The last few miles to Natchez

       After conquering the countless hills and now with only 17 1/2 miles to Natchez, it seemed surreal.  However,  no sooner had Ed and I climbed out of our tents than the head of maintenance stop by telling us that camping wasn’t allowed.  With Brian Powers’ (the park ranger from the night before) business card in hand we cleared up what could have ended us up with a ticket.  Communication between Park service departments was not our problem. A heavy dew the night before soaked our tents which delayed our departure as we waited for my gear to dry.  Ed just stuffed his wet tent into his pannier which I wouldn’t do. Mildew is becoming an issue with my six year old tent. In the meanwhile I found a Tupperware type container to sit on. Along with Ed’s collapsible ultra light chair, we sat on the paved roundabout and cooked up breakfast.  Rudimentary but fun. 

     8:36 we rolled onto the Trace for the final ride to Natchez.  A charming ride with very few hills to contend with.   The official end of the parkway is two miles shy of downtown Natchez where we did the obligatory photo op. Natchez proper was upon us fifteen minutes later.  Hundreds of pre-civil war homes lined the road making a feast for the eyes of any historian.  Next we found the visitor center and located a no star motel.   Like all the other depreciated motels across the country Indians (from India) owned the place.  After securing our rooms we walked across the street to a popular local seafood place and had a celebratory seafood lunch accompanied by a few light beers.  After hanging out our tent gear over the second floor railings for a thorough drying,  Ed’s wife, Trudy, arrived from Tupelo where she had been visiting her daughter.  With their large extended cab Ford 150 truck we cruised around town taking in the sites particularly the enormous Mississippi River. Back at the motel, a nap ensued as my body began to decompress from the ride.  Later we had dinner at the same seafood restaurant, where Ed and Trudy treated me.  The Sea food combo plater was huge but delicious.  

      Tomorrow we will take our bikes via  the truck over the Mississippi bridge to Vidalia, Louisiana and ride around a bit to say that we have ridden our bikes in that state.

       480 miles of bicycling from Nashville,Tennessee to Natchez, Mississippi was a challenge given the hundreds of hills but the parkway is beautiful and worth the ride.  At 72, the Natchez Trace tested my fortitude and perseverance but I  measured up.  My next bicycle trip will be on flat terrain.  

Closing in on Natchez

       The Porter House airbnb in Raymond was far from the norm for this cyclist but a little luxury is good for the soul. Ed and I took our time leaving, spending an extra hour having coffee and sitting out on the porch.  Two miles to get back on the Trace, eighty-two miles to Natchez.  Beautiful weather, somewhat flat terrain but the hills showed their ugly heads more frequently than Ed and I would have liked.  Around forty miles along Ed’s legs were not doing well, he rested a bit, walked up a few hills and general took it much slower than his usual pace.  Two electrolyte replacement gummies I gave him probably helped revive him along with extra  and food.  Eventually he was able to get into the groove again and we finished up at an historic Inn site at mile 15, sixty-seven miles ridden. No camping permitted but I persisted with the park ranger given our exhausted state and after a call to a higher authority Ed and I were allowed to set up camp over at the employee housing area.  A water bottle shower, a freeze dried dinner of beef stroganoff, some Jameson whiskey along with some good conversations with Ed finished off the day. Tomorrow and another seventeens miles on the road and Natchez will be upon us. 

Flat road, beautiful ride

   At about 1:00 am, the abandoned dog, obvious a mother of several pups, made a racket prying off the trash can lid and  foraging through the trash for food. At first I thought it was a coyote but Ed shined his light and assured me it was the dog. Wild pigs are in the area so I am glad Ed, as a retired police  detective, had his nine millimeter hand gun with him.  He let me look it over, a very compact little weapon.  Being down in Mississippi where dogs are not leashed and alligators, snakes and wild pigs are around, I am glad Ed is prepared.  Camping at the Natchez Trace campsites is surrounded by forest and isolated from the world.  The only thing missing are the bears.

