Day Eleven: Natchez, Mississippi to a Farm South of Melville, Louisiana

October 20, 2021

I was anxious to get across the big, imposing bridge that connects Natchez, Mississippi to Vidalia, Louisiana, and I was awake very early - before 4:30 even - getting everything back together on the bike after my day off in Natchez.

I was out in the pre-dawn, with my headlight and red blinking light on, before I realized I'd ridden away without my helmet, something I hadn't done in years. Fortunately I'd only ridden about 100 feet when I had to go back and retrieve it from the front porch of the B&B.

There wasn't much traffic in downtown Natchez this early. I remembered to take a picture of the big Christmas tree on the main drag. One of the cheesy Hallmark Christmas Movies was filming in Natchez while I was there.

There are two bridges - one for eastbound traffic, another for westbound - and only the eastbound bridge has a shoulder. So my plan was to ride the wrong way up the eastbound bridge's ramp and then ride against traffic on the wide shoulder.

Riding against traffic always - always - feels very wrong to me, and it felt especially wrong riding against traffic on the trash-filled shoulder, as early morning rush hour vehicles zoomed at me.

There was a ton of glass and other crap on the shoulder. I rode over some object, and briefly heard/felt something fell off the bike, but as quick a glance as I could manage while riding revealed that whatever it was, it wasn't essential.

I arrived in Louisiana at 7:01 and quickly rode through a backstreet and a couple of parking lots to the first convenience store I saw. It was closed, but a lady arrived in a couple of minutes to open up. I bought the usual snacks and an ice cold Diet Coke. She asked me about my trip, and then insisted on giving me a large Gatorade and bottle of water - "From me, so you don't get dehydrated."

She was the first of several nice people from Louisiana I'd encounter my first day in the state.

I sat outside the store drinking my Diet Coke. A couple of men drove up to get gas. They were both black, and were clearly amused by my cycling clothes, and by my unlikely presence in this area. After I answered the Usual Questions, one of them said "Kentucky! You've got good legs man! Are you sure there's not a motor? You ain't cheating, are you? HAHAHA!" As he drove away, he leaned out the window: "Good legs, man!"

After a few more minutes at the store, during which time I discovered that the object that had fallen off the bike on the bridge was the bar-end mirror that I didn't use anyway, I rode away through some pretty poor neighborhoods. Taking too many photos in places like these feels too much to me like "poverty tourism," so I just took a couple of pictures so I could remember the place.

A few miles past Vidalia were a couple of big manufacturing facilities. Traffic was briefly busy with people commuting to work there.

Traffic thinned out. I saw a few scattered homes and farms.

I rode several super-flat miles with plowed fields to my right, and the levy to my left.

Inadvertent "shadow shot" of me and my bike in the lower right corner.

Before I rode into a gigantic wildlife management area, and trees on each side of the road replaced the views of plowed fields, I pulled into a country church parking lot so I could apply sunscreen.

Tiny black flies coated my legs. Ugh. They were unpleasant, but didn't seem to be biting or stinging me, at least.

Back on the road, it continued to be super flat, and I had a semi-tailwind. A pickup truck which had earlier passed me was stopped on the shoulder a few hundred feet ahead. As I approached, the driver stuck his head out the window, and motioned for me to stop.

"I saw you going so fast, like 30 mph, I though it must be one of them E-Bikes. I've been reading about them on the internet."

I laughed and told him that was more like 17 mph, not 30, and that it was a regular bike, which seemed to slightly disappoint him.

Could there actually be a market for these motorized bikes among regular, pickup truck driving rural people? If so, that surprises me.

Traffic finally disappeared almost completely. Virtually all of it was pickup trucks driven by working men. Maybe only one or two passenger cars for hours.

There was some work going on beside the road, so I stopped briefly and observed it, but I couldn't determine what was happening.

It was really empty out here. I saw a few derelict houses, and perhaps two that *might* have still been occupied.

I started seeing large fields of what I believed might be sugar cane.

