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.

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.