U.S. Deep South

Late Spring can be a hazardous time of year to cycle long distances through the Deep South in the United States. While pedaling down a highway in rural Louisiana just after Memorial Day (May 31), I saw many large, ugly black snakes coiled up alongside the road. They lay still as death in the warm sun.
Not all of those hideous reptiles were asleep, however. Suddenly one of them, measuring about a yard long, slithered quickly toward me. I turned my front wheel sharply to avoid hitting the devilish creature. Almost simultaneously a car behind me swerved to avoid hitting me. It was a close call for the snake, the car, the driver, my bike, and me.
At a roadside grocery store I sipped a pint of chocolate milk and recounted the precarious incident to a middle-aged clerk. Her reaction was nonchalant. "Yeesss, sir. Them snakes be coming out 'bout this time. It's the season, honey," she said in a southern drawl.
The temperature rose to 85 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity hovered around 90 percent. I perspired profusely as I pedaled down a lonesome road in flat bayou country pocketed here and there with black, brackish ponds. I wondered, "Are there snakes hiding nearby waiting to ambush me?" I quickened my pace.
In Long Beach, Mississippi I stayed at the beautiful home of A.L. and Nell, an elderly couple who are members of Servas, an international hospitality organization. Together we watched the evening news on television. Horrendous tornadoes were tearing up parts of South Texas. "Jim, thank the good Lord that you aren't biking in those parts!" Nell said. I wondered, "Which is the greatest danger for touring cyclists: snakes or cyclones?"
Maybe bugs. For several days I had felt a persistent irritation in my buttocks. I thought that its source was a boil or blister but I couldn't see it because the pain radiated from "where the sun don't shine." Frustrated, I placed my forefinger and thumb around the protrusion and tugged very hard, finally removing it. I was shocked to see a small round bug with strong, tiny feet wiggling around the perimeter of its body. I flushed the repulsive little bugger down the toilet.
In Ocean Springs, Mississippi I stayed with another Servas family: Peter, Joan, and their 21-year-old granddaughter, Lonnie. They were so fascinated with my bicycle trip that they invited over a friend and her three children to meet me. Each one took turns lifting my fully-loaded touring bicycle to feel its heavy weight. They asked me so many questions about my bike and trip that I felt like a celebrity on tour.
Numerous Hollywood celebrities entertain at Mississippi's casinos that are located on large floating barges permanently anchored to a pier. One evening Peter and Joan went to a nearby casino where they enjoyed a presentation by the humorist Bob Cosby. In his opening chat Cosby told the audience, "The only time you should go to a casino is to eat -- and if possible, for free."
Peter and I drove to a casino where he treated me to an all-you-can-eat buffet dinner. We gorged ourselves on gumbo soup, crayfish, shrimp, fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, many kinds of vegetables, and a variety of million-calorie desserts. The cost for both of us was only $6.50.
From Ocean Springs I followed Highway 188 into the small town of Bayou La Batre where the shrimp boat scene was filmed for the movie "Forrest Gump." The entire town reeked of the awful smell of freshly-caught shrimp. I took shelter from a downpour in a Hardee's restaurant where I ordered a hot roast beef sandwich.
I ferried from Dauphin Island to Fort Morgan, Mississippi, then pedaled past many vacation houses. Built upon wooden stilts, they were painted in a variety of colors. That cheerful scene suddenly changed when I spotted several large dead snakes alongside the road. I increased my speed on the pancake-flat terrain until I reached Gulf State Park.
The park has a lovely campground but, according to a sign near my tent, it was infested with alligators. In fact, my campsite was located on Gator Road! That night I zipped up my tent fly securely and decided to turn northward toward Virginia the following day. "Maybe there won't be so many snakes, alligators or nasty bugs up there," I thought.
In Pensacola, Florida I stayed with Doug, Rachel, and their two children Ian (5) and his sister Lydia (2). Doug is a high school history teacher and Rachel is a homemaker as well as an amateur artist. Vegetarians and health-conscience folks, Doug and Rachel are great fans of Dr. Andrew Weir, author of the best-selling book "Spontaneous Healing."
I followed Highway 90 East to Crestville and crossed into Alabama on Highway 85 North. In the small town of Florana I camped at a beautiful state park among elegant, tall trees with Spanish moss hanging from their branches. Fortunately, I saw no undesirable creepy crawlers in the area.
As I pedaled northward, the terrain became more hilly, and I tired more easily. Outside of Troy I stayed with Servas host Ruth, a self-reliant elderly woman who had biked extensively in Mexico and Africa. Ruth built her own two-story house on a 2.5 acre homestead. I admired her fortitude, freedom, and independent spirit.

