My Journey Cycling the Natchez Trace Parkway:
The Ups and Downs, the stories, the bumps in the road, and everything in between.
Challenges Ahead:
Day 3,
Saturday, May 20:
I woke up Saturday at Mile 304 at Tishomingo ready to roll. My
tire was (miraculously) still intact despite its splitting, and there was only
37 miles until Tupelo. I felt pretty good about making it.
As I was breaking down camp, I noticed that my phone was only
charged to 43%, which was weird because I finally got to a place with an
outlet. Everything was plugged in correctly and all, and it turns out my
charger wasn’t working. Ugh. Did this mean I only had 43% battery for the rest
of my trip? Of course my charger* would stop working on this trip. But, as I
mentioned the prior day, dwelling and whining wouldn’t help me then, so I just
had to get over it and go, especially given a short shelf life on the phone
battery.
*The Samsung Galaxy S5, for some convoluted money-making rationale, it
has its own special charger shape/port that is not interchangeable with android
USBs. Boo you galaxies, this in itself might bump me over to team iphone next
purchase… this made things more difficult.
As I pulled out of my camping spot, I had maybe gone a quarter
mile and was still within the campground only to hear a wheezing sound out of
my front tire. Shit. The tube popped
again, and since I didn’t want to use my spare tube on a flawed tire, I had no
other choice but to put another patch on the tube and hope it held up. It did.
Upon exiting the campground at about 11am, dark grey clouds
began covering the once clear sky. I asked the clerk at the office what the
weather was, and after looking online, she told me that there were scattered
showers en route, likely arriving at 1:00pm.
Isn’t it funny how this sort of stuff—the faulty phone charger,
the split tire, the ominous weather, etc. always happens at the worst possible
time? I was actually getting worried. Could I even get the mere 37 miles to Tupelo,
or was I screwed?
But I had to power on. Red Pill. There wasn’t any use staying
put.
Despite threatening, the rain held off for a bit, and my multi-patched
tube and bulging split tire combo miraculously stayed held up for a bit. But
then, at Milepost 288, the front tire popped again. Shit. But it turned out to
be a blessing in disguise.
Fortunately, the next rest stop and bathroom, Pharr Mounds, was only
about 1-1.5 miles away. I decided to walk my flat bike there, and then I could
re-examine the tire and figure out my next steps from there.
The rest stop had a view of a field of some ancient mounds from
the mound builder era, and more importantly, a large canopy where I would be
able to fix my tire while shielded from the potential rain. As I took my tire
off to find another(!) puncture in the tube, my third if anyone is counting, I
once again had no choice to but to patch it.
A handful of people traveling the Trace–there were quite a few
people traveling, probably because it was a Saturday morning—who stopped at the
rest stop said hi to me. Some were impressed I biked all the way from
Nashville. Some asked me what was wrong with my bike. One guy asked me if I was
good and if I was sure that with my patchwork that I could make it to the
Tupelo bike shop—I (sorta) lied and said yes. In any case, it was nice to see
strangers watching out for me and helping out.
After I began patching my tube and was about to depart, an older
couple came and said hi. They told me they had come from the South, and that I
should stay put for a bit; they said that only a few miles to the South they
were driving through a downpour in which they “couldn’t see anything.”
 |
| Was lucky to have shelter during this downpour. |
A few minutes later, it was raining cats and dogs. At this
point, my tube was all patched up and I was simply watching the rain show.
After the rain halted, a half hour later, I pondered about going
for Tupelo. It was probably about 1:30pm at this point. Luckily, a couple of
people let me use their phones to make a phone call and check the weather
radar. There would be scattered showers all day, and that I had to give it a
shot at some point. So back on the Trace I went.
The rain came on and off for the next ten or so miles—although
none as powerful as the torrential downpour—and it just cold enough such that I
put on my raincoat for part of the ride. The rain took a break and the sun came
out just as I was taking on a particularly brutal hill. As I finally got to the
top of the hill at milepost 278, I was blistering hot in my raincoat. There was
a picnic table and an overlook, and I decided to rest and snack for a few
minutes.
As I returned to the Trace from the overlook, I was startled to
see a dog on the side of the road. There was a car pulled over next to the dog;
I initially thought the car just let the dog out to pee, but then the car took
off.
Anyways, after the car left, the dog came up to me, and the
wetness of its fur following the rain made it clear to me that she was a stray.
Poor pup. I felt bad so I decide to entertain her, I mean, what harm could be
done playing with a doggo for a few minutes?