     Twenty miles down the road with the Jackson reservoir on our left, Ed and I pulled off the Trace to buy food.  Getting into the city was a cinch but finding our way out was a struggle. The signage was terrible and the miserable gps was no help.  Finally back on the Trace, we made it down to road marker 78 where we turned off and rode three miles to Raymond. Where we thought there motels and hotels there was only a small town with nothing of the sort available.   So where were we going to stay for the night?  Brenda at City Hall came up with three airbnbs.  One of which was around the corner and had a room available. A National Register house which is classically southern with the high ceilings a large front porch. After speaking with the owner over the phone, we went around the corner where the house sat on a knoll.  The door was unlocked and Ed and I found our way to our second floor room. Quite the room with all the gentility necessary to impress any modesty refined woman.  Way above what I considered necessary but a luxury in a great while doesn’t hurt. The only problem was where to put all the pillows so we could actually sleep in the beds. Considering the elegance of our accommodations, Ed joked about how much the fare would be.  The amount was surprisingly reasonable which also included having our clothes washed with small extras like a/c, big screen television in our room, coffee, energy bars, bottled water and the whole house to ourselves.  The owners live in a quaint little cottage in the back.

      The owner after arriving home gave us the history of the place, how it had been painstakingly moved, restored and put on the National Register.  We all sat on the porch and imbibed two delicious IPAs from a brewery in Texas.  The couple who just purchased the house in September both have good jobs in Jackson. An interior decorator put place together in a no time and now the couple plans to buy the place next door.  Their plans including wedding venues and the like.  I can envision it, a sleepy little Mississippi town with up and coming charm just outside of Jackson. To add to all this, Laura and Jason are triathlon athletes! 

       As the sun set Ed snd I walked around the corner passed  the imposing classic water tower right on the small town roundabout and over to a Mexican restaurant where we had a feast of a meal.  

    Because Ed bonked (lost his energy) on the road in the early afternoon we settled for Raymond instead of fifteen miles further down to another campsite. We may have only covered fifty miles but the gods looked after us.  Eighty-two miles to Natchez, with the plan to cover a major portion of it tomorrow.

On the road with Ed

      It has been a while since I met anyone biking my way but Ed, former criminal investigator, are enjoying  our ride together. Fifty-eight miles covered today taking a slightly different approach.  By pulling off at every historic site which is about every seven to ten miles we can read about the history of the place and give our legs and derrières a brief rest.  Best of all the road was devoid of any serious hills and the weather was perfect.  A bit of rain and thunder during the last five miles but nothing serious.  With my food supply running low, Ed said he had plenty for dinner and breakfast.  We pulled off just after mile post 123 to a very scenic site which had a backdrop of a fairly large winding river with alligators prowling around. Another water bottle shower but I felt refreshed.  Ed produced some bourbon which we sipped on before dinner.  A local drove in with his truck accompanied by his two Blue Healer dogs (used to corral cattle).  He offered us a beer which we gladly took and proceeded to listen to his life history. Interesting guy but not one we really wanted to hang out with. Inner city redneck transplanted from Indianapolis to Central Mississippi. Dinner on the camping stove consisted canned Spaghetti and meatballs with chocolate chips for dessert. Basic but good for two guys on the road.  After clean up with the sun setting the mosquitoes arrived in force. We adjourned to our tents where I had to rid my tent interior of dozens of these  blood suckers bugs who had entered my tent because I had not zipped the netting shut. Tomorrow we arrive at Jackson to resupply but not to stay. 

