Riding the White Line

Narrow Highways and Friendly Back Roads

Charlie at lower lake of the John W. Kyle State Park near Sardis, Mississippi.

October 19, 2007 — JOHN W. KYLE STATE PARK, MISSISSIPPI

Temperatures dropped slightly from yesterday, and a breeze straight out of the west made the pedaling quick and easy today. My knees are still tender in the mornings but are usually not noticeable by lunch.

I rode into downtown Helena in the morning and stopped at the Delta Cultural Center on Cherry Street to see the displays and historical collections. Most of the displays were about blues musicians who had had their roots in Helena. But there were exhibits about agriculture, steamships and railroad transportation in the Delta too. I wonder whether we’ll revere this music a couple hundred years from now the way that Austrians think of Mozart today. I like to think my ancestors will.

The Hernando de Soto Commemorative Bridge from the Helena side.

The big muddy Mississippi River.

Then I pedaled across the Hernando de Soto Commemorative Bridge, not to be confused with the similarly named bridge at Memphis. In 1991 on the 450th anniversary of Hernando's crossing of the Mississippi River, the Mississippi legislature named the Highway 49 bridge in his honor. The bridge is a long two-lane trestle that stretches over the Mississippi River and looks daunting, but it wasn’t too bad at all. I waited until a long break in the already relatively light traffic, and then pedaled like hell.

Highway 49 on the Mississippi side, however, had no paved shoulder, so it turned out to be more harrowing than the bridge. Eventually, I turned off on a side road near Lula and had little traffic to deal with the rest of the day. The side road led me northerly farther than I had intended, so I knew I had missed a road east, but I trimmed the sails at the next turn and was back on track following Six-Mile Lake Road.

Just after turning off of it onto a lightly traveled state highway, a guy in a big white pickup stopped me to ask the 10 questions. I think he said his name was Nardin, but I may not have heard right. He lived a bit farther up the road and said he had an extra ticket to the Ole Miss-Arkansas game the next day. If I stopped by his house, he would gladly give it to me. I stopped and his wife got me ice water, and we all talked for probably a half hour. If I had sat any longer, I would have started falling asleep, so I made my excuses and hit the road again.

Another hour and a half brought me to Sardis Lake and the John W. Kyle State Park. The lower campground is below the Sardis Lake Dam and borders a smaller lake. Lots of RVs, many with Ole Miss stickers. I fell asleep looking at the first-quarter moon high in the sky, Orion rising in the east and a shooting star that seemed to last forever.

Delta Heritage Trail

The video shows a little bit of a lovely pedestrian and bicycle trail in the making that starts at the Delta Heritage Trail State Park near Helena. Currently, about 15 miles of soft-surface trail are finished between Lexa and Lakeview, Arkansas, along the abandoned Union Pacific railroad spur that ran another 60 miles south almost to McGehee. Plans are to continue rebuilding the trail all the way to end up with about 75 miles of bicycle trail. Again, I borrowed some tunes from Ezra and Keith.

Delta Dog

A headwater swamp and a bicyclist who has seen better days.

October 18, 2007 — HELENA, ARKANSAS

Although the day dawned with some heavy clouds, rain never fell on me today. The clouds broke up by late morning, and I got more sun and heat than I really wanted.

I had meant to follow some back roads over to Marianna and then perhaps follow a secondary road down Crowley's Ridge to Helena that Bill had recommended, but I missed a turn coming out of Brinkley and ended up just following U.S. 49 all the way. It was lightly traveled and had a very wide shoulder nearly the entire distance, so it didn't prove a problem.

The marker at the Louisiana Purchase State Park.

A bit worn but still going.

As a result, though, I got to stop by the Louisiana Purchase State Park and the Delta Heritage Trail State Park to see them. The Louisiana Purchase park marks the spot at which the survey of the Louisiana Purchase began in 1815. There's a big stone marking the spot in the middle of a headwater swamp, and you get to it by walking a quarter-mile-long gang plank. I enjoyed the notes about flora and fauna, but the park has not much more than the big stone.

The Delta Heritage Trail promises to be wonderful, and already has a good start. The Union Pacific donated an abandoned spur line that used to run from Lexa, Arkansas, to near McGehee, Arkansas, for development as a pedestrian trail. About 15 miles are finished from Lexa to Lakeview, Arkansas, into a hard-pack trail. I don't know if they plan to pave it, but I rode about three or four miles of it, and it was nice riding, slower than pavement, but solid enough that yesterday's rains hadn't turned it into slop.

