Ride 2.1: The Natchez Trace (7/24-7/31/19)

Day 0: Getting to Natchez

The course of love never did run smooth. And neither did the beginning of our bike ride.

On our ride down the coast, my dynamo hub started leaking gear oil from the sprocket seal, and the only store (in America) that fixes this particular type of wheel lives in Richmond, California. So at the end of the California bike ride, David got on the Amtrak, with my wheel strapped to his back rack, while the rest of my bike got shipped to Oberlin. Now, 3/4 of my bike arrived to Oberlin with no problem, but for some reason, en route, my rear wheel made it as far as Middleburg Heights (a whopping 30 miles from Oberlin) before being inexplicably shipped back to Oregon. Since my bike not only needs a rear wheel, but a very specific rear wheel that is not available on short notice in this country (gosh-darned fancy bikes), I had to call around the greater Cleveland area before I found Century Cycles, who were willing to rent me a bike for 3 weeks of unsupported long-distance traveling. So, on this trip, I was rocking a Liv, which is the lady version of a Giant. Now, as I was to find out, this was a fantastic bike that did not give out despite altogether weighing 62lbs once the panniers were on, although the straight handlebars were a little rough on my tender wrists after the first 500 or so miles.

So Mom, Dom and I piled into an enormous truck, which was the only rental car that could hold three bikes in the back, and drove down to Natchez to meet David, who was taking the train to New Orleans and driving up with Nathan to Natchez. The meet-up went shockingly smoothly, and we even had time to tour the beautiful city of Natchez before getting an early night before the big ride.

Day 1: Natchez to Rocky Springs

Mileage: 60.26 miles

Climbing: 1,696 ft

Travel time: 5:07:57

Our morning started at 6am, when David started violently vomiting last night’s dinner. This was strange considering that he had eaten a vegetarian po’boy, although, admittedly, it is still unclear just what the vegetarian part of his sandwich actually was. While he stayed in bed and recovered from having lost 20% of his body weight and 80% of his water supply, we had a delicious breakfast at Southern Style, a Southern comfort food joint just down the road from our hotel. I'm sure you've all guessed by now that David had terrible food poisoning, which meant that we couldn’t leave the hotel until noon because he felt so weak. Having said that, even in his weakened state, he would race ahead of us before sprawling in a field until we caught up.

As for the Natchez Trace, it is spectacular. I’m sure everyone knows this already, but I learned that the Natchez Trace is a conglomeration of bison trails (who trekked from their grazing grounds in Natchez to the salt licks of Nashville), used first by First People, then Kaintucks (boaters) returning to Nashville after dropping their wares in Natchez that boaters followed to return to Nashville once they had dropped their wares in Natchez. The Trace fell into disrepair and was resurrected by the Daughters of the American Revolution, who, despite being racist enough to lose Eleanor Roosevelt as a member, definitely know how to pave a road. The road is lined with historic plaques highlighting an old school for women, Native American burial mounds (not really historic, as they are still considered sacred by some tribes), old dirt trails and a number of nature areas. The road was shockingly untrafficked, and every single car unfailingly passed us in the other lane, although we suspect that some of the cars were going faster than the assigned 50mph.  The vegetation along the road varied diametrically between towering trees providing excellent shade, and a bucolic landscape dotted by corn (shorter than expected this year, due to unseasonably heavy rainfall), donkeys, and goats.

We ended up being the only campers at Rocky Springs, a bike-only campground, which was a new concept to me, but basically means that it is free, has running water but no showers (except for a geyser that Dom accidentally turned on). We chose a spot that was conveniently close to the bathrooms, and enjoyed the sights and the sounds of the wilderness all by ourselves. 

Earworm: Little Bunny FuFu

Day 2: Rocky Springs to Ratliff Ferry

Mileage: 76.18
Climbing: 1,900 ft
Travel Time: 6:37:39

I woke up to one of the worst things you can hear in a desolated campground – Dom whispering something rumbly and ominous and Mom gasping “Oh no!”. I emerged awkwardly from my tent to hear that one of Dom’s panniers was missing. He found it in nearby bushes, chewed through the bottom, with all the bags removed and scattered around. The lady who rented me my bike in Cleveland had experience cycling in the south and had warned us that raccoons were a menace in the area, so last night we placed all our food-containing panniers in the bathrooms (there were no food cabinets in the campground, which seemed like a strange oversight given that the trash cans were animal-proof). However, Dom had looked over a small bag of blueberries, and even more crucial, a shampoo bottle repurposed to hold our sugar (for oatmeal), and the raccoons had sniffed these out and destroyed everything in their way. Fortunately, we recovered everything, except the sugar itself. I even ate some of the blueberries, which the raccoons didn’t seem to fancy, but don’t worry, I have my rabies shots. 

