Day 24: Schulenberg to Magnolia

March 24, 2004 Texas

The first question of the day is always: what's the weather doing. And for the past five or six days the answer has always been the same: total cloud cover, wind out of the east, and rather chilly. We set off at 7:15 am and cycled back to the frontage road, but followed it only a quarter of a mile before it dead-ended. So we carried the bike across the grass strip and set it on the Interstate's shoulder. From there we peddled along I-10 for twenty six miles to Columbus. The wind was actually on the beam this morning, so it wasn't pushing us back so forcefully. We made pretty good time. The traffic started out very light, but became heavier as the morning wore on. And there was a lot of debris that took carefully steering to avoid. We saw at least half a dozen road-killed armadillos, many other small to medium sized animals, and birds including a few hawks and owls. As far as the local animal population is concerned, the Interstate might as well be death row. Many are condemned just living near it.

In Columbus we took a breakfast stop, then got back on the Interstate. We went about two miles before the traffic became so intense that we had to get off. Fortunately there was a frontage road, so we carried the bike over to it. Within a few more miles, at exit 704, we turned our backs on the interstate at long last, and followed the 949. The map shows it going northeast, but actually it wanders all over the place. But the ride was gorgeous, through beautiful country, rolling farmlands, lushly vegetated, lots of different kinds of trees including pine and cedar, birch and blooming dogwood. Also, there was wisteria or clematis with beautiful vines with huge clusters of purple flowers. Also we passed many small creeks and sloughs. Unfortunately, poison oak and ivy was well represented just about everywhere.

We had stopped along the road, taking a short rest, and my thoughts were somewhere else when I realized that I was exchanging stares with an elk. I've seen so many up close that it didn't seem unusual, but then I remembered I was in southern Texas, and this elk was probably not indigenous to this particular region. It was a male, but with no antlers. I looked at the fence between it and me, and saw that it was a typical elk fence, meaning this was some kind of private animal sanctuary or hunting grounds. We had seen signs for "hunting exotic game" and could only hope that this was not part of such nonsense. This elk was truly a beautiful animal.

Ten minutes later we were riding along, and in another immense, fenced area we saw half a dozen zebra. They were extremely skittish. One look at us, and they ran off.

Something else that seemed bothersome was that one of the flattened armadillos seemed to have been run over on the shoulder of the road, rather than on the actual road itself, almost as though it had been targeted by a motorist.

Reaching the crossroads town of Bellville we stopped for cold juice, and just as we were about to leave we discovered the rear tire was low. This was after I had put 20 pounds of air in it an hour earlier. So we removed the wheel and replaced the tube with a new one. We could find nothing in the tire that might have punctured the tube, although we did find some serious damage to the tire itself.

We peddled another five miles until the new tube started losing air. So we propped the bike up against a fence, pulled that tube out, and found a small puncture. Search as we did, once again we could find nothing in the tire that could have caused the punctures. But the tire itself was very suspect in a couple of places where the tread had been damaged today, probably on the interstate. We replaced that tube with a new one, and made it about five more miles until the third tube started losing air. We happened to be near a small, rather run-down store, and the weather was deteriorating in earnest so we carried the bike under an old shelter - probably a fruit stand later in the year. An old black man was sitting on the porch, and he waved to us.

I marked the tire at the point of the valve stem. Then I pulled the tube out, but left the valve stem in the wheel. Then I inflated the tube and found the leak. Now I easily matched the leak with the location on the tire. And right at that spot was a large gouge in the tire that went all the way through the tread and into the core. Clearly, the tire was shot. I might note also that in about 1300 miles, the tread on this tire was about a third gone. Thankfully we were carrying a spare tire and plenty of spare tubes (four).

The old black man came over and started jabbering away, and at first I thought he was speaking a foreign language. He extended his hand for a shake, and the friendly expression on his face quickly put me at ease. I'm not sure why he couldn't speak intelligibly, but having worked with mentally retarded people, some of whom could hardly speak, I have learned to understand their speaking, depending on the individual, so that skill came in handy here. Mostly it is to listen very carefully to what he was trying to say, rather than simply shrugging it off. He introduced himself as Uncle Willy, and the only thing he wanted was to help us with our flat tire. I thanked him and told him that we had what we needed to fix the problem. He gave us a knowing smile, and said, "you're a long ways from home." I acknowledged that indeed we were. Mainly he was showing concern, knowing that it is a little disturbing for most people to have mechanical problems when far from home. He withdrew tactfully, and let us finish our work, which at the time we appreciated because we were focused on repairing the bike and getting it back into good working order, with many miles to our intended destination yet to go that day, and because of the stormy weather moving in. In retrospect, I had been too rushed, and I wished I had spent more time talking with Uncle Willy. He was one of those rare persons who can teach you a lot, with few words.

We soon had the bike back on the road, and were cranking away the miles. The bike seemed to roll a lot easier with the new tire, which was an ultra-light racing tire. It wasn't long before the sky began to drizzle, and soon the tires were flinging spray. The cars coming and going had their headlights on and wipers in motion. The cattle just stood alongside the road, impervious to the weather. We think they are so stupid, but look at how we humans behave when it starts to rain.

We reached Hempstead in a pouring rain, so pulled into a fast food restaurant, parked the bike under the eaves, and went inside for a late lunch. Most of the people that we saw here were blacks, and were friendly to us.

From Hempstead we peddled north 2 miles to Highway 290 which we needed to follow 2 miles east to a turnoff. We were shocked to find a big cloverleaf - highway 290 was a major freeway. So, here we were once again, riding along a freeway shoulder, but now with our skinny little racing tire on the rear wheel.