Other than that, the only notable event was getting a chocolate malt at Ray's Dairy Dream just before Helenna. It's always a good trip when you get your first malt before you get your first flat. Knock on wood, no flats yet.

Swimming in the Deep End

October 17, 2007 — Brinkley, Arkansas

There was precious little air in the sky today. It rained, then it poured, then it rained more, and when I didn’t think it could rain any harder, it did. At some point, the weather quit being rain and simply became the medium through which I rode.
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I had always thought of my bike in nautical terms: the front being the bow, the rear the stern; the port side left, the starboard right, the gear behind me being aft, and me sitting amidship, but I never before had to slow down for the "no wake" sections of a highway. Riding always feels a bit like steering a ship. I try to spot debris on the road — screws, nails, bolts, gravel, broken glass, broken-down Lincoln Continentals — 20 or 30 yards out and make very slight course adjustments early. There’s no easy way to make last-minute dodges the way I could if there were no weight on the bike. If I miss seeing something, it usually becomes safer to ride through it rather than scare the hell out of pursuing traffic. (Except for the Lincoln Continentals.)
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Molly texted about tornado watches south of me and that I should find shelter. Thanks Molly. Found what passes for a hotel in Brinkley just before another downpour.
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Bill made it in about an hour later, leaving New Orleans that morning and dodging tornadoes once he got into Arkansas. We got dinner at Gene’s Barbecue, where the Ivory Billed Burger tops the menu. No wonder they're so close to extinction. Bill is pretty sure he saw an ivory-billed woodpecker driving a volkswagen through town. If you haven’t checked out his photo journal, At War with the Oblivious, you should look through sometime. One of my favorites is this picture of a cafe window at sunset with all the reflections and reality and non-reality.

Somehow, neither of us took a picture of either of us eating barbecue. We know what we look like though.

Riding along U.S. 64 near Hartman

Took me awhile to figure out how to save this properly, but it gives you a sense of what about a minute's worth of riding looks like. Thanks to Will and Johnathan for suggestions and advice. I still haven't figured out how to transfer audio properly, so I've borrow a little music from Keith and Ezra.

Little Rockin'

Charlie looking at the Arkansas River at Parma Creek Park.

October 17, 2007 — LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS

I left Conway about 10:30 a.m. after waiting for the fog to lift. Then it was a relatively nice, cool ride down to Maumelle with low clouds. At Maumelle, I picked up pedestrian paths and bike routes for several miles and then stopped at a convenience store to ask about how to find the Big Dam Bridge. (No that’s not an epithet. It’s really a big pedestrian bridge over a dam, the Murray Lock and Dam.)

By that time, the  sky had cleared and you could see Pinnacle Mountain upstream across the Arkansas River. As I came down off the bridge on the Little Rock side of the river, a cyclist waved me over to ask where I was going. Turns out we were both at the Chile Pepper on Saturday morning. She, Marianne Park, is a triathlete and was out doing her interval training on Tuesday. She and her husband had both gone to the University of Arkansas and crossed over at least a couple years of my undergraduate days. Wonderful conversation while we rode in toward Camack Village. She had to turn around at some point to collect children from school, and I followed the bike routes on into town and grabbed a room at the Wyndham Hotel on the North Little Rock side of the river.

Despite the late start, I made it over to the Clinton School of Public Service in time to see Ben Beaumont, to whom I owe a great debt of gratitude. He gave me the tour of the Clinton School and then took me over to the Clinton Presidential Center where I got to see enough to make me want to come back to spend a whole day or weekend exploring. Then, Ben squeezed me onto the visitor list to hear General Wesley Clark this evening. Clark was great, reading a short excerpt from his new book, talking a little about leadership and then taking questions.

I sometimes forget how an American patriot is supposed to sound and what he or she is supposed to say. Cllinton and Clark leave no doubt. I’m not sure I would call Clark eloquent, or at least not in the way that Dale Bumpers could craft oratory. Clark talks in a way that seems smart yet plain and straightforward. It was nice to hear a real person. And at the presidential center, with all the electronic message boards and videos, Clinton’s voice was nearly always within earshot from one direction or another or both. His voice — regardless of whatever he happened to be talking about — has a calming, soothing effect, the kind of sound that you want to hear from the leader of the free world.

Stephen, Charlie and the Jolly Roger at Midtown Billiards.

