the odd thing, panhandler, stoned county, no shoulder

November 4, 2008

Day Forty Four

"Better a living beggar than a buried emporer."
- unknown -

"He who begs timidly courts a refusal."
- Seneca the Younger -

I have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.
- Joan Rivers -

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This morning, I realized there's an odd thing that frequently happens when I ride. I don't know if it happens with other bikers or not, but I'm curious. At some point while I'm riding, I'll glance down at my odometer. It'll say, for example, 333. I look back up at the road, then have to stop my reverie and think,

"Is that 3.33 miles or 33.3 miles?"

That's quite a difference, and I have to look at the odometer again to find out.

The reason, I believe, is that after a certain point, cycling becomes an exercise in mindfulness. The past disappears like the dust kicked off our shoes at the doorstep, and the present is an unopened door, leaving us with the right now.

As I ride, the "right now" gets translated as "There's a bird," and "I must ride around that soda can," and "These stripes need painting," and "Should I take a picture of that?" and, sometime, this: "..................."

And, at that point in my life, those are the most important things.

and another thought floating across my mind... "There's a longhorn cow."

From Franklinton (pop 3,857) I traveled to Bogalusa (pop 12,232), the town Kevin had warned me was full of panhandlers and people who like to use drugs. When I stopped at the WalMart to pick up a few things, a balding African American man of about fifty came up to me and started talking. I'm generally pretty good with accents but I had a hard time placing his... perhaps a combination?

He asked a few of the usual questions, and was genial, but the process seemed more like a duty to complete before getting to where he wanted to go. Even so, he was a good conversationalist.

Eventually, after about ten minutes, he asked me for some money for “something to drink.” I walked with him over to the vending machines and told him to pick something out. He bought a Coke and seemed pretty happy to get it, surprised almost. He sipped on it for a couple of minutes, still carrying on a conversation, then asked me for some money for food.

Sometimes, our bodies do something before our brains can say, "You know, that's probably not a good idea." Like doing a hard double take, for example, when you see your first topless woman at what you didn't realize was a nude beach. Your body doesn't want to do a double take, it just does, like it's trying to reconcile what it was expecting and what it actually saw. Or almost spitting out what you thought was water but turned out to be Coke.

In the same vein, without thinking about it, or even wanting to, as soon as he asked me for food money I glanced down at his belly. It was punishing his belt in unforgivable ways as it extended well beyond the manufacturer's specifications. Realizing what I had just done, I jerked my eyes back up to his, accompanied by an anemic smile and a wide-eyed expression that announced, "I just farted in a quiet, crowded room, and I hope no one heard it."

Events at that point could've gone in any number of ways, most of them with uncomfortable outcomes. What did happen is that a huge grin lit up his face, flashing an astonishingly white set of teeth, and he let out a belly laugh. His good-natured guffaw was clearly genuine, and infective, ringing in my ears as he strolled away to talk to another customer.

Shortly after Bogalusa I crossed into Mississippi

I walked across the street and took a picture of the Louisiana sign since there wasn't one when I came into the state. (And, if you recall, I took a picture of the Texas sign when I entered Louisiana because there wasn't one on the other side of Texas)

There's a lot of swamp, and I keep looking for alligators but haven't seen one yet.

In Poplarville (pop. 2,894) I somehow made a wrong turn (although I never actually turned, and in spite of the fact that no one said, "You can't miss it") and found myself on 53 instead of 26, so I had to ride on the shoulder of Interstate 59 for three miles to get back on my route. I really didn't like doing that, and the truckers didn't appreciate it too much, either.

Here's a picture of the Batson Catfish Farm. It looks like he recently watered the crop.

In an attempt to trim a few more miles, I got off the ACA route for almost the entire day. Adventure Cycling Association roads, although circuitous, generally have either good shoulders or little traffic, and usually both.

Highway 26 has neither, and there were more logging trucks than cars.

While the day wasn't entirely dreadful, it wasn't particularly pleasant, either. The final stretch was the worst.

For part of the trip the shoulder looked like this.

By the time I stopped in Wiggins at the end of the day, although I had pedaled only 67.5 miles, I was 97.5 miles closer to my final destination.

I'm not sure it was worth it.

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distance: 67 miles
average speed: 12.2 mph
maximum speed: 25.6 mph
time on bike: 5:30:31
cumulative: 2178 miles

Today's ride: 67 miles (108 km)
Total: 2,180 miles (3,508 km)

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