My Journey Cycling the Natchez Trace Parkway:
The Ups and Downs, the stories, the bumps in the road, and everything in between.
To the Finish Line!
Day 8, Thursday, May 25:
On Day 8, Thursday May 25, I woke up at about 7:00, in line with when I was sleeping outside. But yes, sleeping on a real bed was amazing. Sleeping on a bed isn’t something I should take for granted.
At this point in the trip, I started doing some math. I was at milepost 105. It was Thursday morning. So I had about 48 hours to get to Mile 0 and back to around 105 if I wanted to finish the Trace and get to the rental car and home safely.
Knowing my plan to rent the car from Jackson Airport, Daniel’s family insisted that it was okay for me to crash at their place again on Friday Night. They even offered to give me a ride to the Jackson Airport, which was a good half hour drive from their house and the Trace, so I could pick up my car up and didn’t have to bike there.
This was an incredibly nice gesture by them, given all the chaos going around their family at that time. Daniel’s older sister was moving back into town on Friday. His younger sister just graduated and her ceremony was on Friday morning. It was a small miracle that Daniel himself was even home to help accommodate me—he had been working in Meridian, MS (nowhere near the Trace) for the past three months and was literally moving to Montana* on that Saturday, the Saturday I was to rent my car. I wanted to stay out of the way as much as possible, but they insisted I wasn’t a problem whatsoever, which was super kind of them. I didn’t realize at the time how much I needed their family’s help.
*Last I heard from him, Daniel is doing well in Montana!
There was no chance I was going to bike 105+ miles two days in a row just to get to Natchez and back to Madison, especially since there isn’t really an added value to bike that extra 105 miles back north. After all, I’m not gonna say “I biked the Natchez Trace Parkway… and an extra 105 miles on top of that to get back to Madison!” And I was committed to not bike at all on Saturday morning, when I was scheduled to drive back to Nashville.
And so, since bussing from Natchez to Jackson also wasn’t a viable option because it would be a pain in the ass to ship my bike and gear, I opted to use Thursday and Friday to get down to Natchez, and then hitchhike back to Daniel’s place on Friday afternoon.
Was it dangerous? Sure! But it was my only feasible option given my goals and my time constraints. Plus, when I asked CK about hitchhiking, they both said I shouldn’t have too much of a problem hitchhiking successfully. And after all, if I’m thrill and story chasing, wouldn’t hitchhiking provide the most takeaway value?
My options were to bike to the Rocky Springs Campground at Milepost 54, or to bike to Natchez State Park at milepost 8, depending on how much ground I wanted to cover that first day.
So, at 9:00 am, I departed from Daniel’s house, ready for the homestretch of my journey, with all intentions of making it back to his house on Friday evening. His family had been overly kind—Daniel’s mom even made me (and not Daniel) breakfast, and packed me a to-go lunch. At this point, Daniel told me I was officially higher up on the family totem pole than him.
I hit the road and got back on the Trace at Milepost 105. Well, actually, not the trace itself, but a pedestrian pathway, part of NPS and the Trace, ran parallel with the trace around the Jackson area in order to avoid heavy (for Jackson, MS standards) traffic. The pathway seemed to have more hills and turns, and also more bumps in the road, and stop signs, which significantly slowed down my speed. The pathway loosely followed the Trace for several miles until about milepost 96, when it seemingly abruptly truncated, just shy of the Trace. So I had no choice but to walk through the slight swamp to get back to the Trace.
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| Why doesn't the trail reach the road? Who knows. |
Anyways, I hopped back on the Trace, ready to make up some ground, moving at a decent pace. As I pulled over at a small historical site at Milepost 79, it was about 12:30pm. A fellow cycler, who was clearly just cycling for the day, stopped at this stop as well and we chatted real quickly. I told him that I was headed to Natchez. He said that I should stop at Rocky Springs at Milepost 54, as there wasn’t much more past that. Little did he know how much I was willing to bike.
At mile 65ish, I passed a couple of other day cyclers headed northbound. As we passed another, they yelled to me. “You’re almost there!! It’s all downhill from here!!” That was a nice gesture of them; it definitely brightened my mood a bit.