Now on road 1488, we proceeded toward Magnolia, and again this road zigzagged all over the countryside, mainly circumventing large parcels of private land. So it was a lot further than it looked on the map, in fact nearly twice as far. Again, the countryside was gorgeous, and the second half of this part of the ride was through piney woods, which would have made for some great stealth camping. The day was getting late, and we figured we would need to start looking for a place to make camp once we passed Magnolia. But to our surprise and good fortune, Magnolia turned out to be a large town with all the modern conveniences, including a nice motel. So there we stopped at 5:00 pm.

Day's mileage: 96

Day 25: Magnolia to Conroe

March 25, 2004 Texas

Today we devoted to bicycle restoration, our first task being to buy new tires. Jenny phoned several possibilities, and finally found a bike shop 4 miles off our intended route, that sold the size of tires we needed. To obtain this information we had to wait until 10 am to call the shops, which around here seem to keep "banker's hours." So it was not until 10:30 am that we finally got going.

We followed 1488 to a town called The Woodlands. This town was well named. From the roads you do not see the town for all the trees. Even right up close. A hundred yards from a supermarket, and all you see are trees. We wondered how people find the shops. The bike shop had given us detailed directions to their place, yet we spent 10 minutes riding around the immediate area trying to find it. Such problems aside, The Woodlands seemed like a model city, the way things should be. If every city had that many trees we would all breathe a little easier. For every living tree gives us a continual measure of pure oxygen.

To our good fortune the bike shop had three types of tires that would fit our bike; and one type was the same we were currently riding: Conti Top Touring 2000. We bought a pair of these. Our rear touring tire was shot, and the front had less than half the tread remaining, and also a small hole gouged by a chunk of glass. We also bought a new set of peddles for me. The old set had nearly 3,000 miles on them. They were cheapies that had come with my Schwinn mountain bike, and now seemed to be squeaking badly. I changed out the peddles using a borrowed wrench, while Jenny strapped the new tires to our load astern, and soon we were away.

Backtracking the 4 miles, we soon reached busy highway 45, and were fortunate to find it had a frontage road. So this we followed north to the city of Conroe. Here we stopped for the day, so that we would have time to change the tires, and also to clean the chain, gear clusters, dérailleur, etc. For this job Jenny stopped at a grocery store and bought a can of WD-40, a pair of inexpensive rubber gloves, and a roll of paper towel. She also picked up some old newspapers for free. I removed front and rear wheels in order to install the new tires, and folded our lightweight spare tire back in our luggage. With the wheels removed, Jenny was able to clean the drive train and the rest of the bike very thoroughly.

Day's mileage: 35

Day 26: Conroe to Kirbyville

March 26, 2004 Texas

Set off 7:10 am into the first not-chilly morning of the trip, although the sky was still cloudy and threatening rain. Backtracking south one and a half miles to return to the route, we followed Loop 336 bypassing downtown Conroe. Here, some overly-enthusiastic workers at the department of highway maintenance had installed rumble blocks perpendicular to the flow of traffic, at thirty feet intervals across the full seven feet width of the highway's shoulder. These prevented us from riding on the beautifully wide shoulder, and put us on the ragged edge, vying for highway real estate with the heavy traffic.

Once past this, we followed the 105 east through a town with the curious name of Cut and Shoot. Here the morning's rush-hour traffic was backed up for miles behind a singular stoplight. Along the way we encountered an opossum road kill that was a most heart-wrenching sight: three or four babies still alive, clinging to their dead mother.

As we tour through the states on our bike, we tend to get a sixth sense for what the places might be like, as to whether the people live happily, loving and enjoying life - or not. Something here made me think of places that I had lived in the past, where the people were possibly unhappy with themselves and each-other. And I thought about how I had improved my life by moving out of those places. We tend to create the bulk of our happiness underfoot, wherever we are. But our environment also seems to play a role, whether it is contributing positive energy or not. I remember one place in particular where Jenny and I had bought a nice home next to a few families that soon made us miserable. We loved the house, but the neighborhood harbored so much negativity that we simply could not live there. Eventually we moved into another house half a mile away, and remained there happily for many years, even though this second house was half the size and not as nice. But also we sold the first house for a small profit, so the whole episode proved beneficial, even though it seemed like a disaster to begin with. I mention this only to suggest that where we live, and what the energy of the neighborhood is like, is very important to our well being, and that moving to somewhere else is not as difficult as it might seem, especially if we think of packing and moving personal belongings as good exercise.

The countryside was very beautiful with dense stands of trees, and it was also quite wet and muddy in places because of the recent rains. While riding today we caught some light drizzle. But here the road had only a 6 inch shoulder, so we had to be very careful, watching in our rear view mirrors. Once I had to steer off the shoulder and into the grass. The problem is when a truck tailgating another one. The driver of the first one sees you and moves over, but the second one does not.

Throughout this area is the Big Thickets forest, with rural homes interspersed. These homes had large and beautifully manicured yards with azaleas blooming profusely. These are large bushes loaded with brilliant pink and purple flowers.

At the waypost of Saratoga we stopped at the small post office. While Jenny was inside, I studied the trees. Later I went inside and asked the clerks if they knew what kind of trees a certain few were. Two of the clerks came outside to see which trees I was referring to, but they didn't have a clue. They were very nice, and if nothing else I got them interested in looking at the trees 10 feet from their workplace. To Jenny and me these forests were like a gold mine, with so many different species, many of which were unfamiliar to us.