Don’t mess with Mississippi mud

       Rain greeted me at 6:30 and even with the gear there is nothing appealing about biking in the rain. It is one of those areas where bicycle rain gear needs to be rethought.  Just over seven miles of bicycling to work my way from downtown Tupelo to the Trace.  West a few miles, south a few miles and west again a few miles. My strategy was to avoid the major arteries and intersect with the Trace  south of the construction being done on the Trace.  The last road west brought me to the area blocked off but I skirted the barriers and rode down a  perfectly complete road way.  Being Sunday nobody was around to stop me.  Once I was riding south on the Trace, the rain stopped and I was able to shed my rain gear.  Along the way I passed by a few feet what looked like a two foot long copper head snake lounging by the side of the road. Yikes! Thirty miles down the road my legs began talking to me so I pulled over for  an early lunch.  Back on the road again my destination, Witch Dance, came sooner than I initially calculated.  Learning from a cyclist couple, there was a horse camping site which was a great place to stop.  “Just follow a dirt trail down a bit and you will run into the place.” Having rained on the trail, it was a quagmire of red clay mud.  Pushing my bike along for about one hundred feet I realized the this was a bad move. Leaving my bike leaning against a tree I forge ahead dodging as much of the mud as possible.  No camp, no anything just a lot of mud.  Back to my bike, the struggle began, pushing my back up an incline back to the trail head.  My bike was a holy mess, mud had clogged everything.  Now what!?  After reaching the bathrooms, I had to strip the bike of all the gear.  The long messy process of trying to make my bike usable began.  The mud was horrible.  A couple sympathized and helped me search for a motel where I could thoroughly hose down the bike.  3.2 miles south, 3.3 miles west off the Trace brought me to Houston, Mississippi where there was modest single story old fashion motel, the Holiday Terrace. The lady behind the counter checked me in and more importantly showed me where the outside facet and house were located.  Wasting no time, I took delight in cleansing my bicycle of solidified mud. A good ten minutes of blasting off this miserable stuff. Next came cleaning me, the clothes and the bags.  I lay the wrung out clothes on the warm cement sidewalk outside of my door.  After an hour or so of waiting for the sun and warm concrete to dry my gear out, I resorted to using hangers from a semi permanent renter. Hanging everything from wherever I could on the low hanging sidewalk roof, I hoofed off to dinner. With a Walmart within eyesight along with numerous other small stores I found a restaurant.  I could have walked via the road and sidewalk but I bushwhacked through a brown field where a building had been torn down.  Coming back with chicken wings, I cut through this same brown field but slight different from before. A big mistake, more red mud which devoured my sandals.  Could this be happening again!?  This mud is nasty stuff.  Once again the hose was invaluable in removing it.   Another glitch, no booze on Sundays.  The woman a few doors down said she had beer so I took her up on it.  Coors light which is one step above rain water went well with the chicken wings.  Fay came by again with a Bud light and we talked at a distance.  It is sad to hear why people hit bad times and end up week to week at a motel. Eventually, I bowed out to call  Betsy and watch the Patriots play the Buccaneers. Tomorrow, I will keep my distance from the mud and cover at least forty miles.

A day off in Tupelo, Mississippi

    Recovery days are essential for any long distance bicyclist.  Five days on the road with countless hills to climb took its toll.  Within walking distance of downtown, a grocery store and the Elvis museum was all I needed.  Washing clothes, walking instead of riding, taking in the  sites and generally chilling out of as a must. The Elvis museum was very well done.   His house, the small wooden one room church he attended and an attractive as well as interesting museum was well worth seeing.  I tried four restaurants downtown all of which were excellent. Tupelo appears to be on the move.  The older building worth saving have been restored with modern business buildings replacing the blighted areas.  Tree planting, new sidewalks all add to the growing charm of the downtown area.  

      Tomorrow will be a challenge riding south out of town. Several miles of the Trace are closed off due to reconstruction. I will be winding myself way through the streets both south and west to get below this construction.  Because of the inevitable hills, my strategy will to gear down to the level of least resistance while climbing the hills and not push to hard on the level surfaces. A little more time spent on the road but much easier on the legs.

42 miles to Tupelo over hill and dale

   Woke up to a beautiful lake setting and partly sunny skies.  A Canada goose with what appeared to have an injured wing was hanging out from the night before.  One hour cand fifty-eight minutes I was climbing out of the park.  After asking about amenities at the check in house, being told there were none for miles, I set my goal of reaching tupelo, forty-two miles south.  With food running low I ate an energy bar and started off. Twenty miles and my legs were talking to me…take a break and feed me.  The worst thing that can happen to a bike, other than getting hit by a car or truck, is to “bonk” for lack of water or food.  Half way there in two hours, I stopped at an historic pull off and eat most of the food I had packed: cheese, trail mix, celery and chocolate drops followed by a lot of water.  Once on the road again, I took extra care not to strain the legs, always gearing down to a low exertion level.  Taking it slow and steady I arrived at the outskirts of Tupelo.  Part of the Trace was closed for repairs so I had to rely on my gps to navigate into town.  On a busy secondary road a car forcing me onto grass shoulder. I saluted the thoughtless/malicious driver with the single finger. Rebooting my gps I found a safer route which wound me through residential areas eventually bring me to the heart of Tupelo.  Hot, sweat soaked and tire I parked my bike at an inviting Cafe.  The outside tables where of respectable looking guys who helped me find a motel. One of which saw me on the Trace.  How they can stand the mid day heat mystified me given the a/c inside.   Lunch was a great.  Hydrated and full I cruise .8 miles to a Motel 6. not to far from Elvis’ birthplace. Simple, clean and inexpensive I booked a room for two nights.  Three  nights of camping and one night in a firehouse, a break was needed.  A short walk to downtown brought me to a nice restaurant for dinner. Time to recoup, wash some clothes and carbo load for my next destination, Jacksonville, Mississippi. Not much in between so I am loading up with food.