Monday, June 11, 2018
Natchez Traced by the numb burrs
Mon, June 11, 2018 | link
Mark it down as done.
Avery and I completed our ride on the Natchez Trace last week. We pedaled up from Natchez to Tupelo. We hauled ourselves and
all our stuff up under our own power. One day – Wednesday – was perfect in every respect on the tandem. Each of
the other five days had various degrees of difficulty.
I’ll have more in store, but for now, two notes only.
You’ll note on the home page of the blog links to the short videos Avery and I made each day of the ride. We made ourselves
Second, a few numbers from
735 photos shot
328 miles pedaled
37 hours, 2 minutes spent in the saddle-ish
days of pedaling
51, 66, 8, 71, 83, 48 daily
miles logged Sunday through Friday, respectively
12,225 feet of elevation gained, or 2.3 miles on the week
21 cyclists encountered on the Trace
(6 more cyclists seen on the Tanglefoot Trail)
7 days in a row I ate grits for breakfast
7 days in a row Avery ate bacon at
1 pair of cleats failed (1 pair of replacement cleats hauled along and swapped in)
16,750 calories burned, according to
the spurious calculations of my cycling app
36.5 mph, top speed recorded
145,735 Blackeyed susans passed
0 mechanical failures,
including zero flat tires
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Crooked letter, crooked letter, eye
Sun, May 27, 2018 | link
It must go back to the whole em-eye-crooked
letter-crooked letter-eye thing. That's certainly memorable.
Next, I'd have to say the Interstate rest stops made the most lasting impression. They were fancy all-brick affairs, very
welcoming indeed. In my memory, there were antiques in these roadside attractions and my parents noted the paradox of Mississippi's
poverty and this splendor by the highway.
Finally, for childhood impressions, were the roads themselves. Some landscapes and the roads through them are starkly and
immediately recognizable. The pine-lined distinctively brown chip seal asphalt of Mississippi’s portion of Interstate
55 is one. On the way to New Orleans I recall marveling at the long stretches of macadam to the horizon in a tunnel of towering
trees. This was Mississippi.
more I read, the more Mississippi appeared. Shelby Foote – his narrative histories of the Civil War, but his fiction
as well – Eudora Welty, William Faulkner. Mississippi was brutal and brutalized, rich in history, poor in resources.
Jackson, Biloxi, Tupelo, Vicksburg, Oxford,
Tunica, Pass Christian, Gulf Shores. All of these names are evocative of extremes and as rich in meaning as the acts of some
are bereft of humanity.
going to roll through this Mississippi of my mind, my memory, and my imagination and see how it compares to what’s there
on the ground beneath our tires. The only thing for it is to pedal on.
Francis Baily never had it so good
Sun, May 27, 2018 | link
All I’ve got left is trepidation, with
nothing to occupy my mind but worry and no solace to be found in pedaling for a week.
While I await the start of our tandem ride across Mississippi, I find it
comforting to think about Francis Baily.
On July 4, 1797, he left Natchez and the Mississippi River, taking off overland toward Nashville to see the Grand Ole Opry.
(Just because I made up that last bit, don’t doubt the truth and historical accuracy of the quotations following. This
is the real deal.) He was on horseback and with a dozen or so others, but his journey was considerably more challenging than
what we’ll face on our bicycle ride.
For one thing, I won’t have to convince someone to slaughter a beef and turn it into jerky as Baily did before
his expedition left town. Nor will I have to requisition a batch of hard tack.
My chief concern is the possibility restaurants and stores where I think we’ll eat chicken fried steak and drink iced
tea won’t be open. I’ve set out the whole itinerary with the aid of Google maps – Baily had to put up with
slow dial-up Internet access and a wonky Netscape UI. After our second 50-plus mile day, we’ll take an Uber to the ballpark.
There were a few more concerns for the English Baily’s group. I know this because “Journal of a Tour in Unsettled
Parts of North America” was published posthumously, recounting his travels to Antigua, New York, down river to Pittsburgh
and New Orleans and then back up the Trace, an ill-defined wildlife trail and Indian Path.
