My Journey Cycling the Natchez Trace Parkway:
The Ups and Downs, the stories, the bumps in the road, and everything in between.
Introducing CK:
It’s about 6:00pm now. After a couple hours of wallowing in my sadness,
I’m still feeling like shit. I elect to journal a bit to get my thoughts on
paper. It’s still raining out, a light drizzle.
I decide that I’ll have an early night. I bought some hot dogs
and buns at Wal-Mart to throw on the grill. I have a box of matches, and there
is a bunch of wood, so my plan is to get a fire going.
But it turns out the wood is no good since it has been raining
so much. I’m failing again. On about my seventh try, I’m pissed off again.
Fuck.
Just as I am about to try again, in the corner of my eye, I
see a guy—another cyclist—pushing his bike up the trail leading up to the campground.
Thank god, I thought to myself. I had been alone for about 3
days to this point. And it’d be great to have any sort of company.
But as I look back some 30 seconds later, as this guy gets right
up to the campground, my thoughts change from relief to interest and curiosity,
as my eyes focus intensely.
The guy has a significantly larger bike frame than mine, for
one. But what catches my eye is that he’s hauling literally 7 or 8 times the
luggage what I have on my bike, bags on top of bags about 6 feet high and 6
feet back.
What the fuck? Why does he have so much shit?
“Boy am I glad to see another biker here.” the guy exclaims as
he approaches.
“Me too,” I respond. “Do you need any help with anything?”
He denies any help.
As I look closer and he walks up next to me, I realize has two
pet crates on the top level of his bike baggage. I wonder in amazement.
“Are those dogs in there,” I ask.
“No, they’re cats.”
“I’m Josh, by the way,” as I extend my hand.
“I’m CK,” he responds.
All of a sudden, all of my depression and stress and negative
thoughts from the past few hours were gone.
This is going
to be interesting, I thought.
---------------
“Do you need anything, some snacks, or something?” I asked him.
“I have some power bars, some beef jerky, and some candy”
“I’m low on sugar. I could use some candy, actually.”
“I have Sour Patch Kids and Gummi Bears.”
“I think I know what Gummi bears are, but I don’t know what
those sour things are.”
 |
| Got CK hooked on my fave, SPK. |
It was about 6:30 at this point, and I gave CK some time to set
up his camp. After finishing, he made it back over to the fire pit, where I had
already exhausted my entire box of matches trying (and failing) to start and keep
a fire going. I offered him some gummi bears and Sour Patch Kids, and he said
that he loved the Sour Patch Kids.
I then asked him for some help starting a fire, which he was
happy to do. Not surprisingly, he had a bunch of camping equipment including a
wooden gas stove, which he used to start a fire. It actually took him several
times with the gas stove to start a fire, which he blamed to poor quality and
damp wood. This made me feel a bit better about my inability to start a fire on
my own.
We ended up making a fire on top of (not under) the grill, so
instead of placing my previously bought hot dogs on the grill, I opted for the
old school route by piercing a hot dog on a stick and holding it over the
flames. The hot dog, despite being from your standard ballpark hot dog package,
was delicious. There’s something about cooking over a campfire and outdoors
that makes the food taste so damn good.
I told him I had a bunch of questions to ask, and asked if it
okay to do so. Here’s what I got out him:
Originally from Maine, CK traveled around the country year-round
by bike, traveling “with the birds.” He had traveled over 122,000 miles when I
met him, and had been doing so for over two decades. He hauls over 200 pounds of stuff when he
travels, including his two cats. He gets by by washing windows of stores for
either cash or meals/lodging when he passes through towns; he’s professional window
washer. CK considers himself homeless by choice, a “high-classed hobo.”
While CK has a handful of friends in various places around the
country that he visits every few years, he does not have any family and thus considers
his cats his family. His cats, despite being traveling cats, enjoy their lives
and actually live rather comfortably. When he is riding, CK lets his cats out
every couple of hours, and when he wants to keep them close he puts them on a
leash and walks them like dogs. His pet carriers even have little fans in them
so keep the cats cool if he bikes when it is too hot outside. CK is on his third generation of cats
spanning about a decade, and while he has seen other cyclists carrying dogs, he
is the only known cyclist who travels with cats.
