It was on April 1st, 1997 that I left my driveway in Largo, Florida. April Fools Day. This may or may not be a coincidence. I will never know for sure, but no sooner than I left my driveway I was starting to feel that I may, possibly, be something of a fool – (actually what I was thinking was more along the lines of “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING!!??) – but it was too late. I had already started. There was no turning back at this point without really looking like a fool. After all, I had already told everybody what I was doing. Of course, they all thought I was crazy for doing it. But being crazy is much cooler. Well once I had been riding awhile I started getting used to it. After all, I wasn’t riding to Alaska today – I was only riding to my sister Carrie’s house in Palm Harbor – a mere 23 miles away. And that’s just what I did. Riding mainly on the Pinellas Trail and at one point getting a police escort from the Clearwater PD bicycle patrol where the trail ended, I made the 23-mile trip to my sister’s house. This was the furthest I had ever ridden a bicycle in one day in my life – It would be the second shortest bike ride I would make for the next six months.
I watched movies and rested. The next day I don’t think I ever left the house. One day of riding and I was already taking a day off. I felt lazy and knew it was important to get going the next day to keep the momentum flowing, so day three I was out the door. One thing I would come to realize was that I would not make the kind of time I had originally planned. I had been thinking of a four-month trip averaging about 75 miles a day or more. In reality, I averaged more like 60 miles or less. I had great expectations but the truth was I was an inexperienced cyclist had no clue about what it actually meant to ride a bicycle all day long. And did I mention I am lazy? My itinerary had me making it to a campground in Brooksville on this day three – I didn’t make it there until day four. Today I would ride till I had to find somewhere to camp on the side of the road. I pulled into what I thought was nothing but trees, but after unpacking most of my stuff and taking a look around, realized I was behind someone’s house. Tired as I was and with darkness approaching, there was no way I was packing and leaving now. So I laid low and waited for it to get darker, then spread out a tarp and laid down. Now, April in Florida is already starting to get pretty hot. But, I soon realized, does not mean the same at night. In fact it got pretty chilly. I first got up to break out my long johns and, later, to break out my sleeping bag for the first time. This was one aspect of my laziness I would soon lose – I quickly got very used to unpacking all of my stuff everyday – and repacking it the next morning – and unpacking – and packing – and unpacking – and packing – and…well anyway I made it through with just my sleeping bag which was soaked with morning dew the next day. I awoke at 5:45 AM and showered with the little remaining water in my water bottle which left most of the shampoo in my hair. Of all the things I deprived myself of on this trip, it was hot showers I missed the most.
It’s my fourth day riding today and I get my first experience with hills as I approach Brooksville. The total weight of my load, including my bicycle is about 150 pounds, and with me on it about 340. I don’t think I ever really took into consideration just how difficult pedaling up an incline would be – I’ve never lived anywhere close to a hill in my life. Being out of shape made it very fortunate for me to be starting my trip in flat Florida. The really cool thing about hills, though, is after you finally make it up you get to come back down. Coming down hills on winding roads I even exceeded 30mph. (This all seemed impressive to me at the time but one unique thing about this trip was that I started in flat Florida and the terrain grew increasingly steeper as the trip went on – flat Florida – Tennessee hills – Rocky Mountains – 12% grades on the Dalton Highway and the Brooks Range in Alaska). I felt like I was really on my way now riding down secluded country roads with no traffic. Fresh air and the sound of silence was not something I was used to living in the Tampa Bay area. I was finally leaving it all behind and it felt great. It took most of the day but I was nearing my originally planned day three destination in the Withlacoochee State Forest and decided I’d call it a day and stay the night in the Holder Mines campground near the town of Inverness. Getting to the campground was a challenge in itself. About a mile or so of sand roads so soft that it was impossible to ride, leaving no choice but to push. This was nearly equally impossible. But push I did. Sometimes I would try to push it off road but the sandspurs would quickly chase me back. Pushing a fully loaded bike through soft sand was not something I had planned – this trip would be full of the unexpected surprises. I made it to my first campground, took a shower, and set up my tent for the very first time. I also broke out my little Sierra wood-burning stove which was pretty interesting. After scraping together pine needles and small twigs I was able to fire up my little stove. I feasted on canned beans, canned corn, and fried potatoes. It just doesn’t get much better than this.
