My usual day started around 6 am with sore legs in a smelly sleeping bag in a smelly tent. Having gone to bed around 9 pm, you think you would be well rested but 80-100 miles of cycling the day prior will do that to you.
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The stretch from Huntsville to Double Springs, AL was a long haul in beautiful weather. Combating the no-shoulder bridge over the Tennessee River and the heat-absorbent jet black asphalt from Decatur to Moulton, I eased into Bankhead National Forest. What a dream it was passing through the Sipsey, cooled by the shade offered by poplars and oaks. It seemed to be the only place not bombarded with traffic or anxious pine logging trucks. I actually was honked at "the good way," toots of support often accompanied by a thumbs up or a fist pump out the window. I ended up pushing for Camp McDowell and slept and enjoyed a mighty steak dinner in Tiller's Field.
What would seem like a breeze compared to the near 100 mile day before, the road from Jasper to Tuscaloosa bared many surprises, bad ones that is. Hills, hills and more hills. Highway 69 reached atop every high point and stooped to every crest. Turning the bend countless times to an intense climbs, I felt like crying at least 7 times. Also, gas stations (places where I would fill up water) are sparse and I became slightly dehydrated as I entered Tuscaloosa. The locals were also the least friendly this stretch; bicycles mean no more than a child's toy and are not reserved a spot on the road. I was well rewarded as I entered Tuscaloosa - a milkshake and a friendly greeting by Mr. Chris Cook, whose house I spent the night at.
The next day was one of rest. I pedaled northwest around 10 miles to Lake Lurleen State Park. It was beautiful and I was joined by the wonderful Allison Kendrick for dinner.
The next day brought me into Hale County through Eutaw, AL. I had a delightful Calorie dense lunch at Church's Chicken. The winds increased as I entered Demopolis and the rain was soon to begin. I was lucky enough to eat breakfast while it was dry the next morning but as soon as I left, it rained for the next day and a half.
Biking in the rain might sound more fun than it actually is. Well, rain is something I would like to avoid on future trips. It does not provide for the best morale, especially on a solo excursion.
I was lucky enough to run into some cyclists at the next campsite near Coffeeville. Two were pastors heading north to Canada on a 7 week cycling trek to Canada, tracing the historic Underground Railroad, a slave's potential path to freedom out the the antebellum South. They were accompanied by a guy named Guy, their car "taxi" for the first half of the trip - carrying their gear and setting up camp daily. I am grateful to have met them, for they offered me Tuna stew for dinner and pancakes and sausage for breakfast. Thank you!
I expected it to continue to rain and with nearly all my gear soaked except for my sleeping bag and the development of a sore throat, I decided to play it safe and check into a motel in Mobile. This would mean changing the route, not making it to Wilmer, AL, but going some 15-20 extra miles to the big city. A long 100 miles in the rain brought me to downtown Mobile. City traffic and driving attitudes are stressful and so is finding a decent place to stay. I lucked out and walked into to a place called the Malaga Inn, a historic small inn constructed around the 1860s. If I was not greeted with such enthusiasm by the owner, I would have chosen another place maybe a little less classy. A kind woman told me to bring my bike right on in to the courtyard and make myself at home.
The next morning I watched the sun rise on a cloudy and rain-absent sky over mobile as I aimed south for Dauphin Island. This day was one where the success and progress made on the trek made itself very apparent. Every time I got to a bridge, I thought, "This could be it!" How I was fooled- there must have been 7 bridges that day and I was anxious to find the end of the bay and the beginning of the ocean.
Wind increasing and bridges getting larger, I saw the end of land and laughed. As I stepped onto the Dauphin Island/Fort Morgan ferry and paid $5 for my passage (rather than $16 for vehicles) I laughed and laughed. "How did I get here?" I kept asking myself.
SUCCESS!
I was ecstatic to catch up with great friends at the beach house owned by the Kendrick family. Nothing could stop me from frolicking in the open ocean and flying kites with awesome people: Austin, Chris, Worth, Lindsay, Roger, and Sarah.
Albert, the kite.
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