In Kountze we stopped at a large grocery store and bought salads, juice, large oranges, bananas and a couple of bottles of water. We sat at a table in their deli section, keeping an eye on the bike just outside the window, and enjoyed a feast. We were starting to realize, having tried many different types of foods except for corn spaghetti which is essentially unavailable, that fresh fruits are the most energizing. Those, and pure water.

We peddled southeast a few miles then followed the 327 east to highway 96. This we followed generally north. This was a high speed highway, two lanes going each way with a nice wide shoulder, and so it was wonderful going for us. Oddly, it was lined with houses, and each one had access to the freeway. Here, presumably one does not back out of ones driveway into the 70 mph traffic.

Now late in the afternoon, the sky started to clear, and this was the first blue sky we had seen in a couple of weeks. All day the humidity was quite high, and whenever we stopped riding the day felt hot. As the crow flies we were probably not more than 30 miles from the gulf away to the south, and we could definitely feel its maritime influence. Also today the wind was more from the south-east, so was not restraining us so forcefully. So for most of the day we cruised along at a good clip. Also, the terrain was fairly flat, with not so many ups and downs.

At a little town called Buna we stopped at a convenience store to ask about motels in the area. A very "helpful" truck driver gave us the low-down. He said there were no motels around here, but that up in Kirbyville, where he lived, there was one, but it was not nice and he said he would never stay there. We asked about camping and he said there was no camping anywhere around here. He also warned us about snakes - copperheads, coral snakes, moccasins, and rattlesnakes. He asked if there was anything else he could help us with. (!) We had learned long ago not to put too much faith in local advice. Sometimes it is right for us, but more often it seems not to be.

The next stretch of highway was under construction. The throng of traffic was on one side of the highway. And we, on our humble bicycle, had two new concrete lanes all to ourselves - for about 13 miles! But as we approached Kirbyville we reached the area of actual construction, and here our lane was sporadic, with sections of pavement interspersed with short sections of dirt where they were building bridges. We were cruising along at about fifteen mph when suddenly before me I saw a break in the pavement, like a trough about four inches deep. I grabbed the brakes but still the wheels hit pretty hard. We were fortunate not to have damaged the tires, tubes and wheels. The final half-mile into town we were on hard dirt, but still we passed all the traffic going our way because it was backed up, bumper to bumper.

Once in town, we found the only motel. It was perfectly acceptable for the likes of us, not run down as the fellow had described it. After quick showers we walked several blocks to a grocery store for some leg exercise of the loosening-up variety, and for a couple bags of fruit and a few snacks. When we had paid for the groceries, the cashier said, "yall come back and see us."

Day's mileage: 125

What a magnificent state, Texas, and what a wonderful way to see a measure of it, peddling under our own power. From the vast and spectacular deserts in the west, to the lush and verdant forests in the east, it had offered us something interesting to discover every mile of the way. We will remember it mostly for its grand scale, for its beautiful roadside flowers this time of year, for the blessing of the sun-blocking cloud cover that we happened to experience, for the unrelenting headwinds that have tested us and given us strength, for the friendly people all along the way - in the rustic outposts and even the streets of San Antonio. And we'll never forget the armadillos, the opossums, turtles, vultures, and the brilliant red cardinals. This part of the trip alone has provided us with a lifetime of memories, and we will never think of Texas in the same way as before.

Day 27: Kirbyville to Mamou

March 27, 2004 Louisiana

The morning sky was totally cloudy again, and still the wind blew out of the southeast. We set off at 7:30 am, and peddled north through town, following the 363. This part of the route led through heavily wooded land, with lots of creeks and standing water, and not many houses.

In seventeen miles we peddled through the town of Bon Weir, then in a few more miles crossed the Sabine River marking the boundary between Texas and Louisiana. We made the obligatory stop for a photo at the sign welcoming us into Louisiana. And so, after fourteen days of cycling across the state of Texas we had reached its eastern border.

Riding through Merryville we made one quick stop at a convenience store. We were trying to reach the post office in DeRidder before it closed for the weekend at 11:30 am. So we peddled with a will nineteen more miles to DeRidder. What impressed us most about this stretch was the beauty of the landscape, even in the residential, urban areas. A pride of home ownership showed, and most every house had well manicured yards with huge, mowed lawns. Also the road was very nice, at least in the first parish, as the counties are called in this state.

We reached DeRidder and found the post office, and there we collected our small parcel containing a new tarp and a few pieces of mail. We had been experimenting with a pint-sized tarp and had decided against using it anymore, so had asked our home base to send us this one, which was the same one we had used the previous summer during our IUA Hike & bike trip.

At the post office several people stopped and talked with us, and half a dozen times we were welcomed to Louisiana. We said we thought the state is very beautiful, to which they replied that they think so too! Almost everyone, black or white, said a friendly hello to us. Several asked about our trip. The postal clerks told us we were here at the right time. We thought they were referring to the cooler temperatures or the azaleas in bloom. But they said no, the crayfish! Crayfish, which actually look more like miniature lobsters, must be good eating because we had been seeing little road stands advertising them, and even the grocery stores, live or steamed.

Outside DeRidder we followed road 26, peddling twenty six miles to Mittie. Since this morning at Kirbyville we were back on the Southern Tier route, perhaps because we didn't have a Louisiana state map. Again the road led through beautiful forests, crossing many creeks. We saw many unfortunate roadkill: armadillos, opossums and rabbits.