The next morning I awoke realizing that after packing I would have to dig myself out of the campground via the sand roads to get back to the main road. I lucked out though. A park ranger came by in his truck and rode my stuff and me back to the main road. I needed water and noticed a church across the street where I stopped to fill up with their garden hose. It was there I realized my rear tire was flat – SANDSPURS! I came prepared though, but changing the tire meant unloading everything – (during a period of time in Canada where I had 8 flat tires in 9 days I figured a way to change the tires without unloading anything – laziness is the mother of invention…). After reloading my bike I figured it might be a good idea to pick the sandspurs out of my front tire too! hissssssssssssssssssss! Yep! Of course! time to fix another tire. I didn’t get far that day. By this time my out of shape legs and body were feeling pretty sore. I stopped at Rainbow Springs State Park which wasn’t on my map but looked good all the same. I try to stretch my money as far as possible – I only have about $3,000 for the entire trip – so I break off into a secluded section of woods. It is here I attempt to camp again without using my tent. Big mistake, for it is here I find myself in the midst of Mosquito Land. The sound of bugs buzzing in my ears all night is something I will not soon forget – and camping without a tent is a mistake I never make again – laziness loses out on this one.
Well, I’m inspired now. it is my sixth day riding and I finally put some miles behind me. Today I rode 63.7 miles and the initial shock of riding a bicycle for hours everyday is finally wearing off. I make it to High Springs, a town about 20 miles northwest of Gainesville. I had planned to stop and do some laundry, then ride all the way to O’Leno State Park, where I would take the day off and rest. The Laundromat was closed though so I broke down and got a $25 motel. It is amazing after six days outdoors how much I appreciate this motel. Air conditioning. A bed. TV even! I rarely watch TV at home but I watched it all night here.
Day seven – I ride the six miles to O’Leno State Park and prepare to relax. Relax I do. The park is named after the 19th century town of Leno which was originally called Keno after the gambling game. When they wanted to start a post office they decided to change the name reportedly, because the feds weren’t to keen on a town named after gambling. The park is on the Santa Fe River which is sort of unique for two reasons. For one thing it, like the Suwannee and other rivers in Florida, is jet black due to the tannic acid which occurs naturally making it look like a river of black coffee. Another oddity is that the river disappears – at one point it suddenly sinks underground leaving a “river graveyard” of logs piled up at the terminus. About two miles later it resurfaces as if it had never left.
It says in my journal, “tomorrow I will try to make it to Suwannee River State Park”. I don’t. I have now been on the road a whole week and on this eight day and after a late start I manage to ride 57 miles before finding myself in need of a place to stop for the night before it gets dark. (This will be a recurring theme throughout the course of the trip and something that I am always conscious of as the day wears on. I don’t always make it before dark. Never really knowing where I will stay for the night is one of my top two concerns – right up there with where and when I can take a shower). Today I find a vacant lot down a dirt road. I don’t want to get caught trespassing so always lay low in this situation. On this occasion I manage to get eaten alive by mosquitoes before getting set up, eating a can of Spagetios, an making it into my tent.
It is now Wednesday April 9th. I ride all day until almost dark. I made it to a KOA campground after riding more that 70 miles – this is easily my longest and hardest day so far. There were quite a few hills and I was hell bent on making some progress. A hot shower and the next day I do some laundry and go. I must have been worn out because I ride only 30 miles and camp in the woods by the road near Tallahassee. I couldn’t have chosen a lousier spot. Thick brush with spiders, ticks, and ants. I whacked out a flat spot with my pocket saw (one of my more useful gadgets) set up, and stayed in my tent ’till the next morning. I try out my Sun Shower for the first time – I don’t have time for the sun though and take a cold shower with one hand while holding the bag of water up with the other.