She stayed close and was friendly, enjoyed being petted, and seemed
to genuinely enjoy my company. After a few minutes, I decided to give her part
of a Clif bar—after all, she must be starving. But I decided shortly afterwards
I could play no longer; I had to get to Tupelo and beat the rain.
 |
| My interaction with this pup was fun until I had no choice but to ditch her :( |
So I threw a part of the Clif bar to the dog and headed on. But
not so fast. The dog, who clearly enjoyed my presence, was running after me—and
since my knee was still hurting and I was going slightly uphill at only about
8-9 mph, she was keeping up right behind me. I felt like one of those kids in a
movie on a bike getting chased by a dog (luckily, she wasn’t trying to bite
me). It was kind of cool and entertaining for a few seconds…
Until she decided to run to the left-hand side of me and cars
were passing us at 50 mph. And then it sucked. I did not want to be responsible
for this dog’s death because she couldn’t recognize cars going past us. I was
never really worried about cars hitting me, but the spastic dog running in the
middle of the road was a whole new story. It got bad enough such that as an
oncoming car was approaching, I had to wave it off and tell it to stop, just so
it would avoid flattening the poor pup.
Finally, about after a minute and as the oncoming car passed,
the pupper took a short break in a puddle on the opposite side of the street.
We were approaching a downhill, and there weren’t any cars in sight. I hate that
I had to do this—I really did want to care for the dog—but now was my chance.
It was for the dog’s own good. I slowly and quietly ramped up speed to the
hill, and started taking off.
Just as I was accelerating, I caught her eye. And as expected,
she came after me. She probably kept pace for about 50 yds, but as I continued
to accelerate and as the grade of the downhill increased, I started to pull
away. This didn’t stop her from trying to keep up, to get me to slow down.
Every few seconds I’d look back and she her clearly trying her hardest to not
let me get away, now barking and whining at the top of her lungs “Arff” “Arff”
“Arrrrrff.”
As the downhill turned into an uphill, in fear that she’d catch
up, I had no choice but to pedal at 100%, bum knee and split tire and all. I’d
look back and see her now 50, 60 yards behind, still locked in on me, sprinting
and trying to keep pace, barking at the top of her lungs. But I couldn’t slow
down.
So as the uphill turned into another downhill, I continued
pedaling as hard as possible, even though I knew I was in the clear. Although
she was no longer in my line of sight, even as I had gone another half mile, I
could still clearly hear her yelp on the other side: “Come back, come back!” as
I faded off into the distance. Her cries
still haunt me a bit to this day, and ditching her totally sucked, but it had
to be done.
At about 4:45, at Milepost 266, I finally made it to the Natchez
Trace Parkway Visitor Center, where there was a biker’s only campground. I had
a little trouble finding the campground—which was on a hiking trail ¼ mile off
of the Trace, and marked with a “Closed” sign, and asked the NPS Ranger manning
the info center multiple times where it was. While the NPS Ranger didn’t give
the best directions, she was super nice and she even made sure I made it after
her shift ended after 5:00pm.
 |
| Camp at Tupelo, Milepost 266 |
After searching for the right place, I finally found the Biker’s
only campground. I was the only one there, and it was very nice for a small
primitive campground—it had a fire pit with lots of spare wood to burn, a few
grills, and multiple large pavilions and picnic tables in which I could place
my bike and stuff under so that they wouldn’t get drenched in the rain. I was able
to set up my tent under the pavilion, which was helpful as well. I could even
not get soaked while being outside my tent.
As I set up camp, I realized I was finally in civilization, that
I wasn’t in a super rural town. I (finally) had cell phone service and data for
the first time in days.
I had mixed feelings about this. On the bright side, it was nice
to be able to text and message everyone telling them that I was okay. It was great
catching up on what I missed on the Celtics (although, not really, I found out
the C’s lost game 2 by like 50 and IT was out for the year…).
But on the downside, I was no longer displaced from the rest of
the world, of the grid, ya know? It was kind of nice living fully
in the present, as opposed to some online world.
That being said, it was nice being near shouting distance of a
bike shop, after which I could finally have confidence in my bike again. I
couldn’t wait to get there the next day.
But of course, as I looked on google, all of the bike stores in
Tupelo were closed the following day, a Sunday—Welcome to Mississippi, Josh!
I didn’t have the confidence in my tire to go more than 8 miles,
so for all intentions I was stranded in Tupelo until Monday. It was surely a
bummer that I couldn’t just hit the road, especially given I was already behind
due to the rain, but at least I was at a place under rain protection where I
could play on my (dying) phone and near a town where I could restock supplies
and go out to get some fast food.
And with that I had a good plan—use Sunday to refuel and get my
errands done. But where to eat on Sunday? Chick-fil-A was closed, so I was
leaning towards a Waffle House. But then, on my little phone, I saw my saving
grace: New China Buffet. All you can eat greasy Chinese food? After not eating
a real meal for 2 straight days? Oh my god, I would feast like a king.
Day 3 Stats:
Distance Traveled: 42.018 miles
Max Speed: 28.7 mph
Average Speed 11.2 mph
Time Traveled: 3:45:06
Day 4, Sunday,
May 21:
I woke up on Sunday Morning with a plan: Bike the 1.5 miles to
town to the Chinese Buffet, feast like a King, then stop by Kroger to restock
and grab something to throw on the grill for dinner, and then just bide my time
and wait for the next day to come.