So a quick backtrack here: When I started the Trace in Nashville, there were rest stops—picnic tables, bathrooms, and most importantly places to refill water—about every 20 miles. But as I moved southward, the frequency of rest stops slowly spaced out 25, 30, 40 miles apart. At this point of the trip, there was a rest stop at milepost 102 (which I actually bypassed due to the pedestrian pathway), and the next rest stop was the Rocky Springs Campground at Milepost 54. So I was biking 55 miles without a water refill. I comfortably can get 30 miles of riding without a refill on water, closer to 40 or 45 if I ration well.
At mile 61, I again stopped to snack again very quickly, only to find out my water supply had been completely exhausted. Shit. But it was okay, only 7 miles—about 40 minutes of riding—left to Rocky Springs. I’ve played ultimate games without drinking, so how bad could it be? And that water was going to taste SO GOOD.
I cranked it out, pretty exhausted and very dehydrated, and made it to the Rocky Springs Campground at Milepost 54. Damn was I excited about this water! I pull into the rest stop, and go into the bathroom, ready to taste some delicious H2O. Turn on the faucet and…
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| A near accurate representation of the water at Rocky Springs. |
Next thing you know, I’m a resident of Flint, Michigan. The water is a musty brown, and despite my dehydration, there’s no chance in hell I’m drinking that. Maybe this faucet is fucked up, so I try the women’s room—same deal. Fuck!
But it’s okay, this is one of three full (albeit, primitive) campgrounds hosted by NPS, so there has gotta be another bathroom or two on the campground. I bike around the campground, looking for another bathroom. One bathroom is closed. I finally find another one—same problem. Shit.
The next rest stop isn’t until Milepost 17, 37 more miles from where I currently was. I wouldn’t be able to make it all the way there without any water.
Luckily, I was at a campground and rest stop, and people would soon be around. I had no choice—I had to literally beg strangers for water.
So I’m biking around the mostly empty campground. Luckily, one guy in an RV gives me a pint bottle. Another family of four gives me a few eight ounce bottles after seeming very interested in my story biking down from Nashville. And after waiting a few minutes back at the main bathroom by the trace, a couple had a 40 oz. canteen and an extra 16 ox bottle that they were able to give me. In all three of those instances, people were more than happy to help a fellow person out. As a result, I had enough water to make it to Milepost 17.
It was only about 3:00 at this point. Prior to this, staying had Rocky Springs was a potential option to break the trip down to Natchez in half. But with no water, no chance. So I headed for Natchez State Park at Milepost 8.
I stopped briefly at milepost 41 at Sunken Trace, where the Old Natchez Trace Path was so beaten down over the years of travel that it in sunk deep into the ground. I then kept going to Milepost.
A quick tidbit: Mississippi is actually an alright state as a whole. I enjoyed Northern Mississippi, Tupelo and Koscuiscko. Central Mississippi had its nice areas, Madison was very nice suburb.
But the further into Southern Mississippi I travel, the crummier it got. Rocky Springs was a rundown campground with no clean water. No clean water! At a campground! And when I got to Milepost 41, and then 17, the terrain got swampier, and the bugs, which surprisingly hadn’t been too terrible to this point, started getting nasty. Any time I stopped cycling, a swarm of gnats were all over me, and while they weren’t too terrible with bites, they were hella annoying. So I had pressure to keep moving.
Worse, the men’s restroom at the rest stop at Milepost 17 was filled with hundreds (thousands) of little flies… so I had to use the women’s room. I can say that I did not like Southern Mississippi.
When I got past milepost 17, it was probably pushing 7:00pm, and despite the bugs, as long as I was moving, it was pretty nice out. Also, this particular stretch of the Trace seemed rather remote, there would be spans of 10, even 15 minutes in which a car wouldn’t pass me.
Anyways, as I biked past mile 10, I saw a sign that told me to exit to Natchez State Park, a good two miles before I previously planned. My instructions said to go to 8.1, however. Because I trusted my instructions more, and because I didn’t want to stop to check my phone and get mauled by gnats, I instinctively kept going to 8.1.