I didn’t always enjoy the ride today. I was on very narrow, winding roads with heavy traffic for much of the ride as I circumnavigated Florida’s capital city of Tallahassee. I stopped to eat in the town of Havana where I talked to my sister Carrie on the phone. She was taking a vacation and planned to drive up and meet me for a couple of days. We planned to meet near Chattahoochee at a campground on Lake Seminole in Georgia. I am not planning on riding through Georgia – I am only staying at the Lake Seminole Campground that is just across the Florida border. Havana was a somewhat restored old city with a lot of red brick buildings. If I had known what lie in store for me after leaving Havana I might have just decided to stay. Yes, this is where the true flavor of adventure began to reveal itself and the last half of this day would give me a taste of what was to come. I missed my road after leaving Havana and was already very tired. I was on a very narrow route 12 heading toward the town of Quincy. The traffic was thick and I really started to question the choices of roads that Adventure Cycling had used. (This would not be the last time I had my doubts about narrow rural routes – they are often extremely narrow which isn’t in itself bad unless it also has a fair amount of traffic. This is often the case). I was determined to make it to Chattahoochee today but it was getting late and I was still a long way from my destination. I had no idea how hilly Quincy would be. The hills were the steepest yet and to make matters worse, I couldn’t find my turn-off. I ended up going back and forth, up and down the same steep hills trying to find my road but they weren’t marked like anything it said on the map. I finally turned down one road hoping it was the right one. Fortunately, it was.
Then it started to rain. I had not experienced rain up to this point but was quickly introduced to what would become a familiar theme throughout the trip. Now normally when it rains I am used to just going back inside, or getting in the car. Now I am just riding. I bought a rain suit but have never really used one, so I don’t bother to try to stop and unpack it. I guess it just took some time for it so sink in that I was getting soaked. I finally stopped at a store in a town called Gretna. It had stopped raining for the most part so I changed into some dry cloths and put on my rain jacket while I talked to some kids hanging out on bikes in front of the store.
I ride the rest to the way to Chattahoochee and finally into Georgia. I’m not planning on riding through Georgia but it is still a milestone knowing I have ridden a bicycle from my house to another state. This is my first experience with a Gore-Tex rain jacket. It is supposed to be “breathable” and well ventilated. This may be true compared to regular plastic raincoats but while riding a bicycle it was difficult to notice. It was still very hot and sweaty. I had to ask directions to the campground and didn’t get there until after 8:00 PM. I was exhausted, and while waiting to use the phone to call my sister I was invited by a man to come help them eat some fish they had caught at the lake that day. I was more than happy to. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been hungrier in my life. I ate, took a really great shower, pulled a tick out of me, then proceeded to set up my tent in the pouring rain and, by this time of night, the pitch dark. This is the first time I have ever used the rain fly on my tent and I would never again be able to set my tent up without it. I finally did call my sister to give directions to the place. She drove up the next day. It was the last time I would get to see anyone I new for a long time so we took some time to see some sights. Lake Seminole is actually a dammed up reservoir where three rivers meet. The Jim Woodruff dam is pretty large – the largest dam I had ever seen. I was impressed. My sister did not come all that way to sleep in a wet tent so we ended up getting a motel that night and the next. I ended up taking two days off in a row and hoped the rest would freshen me up. It was also a good opportunity to clean and organize my bags. We drove to Torreya State Park on the Apalachicola River and walked the trails. It was nice to be able to ride around in a car and walk around. I hadn’t been gone two weeks yet and it already seemed like a luxury. Torreya State Park was named after a rare form of tree which grew here and nowhere else in the world. It is extremely endangered and many people don’t expect it to survive. It seems to me in the case of a tree it shouldn’t be impossible to just make copies of the tree to allow it to propagate. Its not like endangered animals where you have to rely on them breeding and eating in captivity and all the delicate issues to be dealt with in keeping alive a member of the Animal Kingdom. But a tree? Just plant some seeds and keep them watered. I’m no botanist or anything so I guess there must be more to it than that. Please excuse my ignorance on the subject. (I tried to learn more about trees on the trip. I bought two books later on about trees and identifying leaves. I even collected leaves and attempted to identify them throughout the trip. There is plenty of time for such activities while alone on a bicycle for six months).