In the distance I could see some sort of large blue structure. It took quite a while for it to finally come into view.

For the next several miles I passed by structures, and rode on bridges, maintained by the U.S. Army Corps. of Engineers. There were many warnings not to trespass, and even one (surely incorrect) sign saying bicycles were not allowed on the bridges. I obviously ignored that one.

There were a few dirt roads leading off my road to parts unknown. Most of them were unsigned, but one of them had a very elaborate sign indeed:

I finally turned off the road I'd been on for hours, onto an even emptier, rougher-surfaced road. I stopped at the first country church I saw. I was intrigued by the above-ground graves.

More fields of what I assumed we were sugar cane. It was obviously harvest time for whatever this stuff was, because I kept seeing scraps of it on the road, presumably dropped from trucks transporting it.

At about 65 miles I reached the outskirts of Simmesport (population 2,161.) I crossed a slightly scary bridge, then rode on the shoulder of a busy highway, stopping once to take a couple of pictures of an interesting looking restaurant.

Just past the restaurant was a Piggly Wiggly supermarket. I immediately confused the three employees talking at the checkout line when I requested a cold "pop."

"What? Do you mind if I ask where you're from?"

Apparently all soda pop in this area is referred to as "coke", as in, "Can you get me a cold coke?"

My cold coke purchased, I walked outside to drink it. I'd noticed an old children's "horse" ride outside, which meant there would be an electrical outlet nearby for me to charge my phone.

Two of the employees came out for a smoke break. The woman had the thickest Cajun accident I'd heard yet, as she described someone she and the other employee knew, and who was being sought by the police.

"He said he'll turn himself in once he takes care of some business. And he said might turn the gun on himself instead of going in." Yikes!

Before a mile or so on the busy highway back to my route, I took a picture of something I'd heard about: A drive through window for purchasing mixed drinks. This seems like a terrible idea to me, a teetotaler who grew up in a dry county in Kentucky.

The road I would take all the way to my destination today, Melville, was quiet except for the occasional truck carrying whatever was being harvested (presumably sugar cane.)

I saw some men working in one of the fields, and pulled over. "Is that sugar cane?" They confirmed that it was, and offered to let me taste it. One of them whittled off a piece and gave it to me. I can confirm that sugar cane tastes like sugar, unsurprisingly.

I mentioned that I was going to try to find a place to camp in Melville, and both men immediately urged me not to do it: "That's a rough town."

Of course, I've heard variations of this for years while bicycle touring. The funny thing is that people in town X tell you to be wary of the people in town Y. Then in town Y, the people are perfectly nice, but warn you: Be careful of those mean people in the next town over, town Z.

And so on.

The men advised me to check in at the lone grocery store in town and ask the owner's opinion of what to do, if I was determined to end the day in Melville.

Melville seemed to be sort of depressed, like so many small rural towns I see while bike touring. As advised, I walked into the supermarket, which seemed large and thriving compared to the rest of Melville. The owner was there, and when I asked him where I might camp, he said "There's a guy who hosts paddlers at his farm outside of town. And hey!- he's right over there."

The man, who was coincidentally shopping in the store when I walked in, gave me some quick instructions about how to reach his farm on the river a mile out of town, said he would see me shortly, then drove away.

Seemed legit, and I didn't have any other ideas, so I took a few photos of Melville, then rode out of town.

The other non-decrepit business in Melville. I got a kick out of the fact that someone created this tidy store apparently devoted to Hunt Brothers Pizza, which of course is already omnipresent in virtually every gas station in the south.

I arrived at a gravel road with the black gates described by the man at the store, let myself in, nervously - what if this was the wrong place, and I was inadvertently trespassing? - and then rode my bike through a pasture, surrounded by cows who jogged with me towards the farmhouse right on the river.

More details in tomorrow's installment.

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Today's ride: 94 miles (151 km)
Total: 805 miles (1,296 km)

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Scott AndersonCan’t wait!
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3 years ago

Suzanne GibsonObviously you survived to tell the tale!
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3 years ago