Day 2. 133 Miles. Dumb Hot°. Not dead yet.

I got some southern slang via text today. “Hottern hell”. Speaks for itself.

Up early to move on out – cruising speed of around 10mph. I’ve got 30 miles in before 10am. Feels good, only the standard issue day 2 sorenesses. I pass some pelicans and a fantastic uncredited quote about greatness and simplicity. I forget the quote but it did however set the scene for a day of quotables. And it nailed the shit out of what it is that I get the most out of these rides: this state of everything coming in “great” and “simple” — at the frequency of 24/7!

Rolling along, I decide to spend the afternoon in Baton Rouge, for which I almost get murked (you can read Suburbakillyah for the long version.) But I make it to the French Truck Coffee shop and all is well. Cold brew on the slow drip with some candied maple bacon goat cheese toast with a side of avocado toast. Solid WiFi, bathrooms and bike parking.

The interwebs speak of the Robert Bogan Fire Museum sponsored by the Baton Rouge Council is the Arts, so I head all the way downtown along some sharrows. Great collection of BRFD history there – though I think the art dealers set up for a Saturday market were irked that I am there for the fire history and not to to buy random canvas paintings.

Vehicular traffic is incredibly light, so I cruise around, checking back in on the Mississippi River, circling the state capital, and then napping under a tree at the top of veterans park. Yes little boy, that is my bike between two big ass cannons. Why do you ask?

After that cute little germ factory came up the hill all excited and shit just to wake me up, I decide I don’t wanna wait out the heat anymore and head out for another 25 miles or so up “Scenic Highway”. Oddly, the first 6 or 7 miles is nothing but Exxon Mobil refineries.

After that it gets pretty awesome though. The entire next few miles give me a very Detroit or Buffalo vibe, and there is mural after mural depicting various African American historical figures or moments. I enjoy one from MLK with a great quote: “the time is always right to do the right thing”, followed closely by this mural depicting an Asante Adinkra around a corner and then the great H. Rap Brown over an American flag around the other. Both are very powerful images but many don’t know their significance, so I am happy to see knowledge being passed along in this timeless manner. (And also the “we can b4 columbus.”)

Made it to my prearranged stop, a fantastic compound of a place owned and tended to by Perry and Lep. These two fine people are really sort of famous in the bike touring crowd for their generosity and hospitality. Perry immediately lets me know I would probably be the last of the season, we talk about everything from warm showers to shitty tenants to Airbnb. And of course we need out on bike stuff and camping gear. (I may need a “rollover” internally geared hub soon!). I am certainly not spared their widely known generosity and hospitality – a feast of an organic dinner is served and the beans and quinoa were spicy! It is fantastic. They even have an outdoor hot water shower! I offer to return the favor anytime back in Buffalo, and I do hope they take me up on that offer.

Next up I begin the most excited part: 400 continuous miles of national parkway up the Natchez trace. Few people, few services, lots of awesome.

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Suburbakillyah

Assuming a lack of rail trails or other long stretches of motor vehicle free paths, cycle touring is all about rural yet paved roads for me. While most cities generally are decent for cycling, the suburbs you have to get through to get into them are not. So I have a general touring protocol of avoiding cities and the suburbs that surround whenever I can. Today I broke against that and rolled in Baton Rouge Louisiana.

Coming west up a typical suburban 5 lane road, traffic sucks but I’m pretty happy with the wide shoulder (the name of the road should have tipped me off). This particular stretch of 6 mile shitty chain strip malls is called Florida Street. The shoulder is messy with debris but wide, with a rumble strip. I’m in morning cruise mode, about 10 mph.

At an interchange with a larger highway, the shoulder disappears right after and off ramp to a bisecting highway, so I tuck over the rumbling and into traffic just as a motorist in a pickup truck behind me decides that the three foot passing law should really be interpreted as three inches. At the same time, a motorist in a shitty white car merging off the highway via the curve decides they should ignore the yield sign and instead speed up to vroom vroom me out of their way.

Coincidentally, right in the middle of this pinch point I now in is a fun little crevice of a hole (about 2 inches wide, 3 inches deep, and 2-3 feet long – just the perfect size for my front tire to dip into). And now I have no choice left, so dip into I did. That fucking hole grabs my wheel with a loud pop, jerks me to the side and almost knocks me over in front of one of these two motorists who eagerly need to get to that next ride light before me. I keep pedaling and keep my balance and somehow manage to not fall or get hit – but I yell out one hell of a “fuck” to both of them, knowing damn well that didn’t hear shit and possibly never even saw me.

I even drew a shitty illustration of the whole thing.

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Day 1. 77 miles. 103° F Heat Index.

Of course it had to be 77 miles, but I could have gone for 77° too. This heat is straight up Wu-Tang*

Shoutout to Talking Heads and WTC on the playlist today. Much of my day was spent on the levee bike path out of NOLA. Fantastic paved path built on top of the levees along the Mississippi River. What a novel idea to put a path along a previously engineered and existing green space. If only Buffalo could take note and do the same along, let’s say, the Olmsted Park system – rather than the current highways that have occupied that truly unique space since the 50s.

Met a fantastic man name Dale in Lutcher Louisiana, he’s got an awesome spot for touring cyclists out there. I stopped by to escape the midday heat but didn’t stay. I feel like the first day out should be one of the toughest, and 50 miles before lunch time wouldn’t cut it. Plus I wanted I sleep outside. Nonetheless, the back of his man cave spot has one of the most impressive bike repair setups I have ever seen. I told him I’d probably be wishing I had access to it in the next few weeks. We talked about his days of riding, about Louisiana history, and about his retirement plan – which involves enough private land to allow him to ride around in his tractor with a shotgun wearing nothing but a straw hat. Quite an interesting and awesome guy, and he even has a map that designates New York City as a secondary city – gotta love it.

It only took me about 2 miles to have a car pass me way too close, but it did take 60 miles before I saw a confederate flag. I’ve been considering keeping count, but that might prove futile in a matter of days. (I saw a total of 3 today, which is less than I’ve seen riding through North Tonawanda, NY – a city which was clearly never in the confederacy.)

Built my own castle for the night in the backyard of another awesome bicycle tourist named Adam. The subculture that is humans who ride bikes long distances never ceases to amaze me – the coolest people from across the globe end up with so much in common when that’s the starting basis. Adam is big into bikepacking, a term I’ve only recently learned about. He tells me the distinction mainly lies in the fact that it’s more off road than standard bicycle touring, which tends to be on paved roads. Really nerdy shit. While I enjoy sleeping in a tent as opposed to hotels, hostels or garages, I wasn’t sure how into bikepacking I’d be until I browsed through some of his books on the subject and discovered the phenomenon that is the packraft – an inflatable boat that u can bring on your bike and make the journey both land and water-based. Absolute tits! I may have yet another thing to spend my well earned money on.

*

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