Carrie and I had to drive all the way back to Quincy to find a cash machine. On the way back we were trying to figure out what to do next. I noticed an icon in my Florida DeLorme map indicating a place called Glen Julia Springs along the way. We drove up there and it looked like an abandoned park. It was eerie. Everything was overgrown. There was a lake and dilapidated dock at the end of this trail we walked and no sign of anyone having been there in a long time. That night we upgraded to a better class of cheap motel. This one, in contrast to the previous nights lodgings, had no cockroaches or used condoms on the floor.
The next day my sister and I went our separate ways. I would not see anyone I knew again for almost six months. After two days without riding I was well rested. It was an easy ride to Florida Caverns State Park. It was only about 33 miles. It was over 70 miles to Lake Seminole the last day I rode. I used my ATM for the first time at a Winn Dixie in Marianna. I bought some little steaks and cooked them on a fire at the campground. I talked with some guy from Nashville while I ate then listened to some music on my tape player. ( I don’t know why but it was the first time I had used my Walkman the whole trip. Normally I listen to music all the time but I ended up mailing it back after only using it once or twice). Well this day marked the end of two weeks of riding my bicycle. I was riding with the goal of Alaska in mind but I wasn’t really riding to Alaska. I was riding to this town and that town. I was riding 12 miles to the next spot on my map. Then I would ride to the next spot. Waking up in the morning I would try to gauge how far I would go that day. I might set a goal of some certain town or park or campground which I may or may not reach. I may decide upon reaching the day’s goal to ride a little further if it was still early. Alaska was too far off. When an entire days riding moves me no more than a speck on my USA map it was hard to think of Alaska. After two weeks I was still in Florida.
It is now April 15th. I have planned for a while to see the caverns. I’ve never been inside a cave before so this should be pretty cool. I went on the tour with a class of 11th graders from Thomasville, GA and their teacher. We walked through all the stalactites and stalagmites and had to admit it was pretty interesting. It was dark and damp and we had to duck much of the time. I never really thought of it before but much of it had to be carved out to be able to pass through at all. Otherwise they’d have no tourist attraction. Afterwards I talked with their teacher at the info displays. He wore a bright green suit coat and plaid pants. That was the highlight of the day though. For some reason I was feeling very lousy mentally and physically. It was a nice day but I didn’t feel like riding. I went about 50 miles and stopped at Ponce DeLeon Springs State Recreation Area. It didn’t have a campground but it had a trail and the park was closing, so I pushed my bike down the trail for a while trying to find a spot. It was a wet, swampy area full of mosquitoes so I couldn’t wait to get set up but I figured I better wait to make sure no one was coming. It was here I decided it would be a nice time to try out my mosquito uniform for the first time. ( I told you I packed a lot of stuff ). It was a suit in a bag and you pour in a bottle of Deet and let it soak awhile. It worked great and was one of my best friends in mosquito infested areas for the transitionary phase between stopping the bike, and setting up and getting into the tent.
I awoke at 5:30 the next morning to make it before the park opened. I swam and bathed in the springs. While in the bathroom I found a old ragged pair of short pants in the trash. I figured they would be useful for bathing out in the open so I used them for that purpose the remainder of the trip. They could get wet and soapy and dirty and it wouldn’t matter.
In October of 1996 I was doing tree work for a living. I drove up to the panhandle with a friend after hurricane Opal had wreaked its damage on the area. The place was a mess back then with fallen trees everywhere. The night before my birthday I slept on the hood of the pickup truck and woke up thinking about life. I was 29 years old and wanted to do something more than what I had been doing with my life. I imagine these were the earliest stages of what would become my bike trip. We met up with other tree cutting friends in Crestview and wound up with about 10 of us renting a house for a month where Jamie, Alex, and I bought tents and camped in the backyard. I had such a sense of freedom. This set a spark which would eventually lead to me offing my house the following April 1st. The spirit has evolved into this big adventure and now I find myself back in Crestview. I rode out to the house that was somewhat of a headquarters during our hurricane Opal experience but saw no one around and kept riding. I stopped in the town of Holt where some lady offered me directions to where I was going. When her car wouldn’t start I went to help and my bike fell over damaging the seat. I road about 62 miles that day making it to Blackwater River State Park. It wasn’t really a campground. One of those free do it yourself spots right on the Blackwater River.