 

We got out of camp embarrassingly late, at 9am, 2.5 hours after waking up, vowing to do better tomorrow. As we rolled along, we finally passed some other cyclists, three in all, but without panniers. With a trail this popular, we expected to see loads of cyclists, but they would prove to be few and far between. Something else that surprised us, given that the Trace is basically designed for cyclists, was how little water there was along the trail. A fellow cyclist directed us to a rest stop, but it only had a table, and no drinking fountain, which was typical of the picnic areas. Fortunately for us, this gentleman felt so bad about misdirecting us that he circled back and gave us some water that he had in his truck, as well as careful descriptions of the road ahead. (Incidentally, we didn’t figure out till later that the reason he never introduced himself to the ladies in the group is that he was waiting for the men to introduce us. Talk about old-fashioned.) 

As described by our polite benefactor, there was more traffic ahead of us, where the Trace was tucked between the two highway crossings, but just after the Clinton visitor center, we turned onto a multi-use track, which was, if possible, even more amazing then the Natchez Trace, because, of course, there were absolutely no cars, and the trees were even closer on either side. The trail led us all the way to a Reservoir overlook, which was beautiful, and we followed the reservoir all the way to our campsite at Ratliff Ferry. We blundered in to what we thought was the campground and rapidly backpedaled when all we met were clearly long-term RVs (they had practically grown roots), and the friendly lady at the convenience store showed us to the actual campsite, which, unfortunately, was right next to stagnant water, such that the mosquitos concern us far more than the alligators she mentioned. As we were setting up our tent, a couple (Robert and Marion) came over to us and explained that they were local cyclists and cycle advocates, and handed us a mountain of snacks, including a six-pack of Sierra Nevada (how did they know?). We showered, ate the perishables, and tucked ourselves in.

Earworm: Does Anybody Have a Map

Day 3: Ratlifff Ferry to Jeff Busby

Mileage: 75.47
Climbing: 1,178 ft
Travel Time: 6:17:44

Unfortunately, it would appear that Ratfliff Ferry is party central for who knows how large a cachement area, and those of us who are not rigorously trained sleepers (thank you residency and the US Army) did not fall asleep till 3am, which made a 6am wake-up call fairly brutal. We broke our fast with bagels, cream cheese and cranberry sauce thanks to our angels from the night prior. 

The morning was remarkably flat, which is funny considering how flat it’s been so far, and we were clocking an easy 13mph until resting in the shade of Holly Hill. There we met a trio of bikers from the Tour d'Attala for a while who shared snacks with us at the rest stop before returning to their cars at Kosciuko. We followed them to the visitor’s center, and, in what we are starting to recognize as normal Southern hospitality, one of the cyclists drove home and returned with a bag of freshly picked figs for us. 

After recovering in the Kosciuko visitor's center rocking chairs for a while, we sallied forth in the immense heat of the day and made it to French Camp, which is an entire community centered financially and spiritually around a Presbyterian boarding school. The food was delicious, including pickle juice shots and endless sweet tea, and our waitress filled us in on the workings of the school.

The last 12 miles to camp were slightly brutal, only because we were tired, but we made it to Jeff Busby Camp, also known as Little Mountain, which was deserted except for three other RVs. Poor David had a bloated tummy, and I was even felling a bit weak, such that we’re almost wondering if he had gastroenteritis instead of food poisoning. We decided to forgo the rainfly out of consideration of the heat, which was not anticipated to abate before 3am. The campground unfortunately did not have showers, but it did have raccoon hooks, and we fell asleep before the sun set.

Earworm: Another Horsedreamer’s Blues

You Can Be As Loud as the Hell You Want When You’re Making Love


Day 4: Jeff Busby to Tupelo

Mileage: 80.01
Climbing: 1,969 ft
Travel Time: 6:40:38

 

In the morning, the temperature is perfect, and you feel like you could bike forever. By the afternoon, the air is 94 degrees and swampy. We found out recently that the majority of bikers complete the ride in Spring and Autumn, and that is not surprising. We are drinking enormous amounts of water, trying to maintain a urine output above oliguria, with inconsistent success. In order to beat the worst of the heat, we took a 3-hour nap at Witch’s Dance, where it is said that where the witches danced, the grass never grew again.

Just when we thought we couldn’t stand the heat anymore, we pulled into a bike-only campground at the Parkway Visitor’s Center. A few minutes later, David pulled in carrying a six-pack and ice cream sandwiches, which went perfectly with rehydrated dal and couscous (it turns out that we didn’t actually bring the rice). As a Californian, I was foreign to the concept of free campsites, but this is our third one. The amenities are basic to say the least – we’re using the pristine trash cans as food bins because the actual food bin appears to be locked, there is a water fountain/trough, and the port-a-potty purportedly has maggots in it (no one was brave enough to peer in after David’s initial report, and we just held it till the next morning).  