“We were obliged so to manage our daily journey that we might
arrive at a plantation in the evening where we were likely to get pasture for our horses: and even this was not always to
be had. And when we did arrive there, a poor hut was our only shelter, and we were obliged to unpack our horses ourselves,
and turn them into the pasture; and if we could get a mess of mush and milk, some fried bacon, or some fresh meat of any kind,
it was as much as we expected, and for this we were charged enormously high.”
We’ll be staying at bed & breakfasts with hot showers and soft
beds. We’ll have grits, and eggs, and baon, and steaks, and pizzas, and burritos, and hamburgers to eat. Baily would
take what he could get to eat and go sit out in the woods because the houses were so nasty.
There is no chance we’ll get lost. A distinguishing feature of the Natchez Trace Parkway is its limited access and no-turn
progress up to Tupelo. The way in 1797 was much less certain. There are also bridges now, a decided advantage.
“The very next day, — Sunday, July
8th, — we began to experience one of those difficulties of which we met numbers ere we had finished our journey. A little
dirty creek, which apparently one might almost jump across, opposed our progress. This creek, on sounding it, we found was
not fordable; we were therefore obliged to unload our horses and swim them across. As to ourselves, there was fortunately
a large tree lying across the stream elevated near twenty feet above the surface of the water; on this with tottering step
we were obliged to carry our baggage, which we did after a deal of trouble and trepidation, whilst exalted on our narrow lofty
For all my worries,
I do not have to worry about the tandem galloping off with all our stuff, strewing it through the woods.
“As we were proceeding along upon (the path) this afternoon, with our packhorses quietly following,
making in the whole a long string of between thirty and forty horses, by some unfortunate accident, the girths belonging to
one of them gave way, and the pack slipping round under the horse's belly, he was so frightened that he set off into the woods
as fast as his legs could carry him, with the pack swinging and knocking against every tree, like a dog with a kettle to his
tail. The other horses seeing this, set off also; and in a moment we were left in a deplorable situation. Bereft of all our
provisions and clothes, and deprived of every means of continuing our journey, we had no other resource but riding after them,
and endeavoring to run them down. Some of these horses were laden wholly with dollars, the proceeds of the cargo which some
of our party had taken down the river. As there was no time for hesitation, we sallied after them with all the speed imaginable,
not regarding bogs or trunks of trees which were continually in our way.”
I appreciate Mr. Baily’s account. It makes me worry less how we’ll
get along the paved and groomed Trace. It gives me hope we’ll not have to chase down and catch our bicycle. I revel
in the fact I won’t have to sleep on a dirt floor along with the saddles and building supplies of our hosts
It took Baily and his crew until July 19 –
two weeks and a day – to reach McIntosh, a spot Avery and I will reach in a bit more than three days of pedaling.
Thank you, Mr. Baily, for taking my mind off
challenges and turning my focus to hot coffee and buttery pancakes. There is nothing for it but to pedal on.
Monday, May 21, 2018
Just so story
Mon, May 21, 2018 | link
It is satisfying to have things just so.
I’ve got the Choctawhatchee Chariot – that’s
the nom de giro for my Santana tandem – right where I want it. In all respects, the bicycle we’ll depend on to
get us from Natchez to Tupelo, is set up exactly as I want it. It’s got the right stuff in the right place and it’s
Could I spec out a tandem that would
be jazzier, splashier, lighter with a tighter gear range? Absolutely. Comfort and security have much to recommend them, though.
I am sure I can keep the Choctawhatchee Chariot running smoothly and effectively. I am certain of its durability and dependability.
I don’t wish I had a different drivetrain.
There is no saddle I’d rather have. I’ve got the rack and bags I want to, and know I can, depend on.
The clinch bolt on the rear derailleur is stripped out and running without the missing washer designed
to hold the cable snug. But I’ve got the unique replacement and the spare cable, literally, in the bag.
There is a bent spoke on the freewheel side of the rear
wheel. That’s the only thing I would change.