At one point we stopped to take a rest where the wisteria covered a large area. Beautiful and fragrant purple blossoms hung heavily from the vines. Bees were busy scuttling about for nectar. The ground cover was lush and green with a carpet of fallen wisteria blossoms. We recognized some small plants and grasses: cleavers, mainly, which are edible after a light boiling, and wild carrots (Queen Anne's lace). Also a winged species we knew too well - mosquitoes, the first we had seen on the trip in any numbers.

At the small town of Oberlin we stopped at a small convenience store for lunch. About all they sold was some greasy looking fried chicken, french fries and corn dogs, behind glass - something we wouldn't think of eating back home. But we were hungry so decided to try some chicken. Also they had Boudin Bites, which the clerk explained had crayfish in it. Jenny ordered one of those also. We sat at a small table inside for the air conditioning. We were very surprised at how tasty the food was. The Boudin Bite was a sort of crayfish pate wrapped in pastry and fried. Soon we were ordering a second round.

The route continued east along road 26, and at one point we encountered a turtle crossing the pavement. We stopped and Jenny carried it to the safety of the grass. It did not like being picked up of course, as indicated by the kicking with its little feet. And the trying to bite did not convey the impression of gratitude for being saved from becoming another statistic. The turtle was about 8 inches, rather dark in color, with a smooth shell. Throughout this part of the trip we saw dozens of them in the water and along the banks in the ditches alongside the road. In fact, a few miles later we rescued a second one from the pavement. Unfortunately we passed several others that had not been rescued.

Much of this part of the land had been cleared - either clear cut for logging or opened up for cattle. Also we were starting to see very large and shallow ponds, used for either growing rice or raising crayfish. The wind was very strong out of the southeast and in these wide open places it hit us full force. It slowed us almost to a crawl sometimes. All through the day it added to our workload. But I like to think of the wind as bringing a freshness to the land, like the breath of mother earth, exhaling the bad and inhaling the pure. When the wind blows through the trees, the leaves and needles act like little filters, doing their best to help purify the air. The day was hot but the wind also provided a good measure of air conditioning for us, keeping us cooler by evaporating our sweat. And no doubt the wind was keeping the flying insects at bay. So in all, a pretty good trade off.

The farther we went the narrower and less maintained the road. Between Oberlin and Mamou, Road 104 was pretty basic with a lot of patched pavement and no shoulder. Still the cars traveled at high speed, although there weren't many of them. At Mamou we found a small and very basic motel. The proprietor was congenial, and the place was old but clean enough. We appreciated what was available. We unloaded the bike and peddled back into town for some cold fruit drinks and snacks, then returned to the motel and called it a day.

Day's mileage: 113

Day 28: Mamou to Opelousas

March 28, 2004 Louisiana

By the time we woke up in the morning we were having seconds thoughts about motel life. The pervasive odor of cigarettes had given me a headache and had us both feeling less than enthusiastic. We set off at 7:30 am, glad for the fresh air of the open road. The sky was again completely cloudy, the wind southeast and fairly strong. We followed 104 generally east galumphing among open fields where the wind lashed dust into the air, past rice fields and crayfish ponds with dozens of cattle egrets and blue herons.

We were feeling the fatigue of several higher mileage days in succession so decided that at the next city of Opelousas we would stop for the afternoon.

Along the way we were chased by at least a dozen dogs. Fortunately most were small and not that fast. The road was narrow without a shoulder and rather rough so we peddled along at a moderate pace. At the Prairie Ronde intersection we followed 104 and this became very rough, especially as we neared Opelousas. In town, the road was so rough we could hardly ride the bike on it.

We continued east to Highway 49, stopped at a convenience store to ask directions, and then followed the frontage road a mile south to a group of motels and fast food restaurants. No rooms were available so early in the day, so we hung around for a couple of hours, resting, and finally obtained a room at the Holiday Inn. The desk clerk invited us to bring the bike in, and we carried it up the stairs to the second floor. It was a little out of context for such a fancy place, but they didn't seem to mind.

Day's mileage: 35

Day 29: Opelousas to Amite

March 29, 2004 Louisiana

Today's weather forecast was for rain throughout Louisiana. But when we looked out the window at 6 am we saw only the usual gray overcast clouds, and best of all, no wind. We set off at 7:00 am and followed road 190 east. With no wind pushing us back, and the terrain fairly level, we peddled the first 21 miles in one hour five minutes. Along the way we passed numerous small ponds, sloughs, swamps, creeks both small and large, and eventually, the Atchafalaya River, which was enormous.

The bridge spanning this river was also enormous, and for some reason it was arched very high over the river, as though to admit river traffic beneath it. Peddling to the highpoint of the bridge was an effort, but at least the highway going over the bridge had a wide shoulder, riddled with rumble blocks to keep the traffic off. So in the middle of the bridge we took a rest stop to enjoy the excellent views up and down this amazing river. Living in Arizona, it boggles our minds whenever we see so much water flowing into the sea.

This river, and the Mississippi River a mere 20 miles east as the crow flies, and the myriad other rivers and creeks draining into the gulf, all feed into a vast swampland that starts just south of here. And in fact, most of Louisiana is made of river delta that shifts around with each flooding. The basin that feeds these rivers is the world's second largest, and of course the flooding is an eternal problem for the residents. Billions have been spent on levees, bridges and so forth. The problem became truly apparent when we reached the next bridge, and found it to be a whopping five miles long! Beneath it was a courseway where the ground obviously floods, as evidenced by the tangled mass of bushes, trees and vines, and sloughs and mud banks.