Ruth was a gracious Servas host.

Ruth built this house by herself.

The traffic was very heavy from Tuskegee to Opelika, Alabama but it thinned considerably when I reached West Point, Georgia. I stayed at the home of Servas hosts Paul and Emily. That day I biked 117 miles, which exhausted me. Emily gave me some advice: "Slow down," she said. "You can't see anything if you bike a hundred miles a day." My aching body agreed with her.
But I didn't take her advice. The next day I biked 105 miles over roller coaster hills across half of Georgia. In Macon I stayed with my friend Ken who teaches computer science at Mercer University. I was pleased to learn that the professors of Spanish there had adopted my textbook "Intercambios." I had a wonderful albeit brief visit with Ken and his mother-in-law who prepared a delicious shrimp gumbo with a vegetable called okra. These two folks showered me with true Southern hospitality.
Not everyone in Georgia was so hospitable. Many huge truckers hammered past me on Highway 49 and gave me little leeway to pedal my bike. If I hadn't stopped alongside the road to let one of those hotshots use part of the shoulder that I was cycling over, I would have become instant roadkill.
In Milledgeville I stayed with Dwight, a Servas host and a professor of international studies at Georgia College. I also visited the grave of Flannery O'Connor, acclaimed for her moralistic stories that combined comedy and tragedy. She died in 1964 of lupus at the young age of 39.
For twelve hours I pedaled 114 miles across half of Georgia until I reached Bobby Brown State Park. An obnoxious family of five and their little white dog parked their travel trailer near my campsite and made enough noise for ten families. The little girl cried and shouted, the dog barked, and the family members talked loudly until 1:30 am. They also left on a very bright light until they went to bed.
The following day I cycled through Calhoun Falls, Pickins, and Pompkintown from where I began a grueling five-mile climb up to Cesar's Head and entered North Carolina. My presence clearly irritated most of the drivers in my lane. They slowed behind me until it was clear to pass. Suddenly they pushed their accelerator to the floorboard, zoomed around me angrily, and soon were out of sight. From the summit of Cesar's Head I coasted downhill all the way to Brevard where I completed an exhausting 115-mile ride that day.
I stayed with Servas host Roman, who lives on Memory Lane. He explained how his street received its name. "Some high school kids built my house as part of a school project. One of those kids was murdered in a shoot-out over drugs, and another one was killed in a car accident. My street was named in their memory."
Noticing that I looked rather hungry and thirsty, Roman served me a large bowl of baked beans, several hot dogs, a huge dish of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate, and five glasses of iced tea. As I ate and drank to my heart's content, Roman told me a great deal about his passion: studying wild mushrooms.
I left Brevard on Highway 280 which slithers through a lush green mountain valley. The traffic was relatively light, it was warm, no wind was blowing, and the road shoulder was smooth and free of debris. It was a wonderful day to cycle.
Soon I reached Arden, North Carolina where traffic picked up tremendously. In Asheville I stayed with Servas hosts Gerry, Catherine, and their 18-year-old son Teal. They taught me a great deal about intentional communities which are like self-sufficient communes.
In Asheville I visited the Thomas Wolfe Memorial dedicated to America's 20th Century writer who is best known for his overtly autobiographical novels. Wolfe was brought up in a boarding house called Old Kentucky Home where he wrote frank, realistic reminiscences of his childhood such as those in his famous novel "Look Homeward, Angel."
The modest furnishings of Wolfe's boyhood home contrasted radically with the elegance of the nearby Biltmore Estate, home of the Vanderbilt family. The admission price ($27.95) to the 8,000-acre estate destroyed my daily budget. However, I thoroughly enjoyed the European-style castle, its 250 rooms, and the extensive gardens. Biltmore Estate is the largest single-family residence in the United States.

