Day Forty Five: ruminating, six miles out, rowes

I was awakened at 6AM by a screaming fight between a mother and her daughter. I guess 6:00 is as good a time to get up as any other.

Looking at the map, I strongly considered getting off the ACA route and making a straight shot to Jacksonville. That means I'd stay on busier roads and miss the coast altogether. I've already bought my airline ticket and there's a lot of uncertainty when you're riding a bike... bad weather, illness, bike problems... (speaking of which, Klaus caught a cold and spent three days in DeRidder. He's feeling much better, though not 100%.) Eventually, though, I finally decided to stay on the route, at least loosely.

Tonight I'll be camping. If I want to stay in a hotel, I'll need to ride 92 miles.

When I called the campground in Vancleave I was told the cost for a campsite is $30.00. That seemed pretty steep, then he added, "For another ten dollars you can stay in one of the cabins."

Heading south out of Franklinton, Highway 49 had a nice, wide shoulder....

Then nothing. It just stopped.

The traffic was so bad that I pedaled on the grass/rocks for a bit, but when I noticed I was going 3 mph and getting slower I got back on the highway.

After another mile there was a sliver of a shoulder. Six miles later I was finally back on the ACA route. Two miles after that I started relaxing. I didn't even realize how tense I'd been for the last two days. Now, on a deserted farm road, I felt like I was the only person for miles in either direction, probably because I WAS the only person for miles in either direction.

It was QUIET again.

I don't know where they find these roads, but it's apparent they've done some research.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Now that I don't have to worry about playing tag with the trucks I start ruminating. That's what I do when I ride alone... take a thought and chew on it like a cow chews on its cud. (I guess you could say my mind is like the first of a cow's four stomachs)

NOT because of my cow's stomach brain, I missed a turn. It was unmarked and after waiting at the corner for a couple of minutes trying to determine if this was indeed where I was supposed to turn, I went straight. About a mile and a half later I stopped at an intersection which had street names and realized I should've turned.

Another good indicator that I was on the wrong road was the guy about a hundred yards up the side road. He was waving his arms and yelling, "This is MY road! This is MY road!" to no one in particular. My maps didn't mention anything about a crazy guy.

On the way back I stopped at the Forest Research Station to verify where I was and learned that the hurricane blew down a lot of street signs and not all of them have been replaced.

During the past month I've noticed a lot of mobile homes, and have made a couple of observations:

1) Mobile homes are not mobile. Once they're planted they stay there until there's a hurricane or a divorce.
2) Regardless of how fancy, humble, or trashy the mobile home is, they ALL have a satellite dish.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

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I could go on and on.

Here's a picture of the US and Mississippi flags.... on my right.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Some pictures along the way.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Excluding Perkinston, where I got back on the ACA route, there wasn't a place to stop for almost fifty miles after leaving Wiggins, not even a hole-in-the-wall convenience store at an intersection. I was getting pretty tired and hungry by the end. Seven miles before Vancleave I stopped at the Fort Bayou convenience store and talked to Yvonne for a while, then pedaled into Vancleave.

Yvonne told me the only place to eat in town is Six Miles Out. When she was giving me directions I didn't have the benefit of being able to see that it's a proper noun instead of a distance, and I was dreading having to ride that far just to eat. "After I turn at the post office, it's six miles out??" I finally got it, and was glad it wasn't named An Hour and a Half.

At 3:00 I stopped for "lunch."

If you recall, on Day Thirty I met Jim and Mary Rowe at the barbecue place in Blanco, Texas. They kindly offered me a place to stay at their place in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. I didn't think I'd be going that far south but yesterday when I looked at the map I found I was within 15 miles so I emailed them.

At the cafe I checked my email and saw that Jim had responded with a cell number and a request to give him a call. When I talked to him he said he could pick me up today and bring me back to the same place tomorrow morning. Vancleave is "on the way home, just a little bit north." (Later I looked on the map. He was being generous.) An hour later Jim pulled up and we loaded my bike and gear into the back of his van.

Jim and Mary live in Ocean Springs. Their house is planted in the middle of the city, yet it seems like it's out in the country. It was designed by a man named Carroll Ishee, an ex-lawyer who began designing houses.