At Livonia we left road 190 and headed northeast in order to cross the Mississippi River on the St. Francisville ferry. We were heading for St. Francisville in order to collect a small package of maps waiting for us at the post office. For a long ways we peddled along a crescent-shaped lake, not named on our map, but possibly called False River. This lake certainly looked like a large river, and must have been a remnant of the nearby Mississippi. Lining its shore were large and expensive homes with immense and well-manicured lawns and gardens.

And then came another major milestone in our journey eastwards: crossing the Mississippi River. Road 10 paralleled a levee for a couple miles then climbed up and over its embankment; and suddenly there in front of us the pavement ended at the bank of the Mississippi. A few cars and trucks were waiting for the ferry, which at the moment was visible on the river's far side. This ferry runs every half hour, but in only a few minutes it was heading across towards us. The river's current was strong, and the ferry had to "ferry glide" or crab across the river. The obviously experienced captain brought his mammoth, diesel-driven vessel to a gentle stop in exactly the right position for the shore-side boarding ramp. The crew casually flung a hefty bow and stern line onto pilings, took several wraps around the 4 foot long cleats, and the ferry was then ready to offload about a dozen vehicles heading west. The driver of the first vehicle in our line, a large truck, generously motioned for us to board the ferry first. So we quickly pushed the bike up the ramp, then parked it along one side.

The ride across was exciting, for we had long wanted to see the Mississippi from the vantage of a boat. During the ride some of the people got out of their cars for a wander around the deck. One such couple asked us about our trip, and told us they were from a city down by New Orleans, maybe 20 miles away, and that this was their first time this far north. Out of curiosity, I pointed to the letters "C2C" which Jenny had inscribed on the back of our rear flagging, and asked these people if they could figure out what it meant. After some deliberation, they said they could not. Most cyclists would recognize it immediately, though they might correctly point out that we had not started the trip with the dip of a wheel in the Pacific. However If all goes as well as it has been, this part of our trip is only the warm-up.

Too soon the ferry reached the far shore, and again we were directed off first, so we hustled the bike off the ferry in front of the dozen or so cars and trucks. The ferry ride was free of charge, and was so much fun that we wondered why it was not thronging with tourists. Perhaps it is another one of Louisiana's little secrets.

The sky was blackening with rain clouds, so we peddled directly into nearby St. Francisville. Just when the main deluge was about to begin, we pulled off at a museum and visitor's information center, and went inside to browse around. Right away the friendly clerk behind the desk asked us whether we were going east or west, by which we gathered she was accustomed to seeing cross-country cyclists. In one of the bird books Jenny learned that the striking blue-colored bird she had been seeing is called a "blue jay." This is a very different species than what we call blue jays in the west, which are actually stellar's jays.

The lightning stopped and the deluge eased, so in a light rain we peddled half a mile to the post office. There we collected our maps, and sent a few more unneeded things home.

From St. Francisville the terrain became somewhat hilly. And more often than not, the road we followed had no shoulder. Traffic wasn't too heavy, but as usual, it was high-speed. We could only move to the side so far, so had to keep a careful watch behind, in case we needed to exit into the ditch. Typically the traffic coming from behind would whiz by in the far lane, for which we were grateful. But whenever another car approached from ahead, the traffic behind would have to slow to our speed and wait for the oncoming traffic to pass. The majority of these drivers did not seem to mind our intrusion, for we received mostly smiles and waves, and thankfully no snarls or honks.

Because of the recent heavy rains, the road was extremely wet. Our wheels picked up water from the road and flung it all over us. In my rear-view mirror I could see a rooster tail coming off the rear wheel and flying several feet over Jenny's head. Also we were being splattered by the traffic. That, combined with a light rain and our normal perspiration from the exercise, and we were soaked through. The main problem, however, was that our eye glasses kept fogging over. We had to stop once in a while to clear them. In the wake of the deluge the air was also fairly chilly, but because of the high humidity combined with our exertions, we could not wear rain jackets. So to combat the mild chill I wore both of my polyester jerseys, and that worked very well.

The rain and wet aside, still the ride was very beautiful, as we peddled through gorgeous forests and past lovely homes with large and well manicured yards.

Eventually we reached Interstate 55, where we would turn south. We could have followed a frontage road, but the logging trucks appeared to be using it, and we had enough of them for one day; so we pulled onto to the interstate's very rough and bumpy shoulder, gritted our teeth, and peddled the seven miles to the town of Amite, and here we stopped for the day.

Day's mileage: 122

Day 30

March 30, 2004 Louisiana

Layover Day in Amite.

Day 31: Amite to Gulf Port

March 31, 2004 Mississippi

We set off at 6:30 am feeling much more energized in the wake of a layover day. The sky was cloudless, and as soon as we had stepped outside we could see our breath. The air was very chilly and still. We followed road 16 east, peddling very moderately because we were dressed in only thin jerseys and shorts. Any faster and we would have practically frozen. The sun was shining, so I figured we would warm up soon enough. At least I had the sun, while Jenny was in my shade, but I also took the brunt of the wind.

About half an hour into our morning, as we followed the road over gently rolling hills, up and down continually with fairly light traffic, a certain blue pickup truck roared past us, exceeding the speed limit, and passing another vehicle at the same time that vehicle passed us. Little did the driver of the blue truck suspect that he was about to prove the killing power of his vehicle. We felt his negative energy, but this was not so unusual as we have felt much the same thing with some of the other drivers, though a very small minority of them.