I woke up freezing along the river. I bathed in this very cold, very clear river which is said to be “among the purest sand bottom rivers in the world” – whatever that means. Well, being so pure – and because I forgot to get water when I rode through town – I tried out my water purifier for the first time and the water tastes great. I don’t know if it’s because of the pure river or the filter or both. Time will tell – like tomorrow morning – I’ll taste a little river water without the filter.
This night is supposed to get to 42 degrees in Pensacola, which means even colder here inland. I decided to take the day off to rest. At this point I’m planning to make it to Big Lagoon State Park the following day. That will take me within several miles of the Alabama border. I can’t help thinking of what a milestone that will be. It almost seems to me as spectacular as making it to Alaska at this point. But for now I enjoy the Blackwater River. I left my stuff in the woods and rode into town on an unloaded bicycle. Its amazing the contrast of riding without the big load. I’m flying into town like gangbusters – like Superman on a bicycle. I get my dad a B-day card, do a little shopping for food, and call my Mom, then talked to my sister – who decided to walk the Appalachian Trail with me the next year. I went to the other side of the river to take a picture of my camp. It was no real trail and I decided the best way to get back was to walk across the shallow, clear river. I realized while walking through the woods that the slash pines in Crestview after hurricane Opal weren’t some unique species. They just had the outer bark blown off then revealing a smoother, lighter colored layer. How strange!
I bathed in the Blackwater River again this morning and my thermometer said 40 degrees when I got out. I bet it got down to the 30’s last night. Leaving the camp I missed my road because Indian Ford Rd. was called Bob Pitts Rd. westbound. I met two women riding bicycles from San Diego, CA to St. Augustine, FL using the same Adventure Cycling maps as I had. Jill from Mona Lake, CA wanted me to say “hi” to Frank in Barrow, AK. They warned me about a bridge that was out. The river is so clear and shallow, though, so there was no problem crossing it. Just like in the westerns, I forded the river. It took me seven trips back and forth with all my stuff. They said on the entire trip Florida has the rudest drivers. I would find that out myself and I hoped it was true. If fact, this revelation turned out to be prophetic as it was easily the worse stretch of riding as far as asshole drivers were concerned. I even had an oncoming 18-wheel semi tractor-trailer truck veer into my lane getting as close as possible and blaring his horn. They call the Florida Panhandle the Redneck Riviera. Go figure. I’ve heard much discussion listing Florida as the most dangerous state to ride a bicycle and I certainly didn’t see much evidence to disprove this. I did make it to Big Lagoon eventually but not before missing another road. I was surprised to find that here, right on the beach, the camp fee was cheaper – $8 – than many of the others inland. I took the next day off here at the beach and had a great time. I got sunburned and walked trails and was feeling pretty good.
Milestone – today is April 20th. Twenty days and 654 miles after leaving my house in Largo, I cross the Alabama state line. All of the sudden things seemed brighter. Life was great as I rode down the street overlooking the beach. I finally left Florida behind and for the first time I felt as if I had really accomplished something. I was finally on my way. I met some more cyclists doing the San Diego – St. Augustine route. Almost all cross country bike tours seem to go west to east. The wind is generally from west to east (especially up north with the Jet Stream as I would come to find out the hard way later). Today I have to take a ferry to Dauphin Island were I find a campground with washing machines. I only have a handful of cloths so it is necessary to do wash about every five days. Dauphin Island is pretty cool. It’s just a small old-time beach community with a lot of history. They even say some Welsh navigator landed there in the year 1170 and that the local Indians were still speaking a little Welsh when Europeans arrived several centuries later. Interesting.
I was interested and curious about the next stretch of my trip after leaving Dauphin Island. The movie Forest Gump had just come out a few years earlier and I was now headed toward Bayou LaBatre – The shrimping community featured in the film. It was, in fact, a town that seemed to rely heavily on shrimping. I was a little surprised to find that there was no mention of the movie anywhere or their town’s role in it. Well, at least one town hasn’t been caught up in Hollywood exploitation and commercialism. I passed through with little notice. Apparently Forrest Gump and I aren’t the only idiots who travel cross-country through this region by manual means. This was one of the points along Adventure Cycling’s touring maps and I ran into yet another couple of people heading East along the San Diego – St. Augustine route. Once again I get to warn people about the bridge being out in Florida. (It will happen from time to time that I will pass bicyclists touring along the way and we exchange warnings and other news about what to expect up ahead. The sheer number of people who do this type of thing surprises me).