And immediately I knew I made the wrong choice.* I went downhill for 2 miles to Milepost 8.1, and turned onto a state highway to bike uphill for another 1.5 miles to the park, where cars were zooming past me at 60+ mph. Luckily, no one hit me, and most people gave me the right lane.
*Quick tidbit—screw GPSs, Maps, etc. if there is a physical sign in front of you that tells you something goes somewhere, always take it! It is better than a map or GPS!
The sun had just set. I had already reached 100 miles again on the day, so I was pooped. I feared the gnats would get way worse, after dusk, and it’s already more difficult to set up camp at night, so I was stressed and my goal was to find a campground and set up camp asap.
So I finally pulled into the campground entrance at about 8:00pm, and there’s a fork in the road: Campground A to the right, Campground B and the Office to the left. I head to the left, towards the office, but I see a huge downhill and then uphill, so I decide to try campground A on the right.
The road quality turns to shit—there are a bunch of bumps in the road, potholes, etc. but I’ve already committed. As I round a corner maybe a half mile, there is a steep, poorly paved hill. At this point, due to poor frustration and exhaustion, I decide to walk the bike up the hill. This is the only time on my entire trip I decide to walk my bike due to fatigue.
After I get to the top of the hill, I bike for maybe another half mile, and there’s a sign that says campground A is closed. Go figure.
I bike around the campground, deciding maybe I’ll camp here anyways. But the bathroom is closed as well, and without water I’m useless.
So frustratingly, and after yelling a few cuss words, I head back towards the fork in the road. About 15-20 minutes later, I get back to the fork, and to Campground B I headed.
It’s nearly dark now, and as I reach the gate, there is a small sign that says “Campground B, ahead, two miles.”
Two miles isn’t much normally, but at that point in time, two more miles?? Fuck me. I pedal another half mile and a car is coming against me. I stop him to confirm that the campground is up ahead, and he says it is, about another 1.5 miles. But to the right, I see a small “Primitive Camping Sign.” There is no water here, but I figure I had just enough to make it through the night and decide to set up camp there. I can also bike the 1.5 miles to the main campground – where there is water and a shower – after setting up camp if I wanted to.
So I set up camp. Surprisingly the bugs weren’t actually that terrible. A trash barrel is tipped over for some reason. I notice my tent and sleeping bag are still a bit wet, and thus smelly, from the rain a few nights ago in Koscuiscko, so I decide to let them dry out – there are no clouds in the sky, and my phone says a zero percent chance of rain. So I decide to air out my tent and bike over to the main campground to refill my water and take a shower.
The campground is fine, shower amazing, and water serviceable. I get back to camp—it’s probably about 9:30 at this point—with my tent a bit drier, and I set everything up. I decide to leave a few things – my bike helmet and gloves, my panniers, some clothes – outside the tent to give myself some more space at night and to let the tent dry a bit more, but then head inside my tent.
I feel satisfied. I feel clean, and I feel great that I made it all the way to Natchez State Park, a mere 10 miles from the Southern terminus of the Trace. The next day, Friday, I only had to bike for about an hour, and I will have completed my goal of biking the entire Trace!
Just as I’m about to fall asleep, it’s probably about 10:30 or 11:00 at this point, I hear a little rustling outside my tent. There is another tent and some people in this primitive campground, but I know it’s not them. The rustling continues for a little bit longer.
I think about it, and I hypothesize exactly what it is: a fucking raccoon, a trash panda,* Trying to get to some food that I left out there.
*They are smart creatures—I remember my freshman year when I was camping with some people in South Carolina I came back to camp at 5am only to see a pair of raccoons that were opening our cooler, eating all of our snacks.
I decide to get out of my tent with my flashlight, and try to scare the raccoon, because I don’t want it taking my stuff. So I unzip my tent entrance, step outside and…
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| A live look at a black bear! |
It wasn’t a raccoon, but A FUCKING BLACK BEAR!
Just kidding. I took that picture in Canada.
It was a raccoon, just like I thought. But I’m still scared pretty shitless, those things could have rabies and can do some serious damage.
The raccoon was trying to lug my entire pannier—which had some food, some clothes, a few other things—way into the woods, but was struggling mightily due to its weight.