Ten minutes later we heard sirens, and before long we came over a hill and saw three school buses, the blue truck at the side of the road, a few cars backed up, an ambulance and more emergency vehicles arriving. Someone said that a child had been struck by a vehicle. The mother, white, had run out from her house and was hysterical, and the neighbors were consoling her with hugs. We stopped and waited with the other highway traffic for a while. The child was lying smack in the middle of the road, with a dozen professionals working around him. There was enough room for us to pass, and there was nothing we could do, so we peddled very slowly and carefully past, staying out of everyone's way. The bus driver, a black fellow, was beside himself with tears. The victim's shoes were on the highway about 50' away. The blue truck was parked to the side of the road, not far from the victim. Part of the truck's fender was lying on the street. It was a most sobering sight.

We peddled slowly and solemnly ahead, now along a long line of backed up traffic going the other way. A few drivers asked us what had happened, but we were so choked up that we could only shake our heads. In retrospect, from what we could surmise it looked like the school bus had stopped; the elementary school kids, ten year olds - more or less, had perhaps run across the road to the bus, and the blue truck just plowed right through. We have often seen children boarding and disembarking school buses without looking at the traffic. They are not taught so much to look at the traffic but mainly that the traffic, by law, has to stop for them. At any rate, it certainly reminded us to be careful as we ride the edge of the roads all day.

We reached Franklinton and stopped at a fast food joint for a quick breakfast of sorts, and then continued on to Sheridan and then Bogalusa. This part of the ride was absolutely gorgeous. Some of the prettiest country we've seen. Lots of very tall pine and oak forests, with a fair amount of logging activity. Lots of beautiful homes and estates. The country all through this region was rolling, so we were continually peddling up the next hill, but at least now we were assisted by a tailwind. Also through here the shoulder was wide and smooth, simply idyllic for cycling. Bogalusa was a bit run down on the western side, but with much nicer homes on the eastern side.

We crossed the Pearl River on a large bridge and entered the state of Mississippi. And here we seemed to pass from heaven to hell. The shoulder terminated at the border; there was none on the road in Mississippi. The traffic was heavy and high speed, and we simply had to get off of this road. So in three miles we turned south onto 43 and followed it. Unfortunately this road was even worse. It had no shoulder, and it had a rumble strip at the very edge of the pavement. This is a nightmare for a cyclist because of the difficulty and dangers of pulling off the edge of the road over the rumble strip. With any speed, hitting the rumble strip causes vibration so intense you have very little control of the bike. The traffic was light, but it was also high speed and very aggressive. One of the first trucks that went by, ran us off the road with a loud honk of the horn, barely missing us - even though at that point we were no longer on the road. Two men in a pickup.

Several more cars barely squeezed past us, rather than move over and give us room. One other truck started honking at us one-hundred yards behind and kept it up until it was past us. This was a nice looking fellow and his wife. These were all white people. We were thinking that Mississippi was not going to be our favorite state. It is one of the poorest states in the country, and it sure didn't spend much extra money on its roads. Also, it seemed that the poor road caused the people to have poor driving attitudes. They didn't have much room on the road themselves, so a bicycle on the road, in their way, was frustrating for them. The surroundings along here were beautiful, but we hardly had time to take notice, because we were concentrating on just getting through.

But then I thought to myself, we're going to punch through this, no matter what it takes, and not be caught up in the negativity. We're going to put on a positive attitude and make the best of the situation. And coincidentally, before long we noticed the drivers were starting to treat us much better. In fact, the first little scenarios turned out to be singular. They never happened again. Now all the cars were pulling over, or when there was opposing traffic they would slow down and wait until they could get safely around us. Whenever they did, we gave them hearty waves of appreciation for their patience and consideration. And truly the country here was very beautiful, with lots of flowers, especially azaleas in people's yards, in purples, magentas, pinks, and even whites. Also there were lots of trees, pines and hard woods. But still there was no shoulder. We had a beautiful tail wind blowing about twenty mph, pushing us along, but we could not ride fast in case we had to ditch it off the road again.

We peddled through Cross Roads and Cybur, and a while later stopped at a bakery for rest and refreshments. The lady running the place was very nice, and she had two beautiful daughters, young adults actually, but very shy. We were sitting outside, and the daughters kept telling their mother to go outside and ask us certain questions about our trip. Where did we sleep. Motels mostly. Isn't that cheating? No, not on this type of trip where we never leave civilization. Do we both peddle at the same time? And so forth. Also she gave us directions for getting through the town of Picayune. We followed these and they worked perfectly.

We continued along 43 to the town of Kiln, and it was somewhere here that our odometer hit 100 for the day - at about 1:30 pm. This last twenty miles wasn't nearly so difficult because the highway had an eight- to twelve-inch shoulder with no rumble strip, so at least we had a little bit of breathing room.

After a rest stop in Kiln we proceeded south, crossed under Interstate 10, then followed highway 90 through the town of Bay St. Louis. Then it was over a long bridge across St. Louis Bay, meaning that we had reached the gulf. We could see nothing but water to the south, except a few low-lying islands far out on the horizon. This bridge had no shoulder, and the busy and high-speed traffic had two lanes going each way. The bridge had a narrow sidewalk, but it was too narrow to ride on. Here we developed a technique that worked amazingly well. It started out with a couple trucks barreling down on us. We watch the oncoming traffic constantly in our rear view mirrors, making sure each vehicle pulls over sufficiently before rocketing past. One of these trucks was not pulling over, so I motioned violently with my left arm and hand, for it to pull over. This it immediately did. For the rest of the way across the bridge, whenever someone was coming at us too closely, we both waved them away, and they immediately pulled away. We didn't want to abuse this method and irritate people, so used only in dire need, which was several times on that bridge.