This day would also see me passing into Mississippi. Today marks exactly three weeks on the trail and I wanted to make it at least to Mississippi – just to say I did. Well, it wasn’t too far into Mississippi that I stopped. I came to a bridge on the Escatawpa River, which is Indian for Dog River. This is what the locals call it, I found out as I talked to a couple natives hanging out eating crawdads. Some kids were shooting rifles and pistols into the woods nearby. As it wasn’t dark enough yet, I waited before setting up my tent. The two guys with the crawdads invited me over to eat with them. They had two large boxes full and we stood there eating them and talking and throwing the heads into the river. If you’ve ever had crayfish you know the heads make up more that half of the creature, and the natives of Mississippi and Louisiana often suck the slime out of them before tossing them. I didn’t; and neither did Sparky and his friend. They soon left, and left me a whole box of them. More than I could or wanted to eat. So I set up my tent and did some fishing with my portable fishing pole and tackle box. (Another of the over packed items I eventually sent back). I was using the crawdads as bait but not catching anything, as I never do. Suddenly, someone pulled up. It was Sparky. He brought me a Tostinos pizza, a bag of chips, and a bottle of PowerAde. He said to me before he left, “There are a lot of bad people in the world – just remember the good ones”.
I got up the next morning around 5:30 or so. I am not a morning person, but I always get up early when I’m camping somewhere I maybe shouldn’t be. Not that there is much traffic in these sparse rural areas but I feel better getting out a soon as possible after the sun rises. I made it today to the Desoto National Forest in Southern Mississippi. I am really out in the middle of nowhere and I end up camping out under a small bridge over Railroad Creek. Soon after I got there it started to rain. I set up quickly and ate a cold can of ravioli after taking a dip in the creek, which was freezing. It rained a lot and the bridge leaked. I was a little concerned that I would be flooded out but all went well.
Today I rode a scant 14.5 miles to an old German P.O.W. camp in the Desoto National Forest. I found myself at a large clearing on a lake with concrete cells that housed the German prisoners during WWII. It was so secluded. For the next three days I had it virtually to myself. I set my tent inside one of the cells, which was barely tall enough to fit. It would certainly be cramped quarters for prisoners. I needed the rest. But I also planned these few days off for more strategic reason. I thought upon reading my map, that it mentions the road from Poplarville, MS to Bogalusa, LA is a high speed, very busy two laned road with no shoulders but later I realize they meant another stretch. Either way I planned on doing this stretch on a Sunday to avoid a lot of working traffic. I enjoy me three days here at the P.O.W. camp. I hike a lot, I attempt fishing again without luck. I can SEE fish. And they eat the little balls of bread I throw into the water. But when I put some on a hook they shy away from it, or carefully snag the bread off the hook without grabbing the hook. I guess fish are smarter than I give them credit for. I have a roaring fire going. There is plenty of wood here and my pocket saw sees plenty of use. [Journal entry: “ I still am without a theme or direction for the writing of this trip. I need to come up with something. It is so theme less.” – Three years later I still have no theme.]
The first morning waking up at the P.O.W. camp and I am very stiff. Some girls brought a bunch of horses out here and walked them on a horse trail. I decided to walk the horse trail myself. I just had to watch where I walked. It ended up circling around and coming out on the other side of the lake. I finally have a chance to lay my Sun shower out to get hot and for the first time I actually take a hot shower with my shower in a bag.