There is an American-made frame, bottom bracket, hubs and
seatpost. The seats and bags are British. The tires and rack are German. Japanese companies made the derailleurs, chain, and
cranks. Yes, Italians are represented in the headset.
The bike is not too hot. It is not too cold. It is just right.
Talk to me June 8. I am confident I’ll say the same thing.
By then we will have pedaled three-quarters of the Natchez Trace Parkway’s entire
length. The NTP is the National Park System’s seventh-most visited unit, with 5.6 million recreational visits in 2012.
A National Park Service report concluded 5.7 million recreational visitors in 2011 brought $93 million in spending to communities
near the Parkway. In the voodoo economics of these things, the report figured that economic activity supported 1,200 private-sector
jobs. That’s in addition to the 140 FTEs within the $10.8 million authorized budget in fiscal year 2013.
We’ll be spending perfectly good federal scrip –
our Georges, Abes, (most to the point) Andrews, and Benjamins are accepted even in rural Mississippi – as we eat hamburgers,
go to baseball games, and visit public libraries.
I’ll also be hauling a heavy-duty combination lock
along with us, a weight and volume I’d as soon eschew, so we won’t make any involuntary contributions to the economy
The whole while we’re
pedaling those 300-plus miles we’ll be confident of our ride, knowing there is nothing for it but to pedal on.
Monday, May 7, 2018
A tandem to ride for
Mon, May 7, 2018 | link
This tandem keeps reminding me it is an incredible machine.
Torn down, cleaned up, and built back with new slippery and
precise tuning, it rides like silent current in a deep stream. It is powerful. It is smooth. It is relentless and beautiful.
My son is now a full seven inches taller than he was during
last summer’s ride along the Old Spanish Trail. But the Santana fits us both still and, under the right conditions,
Of course, all cyclists prefer
flat terrain and tailwinds. Astride a tandem, though, you can get the full measure of this bike’s performance potential.
Descents provide a stark lesson in the relationship of mass and momentum to velocity. Another feature of the rebuild of the
Santana is the installation of brakes with actual stopping power, both the cantilever rim brakes and the drum brake. Squishy
is not a good attribute for brakes and no longer applies to the tandem.
Tandems are notoriously ill-suited for climbing. Or so I’ve always heard. It certainly is no
fun for me when the stoker flags or our rhythm is off or my legs are spent. But, ooh, when you’re sailing along with
a tailwind and on flat terrain, this tandem does zip. It moves at a speed inconsistent with its heft and size. The
I had the stoker’s bottom bracket tapped at University
Cycle. Those guys were great and very jazzed to install the Phil Wood bottom bracket. They seemed especially pleased with
the Sugino Mighty Tour triple chainring cranks, characterized by them as much desired these days. I’m not worried about
popularity, but I am with its proximate cause. People want these cranks because they are great.
One lesson I think I need to learn is going slow is not a crime. Down on that granny
gear, I believe technically we could pedal up a brick wall. But both Avery and I like to get places fast, including to the
top of the hill. It’s a classic tradeoff. The faster you go, the more your legs and lungs suffer. The slower you roll,
the more time in the saddle with predictable consequences. And, anyway, speed thrills.
After getting the Santana out on the road, I’m quite
confident in the bike’s soundness. Truth be told, I’m much more anxious about my 16-year-old truck’s ability
to make it 400-plus miles to Tupelo than I am our ability to pedal the 300 miles to get back there along the Trace.That saddle time will be Avery’s biggest concern. His backside won’t be trained
up. He does have the dampening seatpost and a new Rivet seat. But he’ll be breaking in that saddle along with his own
butt while on the ride.
The two-seater bike
now also sports a German-engineered rear rack and English waxed-canvas panniers. Further safety upgrades (in addition to functioning
brakes) are great lights for front and rear. These rechargeable units will also allow us to run at night, if need be –
though I would only anticipate doing so in a small town, not keeping a post-sunset leg of a day’s journey going into
The tires run smooth. The chain shifts
precisely. The cranks spin freely. The brakes stop positively.
Great. The only thing for it is to pedal on through.