Back on land, there was still no shoulder so we rode on some paralleling side roads and some highway. Soon we came to Long Beach, and this is when we got off the highway altogether and on to the boardwalk, which went on for mile after mile. This is also when our progress became very slow. It wasn't all boardwalk. It was mostly narrow concrete sidewalk, and quite rough. But the afternoon was still early enough, and it was very beautiful and enjoyable peddling along the beach and ocean. So despite the lack of speed we were doing great - until we started hitting the sand traps.

We were peddling along, when ahead of us was a two-foot section of sidewalk where it was covered with pure white, dry sand. What I didn't realize was that there was no concrete under this sand. The front wheel went into it - and hit the other side with a jolt, practically knocking me silly. Maybe because of the day's fatigue, I didn't learn my lesson the first time, for I ran over a couple more of them, but fortunately this time not nearly as fast - but each time the bike came grinding to an immediate stop. Still, all was fine until the next sand trap. This one ate us for lunch.

We hit at only eight mph, but the wheels sunk in so deeply and abruptly that we fell over. Normally on a single bike you would simply put your foot out and stop yourself from falling over. For some reason, that didn't work for me. Because of Jenny's weight on the back of the bike, I was catapulted off my seat and thrown over the handlebars sideways. Like a Hollywood stuntman I flew down two levels of concrete steps without touching them, and landed in the sand. I stood up, brushed most of the sand off of me, and went to rescue Jenny who was trapped with a leg under the bike. I lifted the bike off of her, we got back on, and very soon realized the gears weren't working properly. I thought we might have bent the dérailleur. So we stopped to look at it, and were greatly relieved to see it was not bent, but just had some sand clogging the cable. Jenny was crying because she thought I was hurt, and I was laughing because it had been so hilarious, mainly because both of us, and the bike, were fine.

So we peddled without further incident several more miles into Gulf Port and found a motel. We asked where to get something to eat, and the manager suggested we telephone the casino's free shuttle and go to their all-you-can-eat shrimp and crab buffet. So after quick showers this is what we did.

Day's mileage: 130

Day 32: Gulf Port to Orange Beach

April 1, 2004 Alabama

Set off at 7:00 am. The morning was again quite chilly. The sky was clear and the wind calm. We continued along highway 90, again proceeding very slowly because the highway had no shoulder. So we were finding every possible way to avoid the highway, by riding the boardwalk or rough sidewalks on either side of the highway, and dodging back and forth trying different sides.

Sometimes we had no choice but to ride on the highway, and this required that we peddle very slowly so that we could jump off when the traffic bearing down on us became too heavy. This was rush hour, and most drivers were not interested in moving over for us - as if they were on autopilot.

We went through Biloxi and then over a bridge some two miles long. This had a sidewalk wide enough for us to ride. On the other side we made our first stop of the day at a convenience store. A local fellow started talking with us, and said that here in Ocean Springs is where the first French had landed in America. We asked him about a route that would avoid highway 90; he told us how to get through town and find the old highway 90. So this is what we did. This route had no shoulder, either, but the traffic was greatly reduced and the riding was quite pleasant. This was inland a few miles, and trees and lush vegetation abounded.

This route put us back on the new 90 at Gautier, and we crossed another bay on a bridge. Then we went through a highly developed area with all the usual fast food and large department stores. We continued along 90 now northeast, far away from the shore but going around a vast swamp. The shoulder here was wide but rough. Eventually we reached the state line and crossed into Alabama. Now the road had a sixteen-inch shoulder with a smooth surface.

In a few miles we turned onto 188, and now on the southern tier bike route again, we went through Grand Bay and didn't see any services, then another nine miles to Bayou La Batre. This area was mainly black with a lot of shrimp and oyster boats, trawlers and skiffs in the estuaries and up on the hard.

Then in another ten miles we went through Alabama Port and turned south. The wind had picked up, but it seemed to be blowing from all different directions. Usually from ahead, but sometimes from one side, and once in a while from behind. The terrain was mostly flat but because of the wind, our speed was moderate.

We followed the 193 south toward Dauphin Island, and now the road had a lot more tourist type traffic. For the last few miles to the island we peddled on a wide bridge across the sound, and here we had an outstanding shoulder, seven feet wide and quite smooth. This part of the ride was a lot of fun, peddling over the ocean and looking out at the fishing boats, oil rigs, channel markers, and watching pelicans, cormorants and gulls.

In one area, the bridge arched high over the shipping channel, and climbing to the high point was a concerted effort that required me to shift into our lowest gear, the first time since west Texas. We reached the top just as a tug was pushing a long, narrow barge under us. We stopped to watch it go by.

We reached Dauphin Island and peddled a few more miles to its eastern end and the ferry terminal. Earlier we had called to make sure the ferry was running, before coming out this way.

We arrived twenty minutes before the 2:00 pm ferry. There were dozens of tourists on foot, waiting to board the ferry, and also dozens of cars. The ferry arrived and we all fit on. The wind was now calm and Mobile Bay was flat. The three mile crossing to Fort Morgan took about half an hour, and was a lot of fun. We paid only $6 for the two of us and the bike.

From Fort Morgan the road was smooth and easy to ride, and with the wind now at our backs, we made excellent time. We went about eighteen miles and stopped at a convenience store for a few snacks. Then we continued into Gulf Shores. Turning south on 59, the road here was extremely busy with tourist traffic. Gulf Shores is a large amusement park/beachside community. It was crawling with students and families on Spring Break. Reaching the ocean we followed the 182, and this had an excellent bike lane on each side of the highway. Still we had to be careful with the side traffic. Some drivers come rushing up to an intersection, break heard to a stop without looking, and by then we can be practically on top of them.