At this point I begin to feel as if I live at the German P.O.W. camp. This is the longest I‘ve spent in one spot, and with very little human contact. A maintenance dude comes through to empty the trash cans and I talk with him a bit. Back home surrounded by people I don’t usually have a lot to say and don’t bother to talk to many people. It seems, though, that without being around people too much I talk to just about everyone I meet. The maintenance guy talks about WWII here. The German prisoners were brought here to cut down trees for the local peppermills. They then had to plant the rows of slash pines that now make up good chunks of the forest. I didn’t waste my time trying to fish the lake anymore. In fact, I would never attempt to fish again. Instead I do a lot of walking on the Tuxachamie trail. I want to keep my legs loose and feel like this will help. As I head out for the trail some old man suggests I take a stick along in case I run into any wild dogs. That didn’t seem very likely but I grabbed a perfectly good-looking stick on the way in anyway cuz it seemed like a pretty cool thing to do. I start thinking again about getting a boat or raft or at least, a tube. There is just too much water fun to be had.
[Journal entry: “It has been so peaceful and quiet these past three days – just sitting and making fires and going for walks. The stars never looked brighter than they did last night, set against the blackest of skies. I don’t think it’s just in my head. This place really is secluded. I was reading in my Backpacker magazine about backwoods etiquette and noisy campers. It quotes someone saying that campers aren’t necessarily anti-social. They are just looking for solitude. – That’s me!”] I had taken my walking stick and wrote on it my name, date and what I was doing and stashed it in the barbed wire fence. I spend my last night here then move on.
Today it is raining. I stopped in the town of Perkinston, ate a burger in a place called O’Neal’s, and grocery shopped at the local store. It rained and rained and I only traveled 30 miles. I stopped at a place called Rogers Lake Campground to camp. It was really just some lady’s house. She caters to cyclists and charges $5.00 to camp and take a shower. Since it was raining she let me stay under her carport awning. It was very windy and I found out how difficult it was to set up a tent during a strong wind. The next day will be the alleged hell ride from Poplarville to Bogalusa, but the forecast calls for severe thunderstorms all day and night. I can’t wait to hit the Natchez. (I’ve been looking ahead to the Natchez Trace Parkway for some time. It is part of the reason I chose this rout to Alaska. Originally I had planned on heading due west to New Mexico, then heading due north along the Rocky Mountains. I had read about the Natchez Trace in the travel section of my local newspaper a while back. It is a trail that was basically formed by migrating animals thousands of years ago, then by Native Indians and most recently by settlers as a land route to the Mississippi River. I found out that Adventure Cycling has a map route that includes the Natchez Trace and changed my itinerary to head that way: north through the Mid-west along the Mississippi River. But that was all a few days away. Right now I was just trying to make it through the rain to Louisiana.
[Journal entry: “Yesterday I prepared for the hell ride from Poplarville to Bogalusa. The route I dreaded for so long and scheduled days off in Desoto Forest to insure a Sunday crossing was indeed hell – but for an entirely different reason – Rain! It was a thunder and lightning monsoon from hell starting in Poplarville while on the phone with Mom and Dad – all the way to Bogalusa…”]
By the time I got to Franklinton I was soaked. I got a $25 motel and did laundry. This would be the last motel I would stay in for the remainder of the trip. One thing I noted: no matter how well you prepare; no matter how much rain gear you wear, and how well you put stuff in zip-lock bags to try to keep stuff dry – You WILL get wet anyway; and all your stuff will get wet also. There is no way to stay dry when you are out in the elements. It is wet and muddy and my tires constantly fling water and mud on me and everything else. I suppose there are wheel fenders; which may help, but I imagine you would still end up wet. With my mountain bike and me we looked like a slimy mud-monster after a day like this. Whatever! I’m in a motel now and the hot shower never felt better. I watched on TV about the survivors of the ’96 Mount Everest disaster. My day suddenly seemed like a walk in the park. It is always fun to watch the local news and weather forecast.
Today is April 28th. This day will mark four weeks on a bicycle. I woke up at the motel and watched the Today show which featured the volunteer summit. Again, for the third day in a row – I got rained on. My shoes haven’t been dry for four days. I rode about 50 miles and stopped at a churchyard in a town called Chipola. I remember reading advice on a bicycle newsgroup which recommended churches as a good place to camp for the night. I hadn’t tried it until now and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. During the night someone was playing around, turning the lights off then on, then I hear a police radio blaring. No one ever tried to say anything to me so I stayed where I was. I guess they hoped I would either come out or just leave. This morning someone drove by my tent and honked. A wake-up call I guess. Anyway, I was out of there before 8:00 which was a good thing because I only averaged 7.8 mph today, and stopped a lot. I washed my hair at a Texaco in Centerville, and had a burger at Ola’s place in Norwood.