With bedroom walls that don't go up to the ceiling and an open floor plan, Ishee's houses have a wide open feeling. Many of the exterior walls are glass, which contributes to the nice airy feeling.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

On the way into town I was given a tour of the area. From Jim, I learned about what it's like to live in hurricane alley. People here are a little twitchy during hurricane season. You have to be able to pick up and go at the drop of a hat. When a hurricane threatens to come within striking distance, the Rowes fit plates of corrugated steel over their windows. After a storm the plates tend to stay up for a while (you never know when the next one will come), then come off in a piecemeal fashion.

The fact that New Orleans got all of the press after the storm is somewhat of a sore point among many Mississippians. Katrina actually made landfall at the border of Louisiana and Mississippi, and as you know, it's the area EAST of the eye that receives most of the damage. Much of New Orleans' flooding occured AFTER the storm when the levees holding back Lake Pontchartrain failed.

The Mississippi coast received the brunt of the storm and parts of it were completely obliterated. During the tour of the area, Jim showed me vacant lot after vacant lot where there had been buildings (sometimes historic old homes). Now there was nothing.

Katrina displaced a large number of people and, shortly after the storm, a lot of mobile homes were brought in and set up. Apparently, there was some type of problem with formaldehyde in them, causing people to get sick. So, they started building "Katrina Cottages."

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

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As you can see, they're about the same size as a mobile home, but not quite the eyesore. Although they were supposed to be temporary some of then are still around.

Here's a picture of a shrimping boat. There are fewer and fewer of these each year.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Mary and Irene (Mary's mother) already had plans for the evening so I wasn't able to visit with them for very long. Irene was doing what every 92-year-old loves to do... go out for pizza.

No, wait. That's what Jim and I did.

She went gambling, of course!! At 92, you can do whatever the hell you want, so she and Mary stayed the night at one of the casinos.

Jim and I spent a pleasant evening talking and eating some great pizza at The Mellow Mushroom.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

54.21 miles
12.7 average
28.0 maximum
4:14:46 time
2238.6 total

Day Forty Four: not beethoven, panhandler, no shoulder

This morning, I realized there's an odd thing that frequently happens when I ride. I don't know if it happens with other bikers or not. Shortly after I've started riding, I look down at my odometer. There will be three numbers, for example, 223. After glancing at it I have to stop and think, "Is that 2.23 miles or 22.3 miles." That's quite a difference, and I have to look at the odometer again to find out.

The reason is that, when riding, I live in the present. There's only right now. Last year, I tried to tell people what it's like on a bike trip, riding down the road. I wasn't very successful in expressing that aspect of it. For a lot of the time, I don't tend to think about anything but what's going on at that moment.

There's another side to that coin though.... sometimes a song gets stuck in your head and it's impossible to dislodge it. That would be okay if the song was, say, Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

But me? I'm cursed....

If you want to know what song is stuck in my head you can click on the link below.

I strongly recommend that you NOT click on it.

I'm serious - DON'T DO IT!!!






Well, you can't say I didn't warn you. Just be glad you're not me.

I took a picture of some longhorn cattle but they didn't come out very well.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Franklinton I traveled to Bogalusa, a town Kevin had warned me was full of panhandlers and people who like to use drugs. When I stopped at the WalMart to pick up a few things a guy came up to me and started talking. I'm generally pretty good with accents but I had a hard time understanding him. I guess I'll have to work on my Bogalusian.

He asked a few of the usual questions, and eventually got around to asking me for some money for something to drink, so I walked with him over to the soft drink machines and told him to pick something out. He did, and seemed pretty happpy to get it. Then he asked me for some money for food. I patted his huge belly and said, "Don't you think you've had a little too much already?" He laughed and sidled away to someone else.

Shortly after Bogalusa I crossed into Mississippi.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

I walked across the street and took a picture of the Louisiana sign since there wasn't one when I came into the state.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

I wonder... does that mean that people from Mississippi are welcome in Louisiana but people from Texas aren't?

Scenery along the way....

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

I keep looking for alligators but haven't seen one yet.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

In Poplarville I somehow made a wrong turn (although I never actually turned) and found myself on 53 instead of 26, so I had to ride on the shoulder of Interstate 59 for three miles to get back on my route. I really don't like doing that, and the truckers don't appreciate it too much, either.

A joker with a can of spray paint...

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

This is a picture of Batson Catfish Farm. It looks like he just watered them.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

In an attempt to trim a few more miles, I got off the ACA route for almost the entire day. Adventure Cycling Association roads, although circuitous, generally have either good shoulders or little traffic, and usually both.

Highway 26 has neither, and there were more logging trucks than cars.