I yell at it. It recognizes me but does nothing. Finally, I slowly—remember, I’m scared of these things—take a few steps towards the coon and he scampers off about 30 yards away. As I shine the flashlight in his direction, I see his big yellow eyes, staring back at me.
So we’re having a stare down for what seems like an hour but in reality was probably about a minute. I decided to yell a bit more, “Get outta here!” I yell. I grab a stick, for defense in case it attacks, but it stays. I take a few steps towards him, and he retreats, still about 50 yards away.
I stare him down again and decide I’m tired, so I grab my panniers—which he had only moved several feet—my whipping stick for defense, and go back in my tent, a bit on edge, wondering if the raccoons will try to get through my tent to get to my food.
I stay on edge for maybe about 30 minutes, but eventually do end up falling asleep due to exhaustion.
Day 8 Stats:
Distance Traveled:111.39 miles
Average Speed: 12.3 mph
Max Speed: 30.1 mph
Time Traveled: 9:00:11
Day 9, Friday, May 26: Closing Time. Closing Time?
I woke up a bit late, around 8:30 or 9:00 on Friday morning, the last day I would be bicycling, with only ten miles to the finish. I was ready to do this!
At this point, I was certain—and nervous—that I wanted to hitchhike back to Daniel’s place in Madison. I happened to get Emre, my Turkish friend who initially inspired my bike trip, on messenger and asked him if there were any tips to hitchhiking. He said he wouldn’t really know—every time he hitchhiked he was truly desperate and had no other choice.
What was my plan? Would I lie to seem desperate, so I’d be more likely to be pitied on, picked up, and delivered to where I needed to go? After all, the whole “Hey I’m not actually desperate, I just need a ride to Madison because I don’t want to ride back 100 miles and need to rent a car tomorrow” wouldn’t be as convincing that I was in any real need I guess I had the luxury of choice. Was I going to tell whoever stop that my chain had issues (mostly false)? Or that my knee was tweaked and I couldn’t ride anymore (again, mostly false)? Or that I was exhausted and needed to get up to Jackson (sort of true)? I had some stuff to think about in regards to my pitch.
Anyways, as I was packing up my camp—nothing was taken by raccoons by the way, nor did they bother me the rest of the night—I really had to poop. The actual campground was a 1.5 mile bike ride away, and I didn’t want to ride there and back. So, for the first time in my life, I pooped in the woods.
It was only particularly ironic because when I was with talking with Daniel a few days before, he said to make sure I had some toilet paper, because you never know when you need to poop.
I actually did not have any toilet paper—I used a couple of pieces of paper from my journal—took a nice squat, and pooped. It actually was pretty clean and uneventful, other than the fact I just pooped in the woods. A wonderful poop at that.
Poop aside, at about 10:30, I left camp and headed off for the finish line. I took a quick half mile detour to Emerald Mound, the second largest mound built in ancient times by the mound builders, but then I went for the end.
I took this ride very slowly—enjoying the last several miles, not stressing myself at all. As the milepost countdown reached single-digits, 9, then 5, then 3, then 2, then 1, I kept thinking to myself, will something terrible happen and stop me right here? I feel like it would happen to me this way.
But it didn’t, and at Friday around noon I had completed biking the Natchez Trace Parkway, from Mile 444 to Mile 0!!!!! I did it! What an incredible sigh of relief and ecstatic feeling.
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| One of several selfies I took at the Southern Terminus. |
I still had a few hours to spare—I wanted to start heading up back towards Madison in the afternoon, so I decided to bike into the town of Natchez about 3 miles from the end of the Trace. Natchez was on the Mississippi River, so I wanted to cross the river into Louisiana to add a state to the list and to cross the mighty Mississippi River on bike.
As I got close to the center of town down a side street, a car pulled up next to me and quickly asked me where, I biked from. I responded “All the way from Nashville, just finished!” He responded, “Wow, that’s awesome. Welcome to town!” as he pulled away. A small simple, gesture, but one that was appreciated nonetheless.
So I biked around Natchez for a bit, and then I decided to bike across the river to Louisiana, where I found a seafood restaurant and settled in for lunch, with nothing on my mind but to figure out how the hell to get back home.
Guide:
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