It is here I leave Louisiana behind. Louisiana is a mixed bag. It was like nowhere else I’ve ever been before. I only got to see the northern part of Eastern Louisiana and in some ways it is like a third world country. I never saw so much trash on the side of the roads – they are badly in need of an adopt a highway program. I mean layers of trash which must have taken years to accumulate. I guess I’ve always taken it for granted just how much trash people throw out their car windows, and that someone has to pick it up or it will be there forever. To see what all that trash amounts to boggles the mind. Then there’s the road kill. Another thing that is easy to overlook is the fact that dead animals are regularly removed from our roads. If you would like an idea of what the roads would look like if road kill wasn’t scraped off the roads, one drive through Northeast Louisiana will clue you in. It isn’t pretty. I won’t even go into what waterlogged, sun baked dogs and cats look like after several weeks – or months even – but trust me that it isn’t pleasant.
Speaking of dogs, I also found Louisiana to be the dog-chase capital of the world. What became one of my biggest concerns early on were the tendencies in rural areas for people to let their dogs run loose. Unless I was going down a steep hill it was impossible to out run a dog. I would have to slow down and confront them and often it was more than one dog at a time. Once it was two pit bulls who seemed fierce and intent on attacking – with one snarling and lunging at me from my left side and the other behind me so that I couldn’t keep a good eye on it. It was a miracle I made it by without getting bitten. In fact, I was never bitten by a dog the entire trip – and on several occasions there were as many as 6 – 8 dogs at one time. I had dogs chase from Florida through Missouri but there were more dogs in Louisiana than all the others put together. I really did like Louisiana. The smell of crawdads was everywhere. It has its certain charm, but the regions I traveled through are the poorest areas I’ve seen and it’s hard to imagine this existing in the United States when I’m used to the areas that I’ve grown up around.
[Journal entry: “I’m beat, and these hills! I wish I had my atlas map handy. I could have covered more ground and gotten closer to Natchez. The Adventure Cycling maps don’t list Honochito National Forest or its boundaries so I hopped off at Dry Creek, southwest of Rosetta. Tomorrow is the last day of April and it is my goal to be on the Trace by then.”]
Dry Creek was just that – a little creek. I ducked into the woods there in a place that looked like no people were around. That night, however, I was not alone. I heard the loud crunching sound of someone, or something walking by my tent. Then there were sounds I cannot describe. I leaned over to write in my journal: “I need to remember the terrifying sounds I’m hearing now. Its sounds like a loud chorus miles away echoing out across the woods in a strange, eerie, awful, crashing way – while the sound of helicopter blades fill the air.” The next morning I woke up and right next to my bike were large bones that I swear were not there the night before. I didn’t know whether they looked like human bones or not and I took a picture. (Last year I saw the Blair Witch Project and in the scenes where the piles of rocks were outside their tent when they woke I immediately thought of that night on Dry Creek).
I ran out of water on Liberty Road – a 20-mile stretch from Garden City to Natchez. I was rationing the last swallow as a sip every five miles when I came upon an old store/restaurant about seven miles from Natchez and had a great burger and a huge order of fries for around $2. It’s the last day of the month and I finally make it to The Natchez Trace Parkway and Natchez state park. This trail appropriately begins in the city of Natchez, MS. Which overlooks the Mississippi River, which lies far down below a large cliff. I have never seen the Mississippi River before, or any river anywhere near as big – it is awesome. Florida rivers are all slow meandering creeks for all practical purposes. Now this is an actual body of water. Natchez is also the only city I’ve passed through of any size so far besides Pensacola. I’ve been waiting and searching for somewhere to develop some pictures and finally find a town large enough to have a Wal-Mart with a 24-hour photo shop. I develop several rolls of film and quickly head toward the post office before it closes. I don’t even have much time to look at the pictures so I scribble a few notes on as many as I can, then throw them into a box of stuff I didn’t need to lighten the load and mailed it back home. I am thinking of going to truck driving school when the trip is over. I find a spot at Natchez State Park and happily settle down.