Earworm: Tennessee Whiskey

Mom’s earworm: Life in the Fast Lane

Day 5: Tupelo to Colbert Ferry

Mileage: 68.98
Climbing: 2,556 ft
Travel Time: 5:54:56

Our brilliant plan for today was to wake up at 6am and get out of camp early to beat the heat, which would, at least theoretically, allow us to pedal straight through the afternoon without any prolonged breaks or naps and get to camp early. We got out slightly past 7am, almost our goal, but we had to sacrifice our hot breakfast, which was not pleasing to a portion of the party (David), we took an overly long break at Pharr Mounds that cost us a significant chunk of our advantage, and by 1pm, we were wondering what in the world we had been thinking as we individually died of heat exhaustion. We found a sunken cave just shy of the Alabama border that provided a modicum of shade, took the requisite photos at the border, and carried on.

As we crossed US-72, we could actually see a convenience store, but no one could think of any food they wanted enough to brave the extra mile of unshaded highway, so we pedaled onwards to Colbert Ferry on the edge of the Tennessee River. The ferry is a historic landsite rather than a working ferry, but we walked down to the river’s edge to see the old ferry and the bridge that we will be crossing tomorrow.

As we were walking, I noticed a new lump on my right hip that turned out to be a tiny tick. (Un)fortunately, the tick was very small, so I was unable to identify it, however, the CDC says that, geographically speaking, it could be Dermatocentor, Ixodes, Rhipecephalus or Amblyomma, meaning that I could develop symptoms of Tularemia, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lyme disease, Babesiosis, Powassan virus, Anaplasmosis, Erlichiosis, Heartland virus, or STARI. The weather predicts rain with a definite chance of thunderstorms tomorrow.

Collective earworm: Sweet Home Alabama (duh)

Not a tick. A praying mantis eating an ant on David's bike bag!

Day 6: Colbert Ferry to Fall Hollow

Mileage: 73.10
Climbing: 2,536 ft
Travel Time: 6:20:35

Given the high chance of rain overnight and in the morning, we put all our belongings either in the raccoon bin (a trash can we found and converted) or in our tent, and we put up the rainfly, which we had been neglecting to do because it made the tent unbearably hot. We also devised a ready escape plan, such that when we felt the first few drops of rain around 5:30am, we quickly packed up and evacuated to the awning by the bathroom. So we were almost disappointed when it only rained for a few minutes and then petered out just in time for us to hit the road. In fact, we only got another 5 minutes of rain all day that served to dampen our sleeves and marginally cool off the afternoon. 

Our first stop was at a convenience store that no longer existed, so instead we found some shade on a bridge and ate what was left of our snacks. Our next stop was Collinwood, the biggest town we’d been to since starting the Trace, to resupply at Piggly Wiggly, the original self-service grocery store. On our way back to the Trace we popped into a coffee shop, which turned out to be a veritable hub of bikers and locals and a repository of weird crafts and delicious drinks. We lingered far too long before continuing our journey, but fortunately for us, the day remained cool until we arrived at our cabin.

The cabin was just that, one small room with double bunk beds, AC, a fridge and a microwave, so we dropped our stuff and went down to the river to wade. Just when we were beginning to feel foolish for overplanning for the rain, the skies opened up to a torrential thunderstorm. We ran to the showers, which were not connected to the cabin, and got just as wet running there as we did under the faucet. Dom went with the owner of the campsite into town to buy some beers, which we enjoyed on the patio as the sun set.

Earworm: I tried to clear my mind of all distractions and meditate on the natural beauty. As a consequence, I got distracted by almost the entire soundtrack of By Jeeves and Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

Mom’s earworm: Nashville Cats

Day 7: Last Day on the Trace!

Mileage: 81.14
Climbing: 4,478 ft
Travel Time: 7:30:24

No one wanted to leave the luxury of their mattress, so we got off to a late start. Our campground manager promised us the most beautiful segment of the trail, which seemed unlikely given how beautiful everything had been, however, he was correct. Almost immediately, we started climbing a very large hill, but we stopped twice for waterfalls, roadside turtles and an overlook, which broke up the climb.

We also found an old unpaved part of the Trace that we were encouraged to use to time travel back to the days of covered wagons. We pushed through the worst of the mid-day heat, with only two snacks before rolling into Loveless Café, the incredible restaurant at the end of the Natchez Trace. 

We treated ourselves to all the southern comfort food four people could eat, and started to plan the rest of our trip back to Ohio. I speak for the entire group when I say that we would heartily recommend the Natchez Trace to any cyclist, whether they decide to do it in a week like we did or space it out to enjoy more of the hiking along the way.

Earworm: I tried meditating to the chant of Now I Walk in Beauty, but this somehow morphed into I Am a Stegosaurus.