October 23, 2021
Day Fourteen: DeRidder, Louisiana to Silsbee, Texas
It was foggy this morning, although nowhere near as bad as the other day outside Melville, so I waited a while before leaving.
I'd worked on a backroads route from town, rather than immediately getting on the busy highway. This added a few miles, but it was worth it for a traffic-hater like myself. Scenery was pleasant. There was the usual mix of near-shacks and upscale homes, often nearly side by side.
| Heart | 0 | Comment | 0 | Link |
I rejoined the route after about ten miles. It was a continuation of yesterday: Riding on the wide shoulder of a busy highway.
I soon reached the outskirts of Merryville (population 1,103), but stayed on the highway and didn't go into town. The area on the edge of town that I saw looked pretty down-and-out. I probably should have gone into town to see if there was anything interesting, but I was in kind of a blah mood, and just kept riding.
I did stop at a gas station on the highway outside of town. I bought some snacks and talked to the girl working there. She told me that she often saw cyclists riding by on the highway, but that none ever stopped and came in the store. Puzzling, because the gas station would have been the first place eastbound riders would have seen after entering Louisiana, and after several miles without services.
A guy came into the store, asked me the Usual Questions, and then gave me a ridiculously incorrect (and unsolicited by me) mileage estimate for when I would reach Texas.
It wasn't far to the border, where I crossed the river separating Texas from Louisiana, and then stopped for the obligatory state line photo with the bike - one which I didn't get when I entered Louisiana, unfortunately.
I wonder how many cyclists have smirked at the (unintentionally ironic?) motto on the Texas Sign.
I left the busy highway for the less busy, but shoulderless, "Farm Road" 363.
Lining the road were the typical run-down residences - unmaintained frame homes, sagging house trailers, etc. - and from the yard of one of the latter, three dogs ran out to chase me. Ever since the morning leaving Kosciusko, Mississippi when I had a violently dropped my chain, I'd tried to be extremely careful with it, and had, with a few exceptions, not done it since.
With the sudden emergence of the dogs, though, I forgot to be careful, and instead stood up and pushed down - hard.
The chain came off, and I came to an abrupt stop, surprising me as well as the dogs, who stayed back about ten feet, barking, while I unkinked the chain, finally got it back on, and attempted to clean my greasy hands on the grass.
Several miles passed pleasantly. I observed a car in my mirror begin to go around, but then instead of passing he slowed to my 15 mph pace and pulled up alongside me, rolled down his heavily tinted passenger-side window, and said "Did you leave DeRidder this morning? Damn, you're fast!"
I laughed and told him I wasn't THAT fast - although in fact I was making better time than usual - and then he told me that he'd seen me ride past his house in DeRidder.
Traffic was busier as I approached Kirbyville (population 2,142) and turned onto the extremely busy highway 96, on which I'd be the rest of the day. It was hot and humid by now, and I was dripping with sweat. I turned off the highway onto a side street and lay down in the shade by a church, where I checked my map and confirmed that the Southern Tier route had me riding on the wide shoulder of this busy, divided four lane highway for many miles. Ugh.
I got up, rode down the highway a few blocks, and stopped at a busy gas station that had booths where I could sit while I consumed the two 32 oz. orange Gatorades I purchased.
Semi-rejuvenated by the Gatorade, I got back on the highway and ground out the 28 miles to my destination.
The shoulder was wide, but was absolutely covered with all kinds of junk, including lots of glass and shredded truck tires with their flat tire-causing tiny sharp wires. If I'd been riding a touring bike or, even worse, a skinny-tired road bike on this, my face would have been frozen in a constant cringe the entire time, waiting for the inevitable flat tire. I was concerned about it even with the big, tough tires and their sealant-filled tubes.
Scenery alongside the divided four-lane was very, very uninspiring. The few residences near the highway sported flags and signs that informed me, in case I didn't already know it, that I was in, to quote one large flag, "Trump Country."
The best thing during this section was a Dairy Queen immediately adjacent to the highway, where I stopped and had French Fries and a banana milkshake.
I finally exited the highway onto "Old Highway 96) for a mercifully quiet mile and a half to my destination: A shitty motel that, judging by the presence of many pickup trucks in the parking lot, primarily catered to traveling working men, and perhaps the occasional touring cyclist.
Most things, including the ice machine and the WiFi, were broken, but at least Domino's was willing to deliver a pizza and a cold two-liter of Diet Coke.
After I consumed that, I went to bed around eight.
Today's ride: 77 miles (124 km)
Total: 983 miles (1,582 km)
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 5 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 0 |