The Biltmore Mansion, a 250-room house.

The facade of the Biltmore Mansion

I left Asheville and began pedaling up and down forested mountains along the Blue Ridge Parkway. All day long thousands of Honda motorcycles zoomed past me on their way to a massive rally in Asheville. I like motorcyclists very much because they respect my space as a cyclist, and they often wave when passing me. Not so with car drivers. At one point a motorist tried to run me off the road. I instantly headed toward the ditch while he drove past me as if nothing unusual had just occurred.
I turned off onto Highway 80 towards Burnsville where I stayed with Servas hosts Joyce and Gilbert who live in a small intentional community. Their rustic house was stuffed with so many items that I felt like I was invited to a gigantic garage sale.
Joyce introduced me to one of the most unforgettable men I have met: Ernest Morgan, a white-haired 92-year-old gentleman. Ernest and his wife Elizabeth founded the Arthur Morgan School, a small boarding and day school for junior high school students. The children live with a dozen staff members and learn practical skills such as preparing vegetarian meals, planting and harvesting crops, and cutting firewood to heat their classrooms. "Instead of learning to compete, they learn to cooperate. They care for themselves, their world, and each other," Ernest told me proudly.
I continued my journey along the Blue Ridge Parkway, pedaling up and down hills -- mostly UP, it seemed. I wasn't making much progress and it began to rain very hard. I thought, "I'm going to get out of these darn mountains. They roll on all the way through North Carolina and Virginia. I'm heading for the Atlantic Coast where it's FLAT."
I aimed my bike toward Blowing Rock and coasted all the way downhill to the town. Suddenly it stopped raining and the sun peeked out from the clouds. "Was this a good omen of things to come?" I wondered. I biked several more miles to Boone and camped at Flintlock Family Campground.
The next day I pedaled down Highway 421 to Deep Gap where I had one of the few flats on this journey. While repairing the flat I saw a large bulge on my rear tire; it was ready to burst. I replaced it with my spare tire and followed Highway 268 to Elkin. There were many uphills and downhills but the general trend was downhill and away from the mountains. Hoards of impatient yahoos nearly missed crashing their cars and pickup trucks into me. Fortunately, most of them drove onto Interstate 77 and vanished from my sight forever.
On top of a hill outside of Elkin I saw five ladies who were having a yard sale. It was getting late in the day, so I stopped there thinking that they might let me camp on the premises. "Is there anyplace I can camp around here?" I asked tactfully, hoping for an invitation. They suggested that I bike farther on to Pilot Mountain State Park, then offered me some ice water as we chatted in the shade of a large magnolia tree.
I continued my way up Highway 268 which was replete with impatient motorists, most of whom were young guys in pickup trucks. "Get off my road!" one of them screamed. I did no such thing.
Dark, threatening clouds greeted me as I entered Pilot Mountain State Park. All around me lightning began flashing, closely followed by horrific clashes of thunder. The wind blew fiercely as I pedaled as fast as I could up a very steep hill. Quickly I found a vacant campsite and began setting up my tent. Just as I was attaching the rain fly, the heavens opened and the downpour began. I grabbed my gear, threw it into the tent, jumped in after it, and waited in the dark until the storm subsided.
The next morning I entered Virginia and followed Highway 58 to Martinsville and Danville. At last I was leaving those cursed mountains with their narrow roads and obnoxious drivers. I celebrated this victory in Danville by staying at an inexpensive motel and by enjoying a chopped steak dinner in a nearby restaurant. Apparently I was quite dehydrated because I drank three medium pitchers of iced tea with my meal. Afterwards I felt ill, so I rested in my air-conditioned room, well satisfied that I had pedaled 95 miles that day.
Rising temperatures, high humidity, and the rush hour greeted me the following morning as I left Danville on Highway 58 East. I was thankful that the road was divided into double lanes. There was no shoulder on the road but I noticed that if I pedaled about two feet left of the white line in the right lane, drivers behind me would nearly always swerve into the left lane, leaving an entire lane for me.