Although it wasn't horrible the entire day, it just doesn't make for a pleasant ride. The last part of the day was even worse.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

For part of the trip the shoulder looked like this.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

By the time I stopped in Wiggins at the end of the day, although I had pedaled only 67.5 miles, I was 97.5 closer to my final destination.

I'm not sure it was worth it.


67.37 miles
12.2 average
25.6 maximum
5:30:31 time
2184.4 total

Day Forty Three: dustin, kevin, franklinton

Breakfast is served....

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

I was the only one at the inn last night so I had my own little table set up in the lobby.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Here's a picture of Bonnie and her two helpers.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

After the day (and a half) off and the great breakfast, I felt pretty strong this morning - and my knees didn't hurt. I left the route in Clinton in order to trim a few miles off the day's total mileage and will pick it up again in Tangipahoa. I guess I won't be going on the Britney tour since Kentwood is four miles off the route. I had only planned going off the route so I'd have a hotel to stay in on my rest day.

Here are some pictures taken today.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

I'm not sure what to make of this...

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

In Greensburg I stopped for something to eat since it's the last town with any services until my stop for the night. It's becoming more difficult to find foods that aren't deep fried. I asked if the turkey sandwich was fried and when I found it was decided on a burger, which is becoming standard fare.

There was a guy in a FedEx uniform who sat down just before me. He started up a conversation which, for a FedEx person, was REALLY long. Those guys don't alight for more than a few minutes. Consequently, I never got a picture.

His name is Dustin Cleveland. He said he's working for FedEx "just to keep busy." (His average day consists of driving almost 400 miles over a period of twelve hours, so I'd say it's working) He owns a couple of companies, and just reinvests in them. Dustin is 28 and plans to accept a transfer to Hawaii in about three months. He has a list of things he wants to do during his life, and one of the items on his list is to teach surfing in Hawaii. Accepting a transfer will help enable him to do that.

He tries to stay in good shape, and goes kayaking and bicycling. That way he can work out his upper and lower body. During the course of the day he occasionally gets sleepy while driving. When he does, he just pulls over and goes to the back of the truck to do push ups or walks around the outside a few times.

He used to own a company that taught mountain climbing in Baton Rouge. When he saw my raised eyebrows, he said, "Yeah, I realize there aren't any mountains here, but it did okay."

When we were talking about my bike trip, he compared me to Forrest Gump. Dustin is the third person to do that this trip.

"That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little ride. So I rode to the end of the road, and when I got there, I thought maybe I'd ride to the end of town...." That's not EXACTLY how my trip started, but Heather still thinks I'm Gumpish. "But, you know," she adds, "in a GOOD way."

His FedEx machine buzzed, he said goodbye, and he was off.

Just east of Tangipahoa, where I hooked up with the ACA route again, I saw another cyclist coming from the opposite direction. I pulled over and met Kevin Moore. He's a drywall contractor from Durango, Colorado, who was able to take some time off for his first transAmerican trip.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

As bikers do, we traded tips about what was ahead of each of us. He told me about a great place to camp and where to find a two-story mobile home.

He was dressed differently than most cyclists I've seen. For one, he was wearing jeans. They were rolled up to keep the cloth from getting ripped on the chainring. (though, like shoelaces, it's ultimately impossible and his were torn) He was also wearing regular cotton gloves with no padding instead of cycling gloves. I would liked to have known why, but there's very little time to get past the basics when you're standing on the side of the read going in opposite directions. After a while, you both start feeling antsy about getting back on the road.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

He didn't use sunscreen because he wasn't sure what type of problems it may cause later in life if you use it. You know, as opposed to the higher incidence of known cancers you're more likely to get if you don't use it.

Without being critical, one thing I strongly recommended before we parted ways was that he unstrap the helmet from the back of his bike and attach it to his head. I was reminded of a quote from Klaus, and shared it with him. "I don't know why I bother wearing a helmet - it's only saved my life once."

23 miles later I stopped for the night in Franklinton.

72.53 miles
12.2 average
26.8 maximum
5:54:25 time
2117.0 total

Day Forty Two: rest day

I went downstairs for breakfast at 7:45, having forgotten that last night was the time change. Bonnie had just started the preparations.

There were a couple of other people there, Mike and Bonnie Meaux, from Baton Rouge.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Both were very pleasant people. Mike, still working, was raised here in Jackson. Bonnie retired when her mother became ill. She is interested in bioidentical hormones and we chatted about that for a while. They come here occasionally on weekends to get away from the big city. It's so relaxing that it's like therapy. So far, I have to agree. It IS really relaxing here.

