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.
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