I reached South Boston and continued pedaling to Buffalo Springs where I saw no buffaloes. After stopping in Clarksville for lunch, I cycled to Boydton and turned into Rudds Creek Campground on Buggs Island Lake. It was an easy 62-mile ride.
I set up my tent at a campsite that had a nice view of the lake. It was so peaceful there, especially toward evening when most of the boaters and swimmers had left. Soon I was the only camper in the park except for the campground host whose travel trailer was parked nearby.
That blissful peace turned into anxiety during the late evening when two yahoo couples in cars roared into the campground with their radios blaring. I awoke from a deep sleep and crawled out of my tent to watch them.
One couple set up a large tent while the other one lit a bonfire. Soon they all began dancing around the fire like wild bandits. I had hoped they didn't see my tent or wouldn't rob or hassle me. Suddenly, one of them saw me watching. I froze, then thawed when he turned down the radio volume. I went back to bed but I slept poorly.
The next morning I continued riding along Highway 58 East. All the way to South Hill I dodged thousands of potholes as hundreds of semi-trucks zoomed past me. I kept one eye on the road in front of my wheel and one eye on the traffic in my rear view mirror. It was very hot and humid, but no matter how much water I drank, it didn't seem to be enough liquid refreshment.
Suddenly I heard a very loud horn blast just behind me. I aimed for the ditch as one-half of a long mobile home passed only two feet from my left leg. I was glad that the driver of the towing vehicle honked; otherwise I would have been an instant amputee.
I reached Emporia where I finally and gladly left Highway 58. I turned onto Highway 301 North which had very little traffic. I decided to spend the night at Yogi Bear Jellystone Park Camp even though it cost $16.27 to set up my tent there. Although I had never paid that much for a tent campsite, the campground was very clean, it had an air-conditioned TV lounge, and a pretty swimming pool.
After setting up my tent, showering, and washing out my bicycle clothes, I biked to the China Star Chinese Restaurant where I had egg soup, crunchies with sweet and sour sauce, fried rice, shrimp with cashews, and four glasses of ice water for $7.00 including a small tip. I smiled when I read the short message in my fortune cookie: "You have great physical powers and an iron constitution." That night the relentless heat, the high humidity, and the sharp whistles from passing trains tested my "iron constitution."
The next morning I followed Highway 301 North to Jarratt where I stopped for breakfast at a Bilimpie cafe. I continued in a northeasterly direction through Gray, Littleton, and Homeville. I noticed that if I pedaled slower than 12 miles per hour, tiny black flies would swarm over my head and bite me mercilessly. In spite of the heat and humidity, I pushed my pedals down very hard to deprive those insidious insects of their human breakfast.
In Waverly I stopped for lunch at Burger King, then continued pedaling on Route 40 to Spring Grove. I stopped frequently to drink water and to refill my bottles at grocery stores and gasoline stations. I turned down Route 10 South and reached Surry in the intense 95-degree heat, then cycled four more miles on Route 31 to Scotland. There I caught the free ferry to Jamestown and I pedaled on Route 31 North which led to historic Williamsburg, the final destination of my bicycle journey. The temperature had risen to 103 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity was over 90 percent. It was a sweltering, exhausting day but I had completed the last 85 miles of the trip.
I rewarded myself by staying at the Colonial Country Inn where I found the least expensive room in Williamsburg. After taking a refreshing swim in the pool, I toured the famous historic district of the town.
Colonial Williamsburg has been restored to the days when the town was the political and economic center of the Virginia colony. It isn't just a museum, however. It's a living community where merchants sell their wares and craftspeople ply their trades.
In the early evening I returned to my air-conditioned room, took a shower, and tucked myself into bed. Within minutes I fell asleep with the knowledge that I wouldn't be bothered again by snakes, bugs, alligators, motorists, high prices, heat or humidity. It was a wonderful way to finish a bike journey through the Deep South of the United States.