Degendered bathrooms and caloric donations

Coincidence? Maybe. But definitely no snackcident.

I’m stopped and hanging at a bathroom along the Trace. Doing what all the cool kids are doing now: napping on picnic table tops and getting my fill of Mississippi faucet water. About to move on when the North Carolina duo of John and Jae come rolling in (let’s call them JJ, collectively.) We chat a bit about the last couple days on the Trace and how happy we are with the day’s light rain and cloud cover. Then, after I down another 32 ounces of water, I notice that they’re only using the women’s bathroom. Looks like Carolinians might be more progressive than cable news leads us to believe! (Is that still an issue even?) I’ve been pissing everywhere the entire time, wondering if it would be worth riding with a catheter down my leg so I could just let lose on the pavement without having stop.

So wait. Smoking in the men’s room only?

Many hours and many hills later and the skies have cleared a bit and it’s another tiny nap on a picnic table at Witch Dance campground. I’m continuing the day long discussion that me, myself and I have been having about pushing on to the 🚲 🏕 only site in Tupelo – the difference in being done now or being done 38 miles up.

Probably predictably, JJ pops up right as I’m about to fill my bottles and say fuck it, I’m camping. At the same exact moment a motorist comes out of the bathroom all excited, “hey guys I’m a cyclist too”. And I mean excited. I didn’t get his name, but he lives in Mississippi by way of Ohio via Saudi – I would’ve loved to have gotten that story. Instead, I get a handful of almonds and cliff bars from this random young dude. And ya know what? Turns out I needed those snacks, because JJ was down to knock the extra miles out, right after they use the ladies bathrooms.

This is pure bicycle tour gold.

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Day 7. 473 Miles. Seventh Day Century.

107 miles today. Cannot blog. Must sleep.

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Day 6. 366 Miles. 7 Star Accommodation.

Stocked up on food, I’m loading up the retrieved Sojourn outside of the shop while Sandpaper chats the owner up over a beer inside. Clouds and a light rain provide an ideal sunscreen and a welcome drop in temperature – though the humidity clearly doesn’t know when to leave the party. It’s a 3 mile bike path ride to the Trace and then 6 riding days of open road and zero capitalism mucking up my outdoor enjoyment. (Can we start calling them “cappies” yet?) SP and I do our bon voyage things and I get about 1 mile when the skies open up. This is where showers become storms.

I pull off to a covered area to drink some coffee. After 10-15 minutes the downpour subsides back into showers and I pop on my raincoat. I love riding in the rain. For some reason we lose this love as adults but almost all kids loved playing the rain. Riding in the rain puts me into a nice “here’s where I am, I’m doing what I do” mentality. There is no option to not ride, I’ve gotta get where I’m going.

Five miles and the showers further subside to scattered rain drops. Nice medium size ones that cool me off but not so big that get into my eyes. Perfect! After 20 miles I stop for a little lunch and the remove my raincoat, which is more wet with sweat than rain. Then I rock out a 40 mile stretch without a single stop to put my foot down. Whew!

Rolling up to the Kosciusko visitor center, I’m exhausted and looking for water. The Parkway map indicates this is a bike only campground and the signs back this up. You don’t see many of these except out west or overseas, so i like to utilize them when I can.

I walk into the center/museum and speak with the two helpful gents working there. Not only do I find out the bathrooms will be left unlocked for me, but that I can pop my tent right up on the front or back porch of the center. Taking cover!

Even the bathroom stall door has bicycles on it. They got a “Safety Guidelines for Motorists” brochure that starts with “bicycles are considered vehicles, and bicyclists have he same rights and responsibilities as motorists. Please treat cyclists with the same courtesy as you would another vehicle.” Hell yeah! It even instructs against blowing your horn because it can cause a loss of balance and possibly an accident. You reading this, lucky number 13?

I also get some great tidbits of knowledge: like the fact that the Natchez Trace is the most visited National Park (journey-oriented, rather than destination-oriented). I do the water in-water out thing and meander around the small museum. Taddeus Kosciusko was a distinguished military man from Poland who aided the USA during the revolutionary war. For this service they named a town in Mississippi (and a street in Buffalo) after him. Oddly, the town Kosciusko (“kozzy-esko”) is pronounced differently than the pronunciation of the man’s actual name (“ko-shue-skoh”). What gives?! If you name a fucking town after me, you better damn well pronounce my name the way it’s pronounced. Nothing but empathy for old Taddeus on this one.

I cook up some Ramen, pop up the palace and climb in as the skies simply open up. It pours all night, so I sure I’m grateful for my seven star accommodations here in Kosciusko – Airbnb ain’t got shit on this.

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