I will NOT be riding my bike any where today, so I decided to follow Mike's advice and take a walk toward the old college.

There area lot of old houses here. I walked up the street and took a few pictures.

This is the Pipes House...

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The Greenlea House (1840)...

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And the McBrannon House (1835)...

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On the way back down the street I stopped at the Centenary College Museum. There I was met by Nathan, the tour guide. I was the only one there, and for an hour and a half he talked about the history of not only the school, but of the city, region, and state as well. He's been doing this for five years, and today is his last day. He'll be starting a graduate degree in history. In addition to enjoying history, he's lived in "all five states in Louisiana." According to him, there are five very distinct areas which are very culturally different from each other. He's lived in all of them, having moved fourteen times in his twelve years of schooling.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Before Centenary College (originally called College of Louisiana) was built, in order to go to school you had to be either Catholic or rich. People who were neither Catholic nor rich were leaving the state, so in 1825 the state government decided to build the college. It was initially very successful, having as many as 350 students yearly, and there is still graffiti on one of the outside dormitory walls which has the names of former state governors, senators, and a number of other notable figures.

The college began struggling during the Civil War, and the October 7, 1861 faculty minutes have only three lines covering an entire page, written in a large bold hand: "Students have all gone to war--College suspended, and God Help the Right!"

During the war the school was used as a Confederate hospital, and was captured and recaptured by both sides during the conflict. There was even a battle on the campus itself.

The college never fully recovered after the war and, in 1895, the trustees were so desperate that they allowed women to enroll. (Though the women didn't receive diplomas, just "certificates of completion." Not even the ones who were valedictorians!)

Eventually the school merged with another college and moved to Shreveport. It is the 43rd oldest school in the country. When the East wing of the school was torn down, the bricks were used to make the Centenary Inn.

In addition to the school's history, Nathan let me know a few other facts about the town, such as there are 123 homes on the National Historic Register in Jackson, and nine out of ten are still private residences. Most of them are still owned by the same families who built them. The same family has been running the pharmacy for four generations: the town's pharmacist is a fourth-generation pharmacist.

I ate at the Bear's Corner this afternoon. More eavesdropping on the only other people in the room:

"The book of Revelation tells us that the beast will have a mark on it.... the number 42. Obama is 42 years old.... "

I got a call from Klaus today. He's in DeRidder and will be staying there for several days. He picked up a cold and isn't feeling well. Hi did say that he'll listen to all of the songs that people recommended.


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Day Forty One: mississippi crossing, short day, centenary inn

When I woke up this morning my knees were pretty sore. Sometimes they get better as I ride, sometimes they don't. I took some ibuprofen and started riding.

For breakfast, I stopped at the convenience store and bought some powdered donuts and chocolate milk. Instead of eating them there, I stuffed them into my handlebar bag and rode to the ferry. I'll be crossing the Mississippi river this morning, and thought I could save some time by eating during the crossing.

There was a twenty-minute wait at the ferry, and I started eating before I got on the boat. By the time the ferry was full, so was I.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

I read some information about the Mississippi levees and found it to be interesting. You may find it interesting as well.

Indians lived along the banks of the Mississippi for hundreds of years and were never bothered when the river left its banks. They simply transported their teepees when the water started rising. However, as one person put it, "It's more difficult to move Baton Rouge."

The river had dropped sediment and created some natural levees, suggesting to the new settlers that building them even higher might offer some protection against the floods. So, in 1724, New Orleans passed an ordinance making each homeowner who lived along the river responsible for building and maintaining an artificial levee. Not everyone complied, but the ones who did built levees of dirt and rock about three feet high. In 1727, the New Orleans levee system was declared complete, and the city was considered to be floodproof.

Someone forgot to inform the Mississippi river, which put the city under water in 1735, then again in 1785. After that, levee building became a business and levee construction developed in earnest.

By the War of 1812 there were levees from New Orleans to St. Francisville, where I'm crossing today, a distance of more than two hundred miles. Still, the river flooded.

By the time the Civil War broke out the levees average about six feet in height. Again and again the river flooded, in 1862, 1866, and 1867.

In 1879, Congress turned over the responsibility of flood control to the Army Corps of Engineers. They discarded alternate plans of tributary runoff, spillways, and downstream reservoirs, deciding instead that the levee system should do the job.

And still, even after occasional pronouncements that the river was finally under control, the river flooded... in 1884, 1890, 1891, 1897, 1898, 1903, 1912, 1913, 1922, and 1927.