Despite being a self-proclaimed hobo who dropped out of high
school, CK was actually rather intelligent, articulate, and eloquent with his
speaking. Sure, he had a few mispronunciations: “Kai Yote” for coyote, for
example, but for the most part, you wouldn’t recognize his lack of formal
education just by speaking with him. He listened to the radio—particularly NPR—daily
and was very involved with political happenings and such (very anti-Trump, very
liberal, in case there was any doubt). He wasn’t particularly religious,
although he prayed to six different “gods”: Jesus, The Holy Spirit, Buddha, His
Angels, Mother Earth, and Father Sky.
I told CK that I was simply riding the Trace as a culmination of
finishing graduate school and moving away from Nashville, and that I had to
bunker down in Tupelo due to my tire busting and the storming rain. CK was more
than happy to help fix my tire enough so that I could ride the eight miles to
the bike shop in the morning.
As the night wore on and we conversed some more, we developed a
pretty good rapport. CK was more than happy to tell about his travels,
adventures, and life perspectives, and I was like a sponge taking in stories
and lessons from this different and interesting man.
It was fascinating listening to CK talk about his travels and
life. Predictably, had some incredible stories of his travels, whether it was
him starting a three day bonfire on San Francisco’s Ocean beach in the 70’s,
how he rescued his first cat from a snowstorm, his escapades of saving various
wildlife, his favorite towns* and states** in America, the time he got tired of
cycling so he kayaked the Gulf of Mexico and then the Atlantic for 9 months,
why if he had one magic wish from a genie, he’d extinguish mosquitoes, how he
fell in love and traveled with a gal for 7 years but how she eventually got
tired and stopped… the list goes on.
*His favorite town is Mackinaw, MI, which doesn’t have cars.
*I asked him the question I ask many people, perhaps my favorite
conversation starter: If you had to choose one state to live in the rest of
your life—people could visit you, but you can never leave your state or else
you die on impact—which state would be first on the list, and which state would
be last? Last was a no brainer, he said Kansas. 1st, he took a few
minutes, and then decided on Oregon. He liked Minnesota too, due to its
cycle-friendliness.
 |
| CK's favorite American town was Mackinaw Island, MI, where there are no cars. |
CK mentioned that he hated public/large campgrounds—cars, RVs, lights,
technology, etc.—and that he only camped at biker only campgrounds or even off
the side of the road or in backyards to avoid the traffic and civilization. He
told me that because of this, he didn’t make fires often nor did he spend time
camping with others. He told me it had probably been several months since he
either had made a fire or had someone to hang/chill/camp with.
I asked him why he chose this lifestyle, one in which he
wouldn’t settle down, lacked many basic amenities, or really have any sort of
life stability. He said he was a born traveler, moving every year ever since he
was born since his mom was a gypsy. By the time he got to high school, he
decided school wasn’t for him and hit the road hitchhiking* and fell in love
with the thrill of traveling and seeing things. He never had any desire to
settle down since, and he prefers his lifestyle than a more civilized one.
While I would never do anything like this, I thought it was cool, the dude was
living his life.
*this was the 70s when way more people hitchhiked.
Shortly after this exchange, CK asked me if I wanted to stay
another night, as he wasn’t set to leave until Tuesday. It was clear he wanted
me to stay; he enjoyed my company. I told him I’d think about it, and I would
let him know in the morning. CK offered to make me pancakes and said that once
I tried them, I’ll have no choice but to stay another night.
It was about 11:00pm at this point, and we let the campfire die
down. As I laid on my tent, I thought to myself on whether or not I should stay
another night. On one hand, I was already 1 (2?) days behind my itinerary due
to the weather and my bike tire, and I couldn’t really afford to lose another
day if I wanted to bike to Natchez and then back to Jackson to get my rental
car. But on the other hand, when am I going to meet a guy—a traveling cyclist with
cats—as unique and interesting as CK again?
At this point, I reflected to myself. Why did I really come on
this trip. Because I wanted to complete a challenge? To get home with some
great stories so I’d be more interesting? To learn more about myself and the
world? To getaway from my real life, which to be honest, I had been frustrated
with for a while.
I had to ask myself, why did I really go on this trip, and what
did I hope to get out of it? Was another 24 hours with CK potentially worth not
finishing the Trace, the main goal I’ve had for months? Or was it really the
journey is the reward type of thing, and CK was the highlight of the journey?
I decided to sleep on it to confirm, but I was fairly confident
about I was going to do. I was excited what the next day would bring.
Note: CK requested that I take no pictures of him, so in honoring his request, I have no pictures of him, unfortunately.
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