We peddled another ten miles to Orange Beach and called it quits for the day. The choices in motels all along here were i limited and of course expensive. We were given a room on the second floor, close to overlooking the ocean. Spring Break students were running around all over the place, and I rather envied their energy, but by evening they settled down and all was quiet.

Day's mileage: 112

Day 33: Orange Beach to Crestview

April 2, 2004 Florida

Set off at 6:40 am. The morning was chilly, though not like the few previous ones, and this time I wore long pants and wind breaker. We followed highway 292 east from Orange Beach along the ocean, enjoying the luxuriously wide shoulder. This area was under rapid development of more high rises like bowling pins for the next hurricane to knock down. On one hand it seemed a bit inane, building these condos and houses all along this extremely low lying coast; and of course we can rationalize that the hurricanes are great for stimulating the economy since they create jobs and require materials to be purchased for the reconstruction process. But on the other hand the area is exceptionally beautiful, and I think our civilization would be remiss not to build here, because the construction draws many thousands of people to come and enjoy this beautiful coastline. I can think of places far inland where a hurricane wiping everything clean would make big improvements. It is much the same in our own minds. When we are too static, too set in our ways, then decay sets in; we lose that freshness of our internal landscape; we tend to collect a lot of trash and things get run down. In a way this bicycle journey represents a mind-sweeping experience for us, refreshing the internal landscape.

About five miles into our morning we crossed into Florida. Here the road was not quite as good, but still it had a shoulder/bike lane, so we were happy. And of course the condos and construction continued for another seven miles along this beautiful beach.

From Gulf Beach we followed the 292 as shown on the southern tier bike route map. This route went through Pensacola while staying as close to the ocean as it could. Traffic was heavy on this part of the route, but the majority of drivers were courteous, while the others were only indifferent. Now back on highway 90, we paralleled the ocean north and this part of the route was up and down, up and down, along the "Scenic Highway" overlooking beautiful Pensacola Bay.

From Riverview, we traveled north across 5 miles of lowland pine forests and estuaries. The eight miles between Pace and Milton were intense with traffic, with a lot of shopping center type development. It was one of those places where there was far too much local traffic for the road capacity. So the drivers tended to be frustrated and you could tell by the way they drove that the traffic is usually heavy here. We had to be extremely cautious because the driver's tended to make quick moves without warning, darting in and out.

At Milton we phoned a bike shop and asked if they could adjust the timing chain of our tandem. They said sure, bring it in; and they gave us directions to find their shop. So we proceeded to the shop, and they invited us to bring the bike inside. The owner/mechanic took a long thoughtful look at the chain, from the wrong side of the bike, and asked if we could leave the bike overnight. Tightening this chain would take about five minutes; all that was required was the proper tools. We asked if he could do the job now, and he said no. He obviously did not know how, so we peddled away, determined to mail-order the tools and have them sent to us somewhere. In two thousand miles of riding we have yet to find a bike shop close to the route that could handle this simple job.

Because the traffic was so intense, we decided to follow the bike route, which diverged from highway 90. For the initial nine miles it followed a beautiful paved bike path through the woods, on an old railroad grade called the Blackwater Trail. It was a tremendous relief to get away from the traffic. Along the way we overtook a woman roller blading at speed, and from the rear she looked in her early 20's, with beautiful trim but muscular legs and a tight butt. And judging by her skill, she obviously skated a great deal. As we peddled past and exchanged hellos, we were surprised to see by her face that she was at least twice that age. It certainly suggested the slimming effects of a lot of roller blading. Having cycled a couple thousand miles in the past month, my own butt was feeling about one hundred and fifty years of age. In a word: vulcanized. Whoever invented the bicycle seat must have had a grand sense of humor.

Where the Southern Tier left the Blackwater Trail, it went galumphing all over the hinterlands, with a great deal of up and down, on a paved road with no shoulder. There was almost no traffic, however, and the scenery was beautiful and also very quiet. Twenty five miles of that brought us back to highway 90, and here we could hardly believe our eyes. At this point along 90, the traffic was almost nil. We could have followed this and saved at least an hour of galumphing.

We stopped for a quick lunch in Holt, then continued twelve more miles to Crestview, where we stopped for the day, early for a little extra rest. While I worked at the computer, Jenny spent a couple hours cleaning gears and chains.

Day's mileage: 93

Day 34: Crestview to Grand Ridge

April 3, 2004 Florida

We set off at 6:30 am. The sky was clear, the air chilly, and the wind was calm. We followed highway 90 for the entire day. Traffic was light and the highway had a good shoulder the whole way. We went through a succession of towns at ten to fifteen mile intervals. Most of these towns were small, with perhaps a gas station to mark the cross road. Highway 90 paralleled Interstate 10 but we rarely saw the interstate because of the trees.

All along the way we peddled through magnificent forests of pine and hardwoods. Much of the way was hilly and this slowed us down somewhat, but also in the afternoon we rode with a nice tailwind, so overall made excellent progress. In fact we hit the 100-mile point at 1:45 PM.

All in all, it was a very enjoyable day of cycling. Among the wildlife we saw was, in one pond a couple dozen turtles all lined up on a log. One road kill water moccasin, and one live copperhead snake in the gutter twenty feet from a parking area where weekenders had come for boating and fishing.

Reaching Grand Ridge, we turned south on road 69 and peddled four miles off-route to the interstate and a motel, since the one in Chattahoochee was fully booked. We stopped for the day at 2:15 pm.

Day's mileage: 108