No punkins here

You know how in a city, you can be surrounded by people yet feel alone? I’m getting the opposite feeling here. I’m alone yet I don’t feel alone. People I’ve known for less than a day offer their time and assistance when things turn ugly. And yes, there has been the ugly, as well as the good and the bad. I’ll leave it to you to categorize what is what:

I began my first day of riding early Tuesday morning in Baton Rouge on the Scenic Highway. The highway’s name is a bit of a misnomer, because riding out of Baton Rouge you mostly see huge chemical plants shrouded in a permanent fog of “steam.” The road had a generous shoulder for parts, but had quite a bit of debris. I avoided the big stuff, but hit a super staple at some point. I was expecting some tube punctures and was prepared with two spare tubes, a patch kit, and a pump. The pump, however, broke two valves and is a devil to pump up to 120 psi, or even 100 psi. Consequently, I got a couple of pinch flats on my last remaining tube with a working valve. My patch kit was whittled down and desperation was loomed. Nevertheless, I never felt alone. People stopped offering air or patching expertise. My couchsurfing host takes the cake (or maybe pecan pie is more appropriate). Brian came up to St. Francisville and  brought me a CO2 pump and tubes. He also introduced me to Frank of Magnolia Cafe, a town mainstay with friendly people, huge cookies, excellent coffee, and live music.

Chemical processing plants on the road out of Baton Rouge. Thank you ExxonMobil.

Even Jesus has a billboard!

Now that’s a hill

I raced the setting sun riding into Natchez. Once I hit Mississippi, the hills graduated from rolling to cruel and unusual. Between St. Francisville and Natchez, towns are sparse. Farms and cows are not. When cars passed, the cows didn’t notice at all, but as I pedaled by, they all looked up and stared. Their heads followed me, and I could imagine them chatting at the milking station about the odd sighting of a girl on a red bicycle. For safety reasons, I refuse to ride with an ipod, so instead silly thoughts and images entertain me. It was too dark by the time I got just north of Sibley, so the bed and breakfast owner picked me up. My friends and family will be glad to know I do believe in safety first.

The highlight of Natchez was sitting on the bluff above the Mississippi River while watching the sunset and reading Life on the Mississippi. Or maybe the highlight was the ridiculously delicious breakfast, including scrambled eggs with half and half cooked in olive oil and butter and creole seasonings. Or the walnut french toast. Or the mini crepes. Really, the bike trip is just an excuse for me to eat rich foods guilt-free.

The ride to Jackson involved some bike troubles that delayed me two hours. At least the trend is moving in the right direction. I got my bike fixed up. I rode with a partner for miles 55-70, which allowed me to draft. He was nearly three times my age, but still going strong. Old age doesn’t necessarily mean limits maybe just challenges.

In Jackson, I went to my first state fair with some friends of friends, the Taffs. The state fair is like a mobile amusement park, but with animals and a circus too. The circus was terrifying because the tightrope walkers didn’t have a net. Instead their handlers watched anxiously from the side, ready to … ‘catch’ them if they fell. They didn’t fall, but there were some close calls. They weren’t quite as skillful as Philippe Petit, but who is? The agriculture exhibition tent had normal farm animals like cows, ponies, and sheeps as well as the odd zebra and pony mix. I was disappointed that the fair was not like the one in Lords of the Gourds and had no pumpkin-growing (0r punkin, as one of the growers calls the gourd) contest. I consoled myself with brain-shaking rides, the Ferris wheel, and funnel cake.

Although I had mighty high expectations of southern hospitality, people are still exceeding them. As I came into Jackson I waited on the side of the Trace for my host to pick me up. Four cars stopped to make sure I was okay and wasn’t stranded. Who does that? People stop their daily business and help me for no particular reason other than they’re kind. (Some might be afraid for my safety–I’ve gotten quite a few, “You’re doing this by yourSELF?” and the accompanying shake of the head.) Or people like the Munfords or the Taffs open their homes and give me their precious time. Makes me think we might not be living in a purely survival-of-the-fittest world.

Two days of biking down, four to go. Here’s to hoping my knees don’t give out.

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~ by jay on 9 October 2009.