My bike’s front tire was flat again; it must’ve lost air
overnight. As I pumped it up… heard a nice loud pop! Damn. Frustrated, I took
out the patch kit (again) and put on another patch. As I walked my bike down
the trail and just pulled away past the visitor’s center, surprise! Another
fucking pop, same front tire. At this point, I was at the visitor’s center,
about a half mile from camp, 1.5 miles from town. Fuck it, I’m not fixing the
damn tire again. I lock the bike down to a bike rack at the visitor’s center,
and decide to walk to the buffet some 1.5 miles away. Tire ain’t stopping me
from that Chinese Yummy.
The walk is mostly uphill to the buffet. It’s about 11:30 now,
the sun is peaking and it is hot and humid as hell. For some reason, I’m still
wearing my bike helmet.
 |
| Who doesn't love a good (crappy) Chinese Buffet? |
After only eating Clif bars, SPK, jerky, and granola for two day
straights, while pedaling for over 100 miles, greasy dumplings, egg rolls, lo
mein, hibachi, popcorn shrimp, might be the best food ever. Don’t even get me
started about the oysters—probably no lie, had like 30. AYCE buffets are the shit.
I must’ve had 9-10 plates. One of my best meals ever.
Despite my magical feast, I was still super stressed out,
worried about my tire and whether or not I had enough ammo to get it the 8 miles
necessary to the bike shop on Monday morning. After restocking on food at
Wal-Mart, I went to an Academy Sports hoping that they’d have a tire that could
fit my front wheel.
This was the beginning of a demise for me. I was tired of the
heat and carrying my Wal-Mart bags around, and I was so insecure and desperate
to make it to the bike shop, I let some salesman into talking me into buying a MOUNTAIN
BIKE tire that CLEARLY DIDN’T FIT MY WHEEL. It was clearly the wrong size! But
I so desperately wanted it to be right, I let some guy say it would work, even
though a 1 second look would tell you that it wouldn’t. Ugh, I’m bad under high
stress sometimes.
I felt bad about the purchase immediately, but after I walked
the 2 miles back to camp in the dreaded heat carrying 10 pounds of goods, I
felt really shitty about the purchase when I put the tire next to the wheel—it
so obviously didn’t fit I didn’t even take it out of its wrapper. I felt so
stupid.
It was about 3pm at this point. Still very frustrated and sort
of on tilt, I decided I was going to re-patch the bike tire again (I picked up
the bike on the way back to camp), bike back to Academy Sports, and return the
fucking mountain bike tire.
I used a piece of car tire that I picked up on the side of the
road to pad the split in the tire, patched the tube, and went biked back to
Academy. The ride was rough as can be, but surprisingly, I made it and returned
the mountain bike tire without busting a flat.
I felt a bit better having salvaged my cash from returning my
tire, but as I got back outside, the dark storm clouds were back. Fuck. I had to
make it back to camp before the rain started.
So I grabbed my bike, biked back the 1.5 miles. But just as I
was approaching the Visitor’s Center, the downpour began. The rain was so thick
I could barely see.
I was still on tilt, super stressed and frustrated at that
point. My tire was fucked up. My phone wouldn’t charge correctly. I was in
fucking Tupelo, Mississippi. And now I was drenched. As I was pedaling back
towards camp, as the downpour went on, I lost it, I went nutso.
| Actual picture of me in rain. |
I yelled at the top of my lungs to the sky/God, in a pure fit of
rage: “Is that all you fucking got?” “IS THAT ALL YOU FUCKING GOT?!?!?” “BRING
IT ON, BITCH!” “C’MON, LET’S FUCKING GO!!”
It must’ve been hilarious if anyone was watching, this crazy dude
on a bike just yelling obscenities at no one.
It’s weird because I vividly foresaw that very moment—me biking
through a downpour, verbally challenging mother nature—the weeks leading up to
the trip. I knew I shit was going to hit the fan, particularly in the rain, and
my visions were eerily accurate…
As I got back to camp a mere several minutes later, after
dropping my bike under the canopy. I just sat there, soaking in my sadness, bored
with nothing to do, staring off into the rain into nothing, pissed off out of
my mind.
The negative thoughts flooded my brain again. I was convinced I
was fucked. I’m not gonna make it the eight miles. Fucking tire. My phone is
dying. Fucking phone. Doesn’t matter, I have no one to call right now anyways.
What the fuck am I even doing here, riding a bike through bumfuck Mississippi?
Am I running away from my problems? Am I trying to prove something? What the
fuck am I doing? Fucking trip.
I dwelled on a handful of my problems, insecurities, and
everything else, negativity had taken control of my own thoughts. I was on the
verge of tears.
I had hit Rock Bottom.
 |
| Rock Bottom. |
But little did I know how quickly things would turn for the better.
Table of Contents
<<< Previous Chapter: And We're Off!
Next Chapter >>>: Introducing CK
No comments:
Post a Comment