Big place, no showers,  no stores to buy provision and certainly no restaurants. At least I found water to refill my four bottles. After lamenting to a woman parked in her car by the rest room facilities about how ill equipped the park was and telling her that I barely enough food for  dinner I rode off to the camping area. The nearest town where there were food stores was six miles off the Trace. Pretty much out of energy there was no way I was riding over and back to buy food. So I set up my tent and headed off to the bathroom facilities. After taking a water bottle shower in the handicap area of the bathroom I was walking out the door and the same women who I spoke to about an hour earlier rolled up and called over to me that she had gone out to the store and bought me a whole load of food: apples, grapes, canned grapefruit, celery and a container of mixed nuts and raisins. She even had a hot hamburger for me.  I was speechless and utterly amazed someone would do such an act of kindness. I offered to pay several times but she would not take a dime.  Marsha (74) and I hung out and chat for a good hour. A New Hampshire person who had had enough of the cold weather and high property taxes headed south to Tennessee. At her house she gas no cell reception and won’t have anything to do with computers.  Divorced with a daughter near by she leads a quite uncomplicated life. Someone is looking out for me.

      What I am realizing and had suspected about the Natchez Trace is its remoteness away from towns and cities. My strategy is changing to not just coveting miles but locating places where I can find food.  Bicycle friendly on the road but very inconvenient in finding the basics.  

Beautiful Parkway, serendipitous encounter

    7:58 I rolled out of my airbnb after finally meeting the mysterious owners of the house, Patrick and Jordan. Wove my way through the side street avoiding the main artery filled with rush hour traffic.  After a few gps induced wrong turns Nashville started to fade away.  Sixteen miles into the ride the Natchez Trace entrance ramp appeared.  No sooner had a entered an almost deserted beautiful two land parkway that I met a feel bicyclist out for his daily cardio ride.  Retired pastor, my age, he stayed with me for about an hour.  Turns out he turned bowls and did carvings, a fellow woodworker.  Upon telling Carson that my destination was Lieper Fork, he told me of this world class carver friend he studied under who lived in the town. We exchanged numbers and he headed off ahead of me.  

     Taking the exit for Lieper Fork, my first stop was at a country store with real local charm.  Being 1:00, all the workers were stopping in to pick up lunch the same as I was doing.  Country music playing, the locals greeting one another as they picked up lunch and me the very obvious out-of-towner taking in the whole scene.  I sat outside on the store front porch and ate my custom sandwich, chips and chocolate milk watching and listening to everyone.  On the road again for a mile, the historic village of Lieper Fork appeared along with Vic Hood’s shop.  Not much to the place as I rode down its length both ways checking out the stores, BnBs and period houses.  Thirty-one miles of rolling hills put a definite hurt on my legs.  The first few days of riding are always a bit tough.  Vic’s store was closed but I still parked myself on one of his porch benches.  Calling Carson he gave me Vic’s cell, Vic answered and arrived thirty minutes later.  Same age as me, 72 and could this guy carve! Apparently, he ranks as a world class carver on top of having a business of restoring significant historic wooden buildings around the country.  Ok, so I have been in business for forty- four years; nevertheless, Vic showed me how to sharpen carving chisels and knives much better than I could.  My chisels are sharp but he brought me to a whole new level.  He showed me techniques which had alluded me for years. A thoroughly serendipitous connection I had made.

        Vic let me set up my tent in his backyard where also I showered up.  Once back in his shop, I met his wife Pam.  In short order, we were off in his truck to his favorite Mexican restaurant over in Franklin.  We talked about everything including that his fame included several shows on the Discovery Channel and several books he had written on both carving and historic house preservation.  His accomplishments went on and on.  A truly remarkable man which I was so fortunate to meet. 

     

In the begin there was a plan

     Covid really screwed up my plans to bicycle Nova Scotia. Postponing the trip given the closed board wasn’t a option.  Cold weather does happen up there and I am not a big fan of freezing my behind off and using studded tires.  Ok, now what? Europe was out, in fact, the whole world was out.  Let’s do some research and see what the good ole US of A has to offer.  Years ago I drove through Tennessee on my way to southeast Texas.  The map showed some sort of scenic route.  Fast forward twenty years and I looked up this route.  The Natchez Trace, a ten thousand year old trail where in 1935 a congressman named Busby finagled federal funds to build a parkway for both cars and bicycles for the entire 444 miles  from Nashville, Tennessee to Natchez Mississippi.  Online, I requested from the park service information on this parkway.  I was impressed with what I read so I pulled the the trigger. First, came the timing and duration of the ride, next the booking of the flights followed by arranging airbnbs for my arrival and departure.  After my pit crew, The Wayfarer Bicycle shop, thoroughly checked over my bike, I packed my gear, finished my necessary fall projects, made sure Ed had enough work to do in shop, paid bills, hauled the boat, and tied off numerous loose ends and hopped on the plane.  Anxiety as always chewed away at me but my stronger side pushed through my comfort zone and now here I am in Nashville ready to start rolling in fourteen hours.  Today after assembling the bike, I rode through downtown Nashville, picked up Breakfast at an upscale cafe took in a very cool car museum and had a late lunch a mile outside of the insanely mobbed historic district.  An NFL game was underway across the river at the Tennessee Titan stadium.  Tens of thousands of fans descend upon the city making for all consuming event.  Anyways back to the Natchez Trace, I am pumped and ready to make this ride a reality.