By 1928, much of the 1500 miles of levees were eighteen feet or higher. With the repeated flooding someone finally asked, "How high is high enough??" The engineers did some recalculating and this time came to a different and disturbing conclusion: that no matter how high the levees were built they wouldn't be able to contain the waters. They finally returned to their original drawing board and began using the floodways, reservoirs, and control gates it had previously discarded. Levees weren't completely discarded as part of the solution and by the 1930s the average Mississippi levee was 30 feet high.

The Old River Control still functions and is key to flood protection in the lower Mississippi Valley; however, it's been floodproof before.

Across the river from New Roads is St. Francisville. As I pedaled through the town I wished I'd been able to make it across the river yesterday. It looks like a really quaint place to stay.

My goal is to make it to Kentwood (pop 2205) today. Kentwood is the childhood home of Britney Spears. I should amend that, since she's still a child. Kentwood is where Britney Spears was born and spent her early childhood.

However, as I continued to pedal my knees began to hurt more instead of less. I'm not due for a rest day until tomorrow, and I really wanted to put a few more miles behind me, so I just kept riding.

This is a beautiful part of the state. Shortly after leaving St. Francisville, I passed the Oakley Plantation where, in 1821, James Audubon spent four months painting birds. At the time, the old mansions were falling apart, and he expected this one to do the same. Fortunately, it was preserved by the Louisiana government and restored to its original grandeur.

There are some other old plantation houses in this area. Here's a picture of the Ambrosia Plantation, but it's set so far back from the road that you can't really see it, even with the zoom.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Someone should tell the voters about this guy...

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

After twenty miles of riding my knees weren't any better. They weren't terrible, but the problem is that after Jackson there isn't a place to stop until Kentwood. That means my day will either be around 25 miles or more than 70 miles.

Upon reaching Jackson (pop 4130), I decided that I shouldn't try to push too hard. I'm already a day ahead - I was supposed to have ridden 62 miles a day, and I've done way more than that. I can afford to take a short day.

Arriving in Jackson, I was greeted by this church sign.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

The church wasn't on this street, but close.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Laissez les bon temps roulette!!

There are only two places to stay in Jackson, both of which are B&Bs... The Old Centenary Inn and The Milbank Inn. I stopped downtown to call about prices, but when I pulled my cellphone out I noticed that I had no cellphone service. At about the same time I saw I had no service I realized I was practically standing under the sign for The Old Centenary Inn.

Inside, I was met by Bonnie, the Inn's manager. As we were talking, another woman came in, Marilyn. As it turns out, Marilyn is the manager of The Milbank Inn, and just happened to be over there visiting. I learned later, from someone else, that the same person, a guy named Leroy Harvey, owns both Inns, the winery, the town's only restaurant, and just about everything else in the county. The person who told me didn't wasn't making a judgment, just stating a fact.

Bonnie, with a little urging from Marilyn, gave me a great price for a room. I was pretty happy about that, because I'll be here for two nights.

The Old Centenary Inn is a B&B which was built around 1935. The bricks used to build it are from Centenary College, Louisiana's first college.

It was nicely restored in the early 1990s after the original plans for the building were discovered.

It was past lunch time so I asked Marilyn and Bonnie about a good place to eat in town. Surprisingly, there are only THREE places to eat in this town of 4,130 people. I couldn't believe it. I was told there's Bobby's Drive-In, which is run by a woman who's been there every day for years and years. "When she dies, that place is gonna SLAM shut," Marilyn added. There's also Subway and the Bear Corners restaurant.

I asked why there were so few places and learned that the "4130 people" also includes the State Mental Hospital and the prison. Those residents don't get out too often for a nice evening meal on the town.

Or at least I hoped.

The room has a jetted tub, so I spent about forty five minutes getting rid of more than a few aches and pains, then walked down to the Drive-In and ordered a burger. I love to become invisible while I'm eating and listen to the people around me....

"You take a duck and slice it paper thin and wrap it in jalapeno."
"I stayed with my sister in Europe. Back then there was a little store on every corner."
"Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. I just slipped and it cut my knee wide open. They sewed it up but the inside ain't been right since then."
"There was a mini tornado in my back yard. It pulled up a little tree but nothin' else."
"Those Germans just drank til they fell asleep. Every night."

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Back in my room I fell asleep for a couple of hours. After that, I blogged the rest of the evening.

23.12 miles
10.8 average
27.2 maximum
2:08:18 time
2044.5 total miles