But, pshaw. After that, I got a dose of real life. I found Stephen Steed down at Midtown Billiards and we rattled back and forth about everyone under the sun with whom we went to college: Paul, Leslie, Tyler, Sheri, Jeff, Mike, Michael, Dr. I, Valerie, Bill, Joy, and a dozen more. Two many beers to remember all the names. Stephen seemed like he was in rare form. Everyone who walked in the door gave him a big hug, including a whole kickball team. Lots of ink and newsprint gone by the way, but life goes on.

An All-Day Soak

October 16, 2007 — CONWAY, ARKANSAS

The thing about rain is I know when it’s coming. I just do. Perhaps I spent too much time living outside when I was younger. My recollection is that when I was 27 I figured out that I had spent a quarter of my life living out of a tent.

The Pottsville Inn, where travelers on the Butterfield Overland Coach stopped.

A pitcher window?

Regardless, I’m pretty good at divining the weather, especially if I’m in the element for any time at all. There are two sure signs that rain is on the way: All the farmers are cutting hay; and, you’ll see those horse-tail clouds sweep across the sky. I had seen plenty of both.

That night was the night I camped in the cedars near Dwight Mission, I bathed in the Arkansas River and then collapsed in the tent and fell hard asleep. Sometime in the early morning hours, though, I awoke. I got out of the tent, threw my poncho over the bike and tightened up the taut lines on my tent’s rain fly. I climbed back in the tent, and the rain started falling within 10 minutes.

It didn’t stop until I was nearly to Conway. I stopped at the train depots in Atkins and Morrilton for breaks from the rain. If there’s one good thing about rain, it is that I tend to keep pedaling rather than stop for photos or sightseeing. So I made good time into Conway.

The cooler temperatures helped too. My legs felt better, although I’m listening closely to the knees. Even little shifts in foot placement and leg motion can stress out different parts of the knee, so I’m being careful as I can with all that.

Fog is lifting here in Conway, so I should be back on the road soon.

Second Thoughts

A dry spot along the Bona Dea Trail coming into Russellville.

October 15, 2007 — Russellville

Yesterday, I looked good to make it to Russellville. Came through Clarksville a bit late for lunch but with plenty of time to make Russellville with plenty of daylight. However, I had my first mechanical problem just before getting to Knoxville (Arkansas, that is).

Fixing breakfast of oatmeal and bananas at Turner Bend.

The mainstay on my front rack tore loose. I had sort of rigged in a scary way to begin with and wasn't that surprised when I saw what had happened. Fixing it, though, took the better part of an hour.

Still thought I would make Russellville by dark, but my legs and will gave out about the time I got to Dwight Mission. I pulled over and bivuoacked in a stand of cedar, pitching the tent one stake at a time,laying down between each motion. I was nauseous, exhausted and worn.

I was ready to quit. I was going to ride into Russellville today, find a hotel, catch a ride with Bill back to Fayetteville.

It's pouring rain right now, so I'm grabbing breakfast and some wireless at the local McDonalds. Hoped the rain would let up a bit, but it seems to be getting heavier. It'll be slow-going to Morrilton and Conway.

Down the Pigtrail

Charlie at the Mulberry River at Turner Bend

October 13, 2007 — TURNER BEND

And so the journey starts anew. There is no worse six-word phrase in the English language, save perhaps “She noticed your fly is unzipped.”

That is what this tour is like to me, one of those dreams in which I am naked and no one seems to notice but me. Perhaps the clothes will come to me in due time.
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Observations about the first day. I am mortal. I am not 24 anymore. But I may be in better physical shape than my last tour down Highway 7 in 1993. You couldn’t necessarily tell it by today’s ride, but I think I am.

At Durham, just before the hills.

Also, don’t run a 10K before you start a bicycle trip. There are simple tactical things like the fact that I started bicycling in the midday sun rather than in the cool of the morning. And, well, yes, my legs were rather spent by the time I hit the hills just past Durham. My quads started cramping on a steep hill, and I simply had to stop and lie down until they loosened up a little. Even so, I rode most of the day with some level of cramping. I stopped at a little wide spot on Highway 16, the Walnut Grove community building, and napped for a half hour. It helped but only until the next big hill.

My hopes of making Ozark went by the wayside about the time I reached Crosses. I knew I didn’t have enough daylight to get there, and I briefly thought I might not make it to Turner Bend, but here I have pitched my tent among a stand of pines. By coincidence, I got to see a documentary film yesterday by Beth Turner, one of the namesakes of Turner Bend. She and I met more than a year ago when she came by the office to inquire about jobs at the university. We got to talking about the master’s program in the journalism department, and she decided to pursue a master’s instead of gainful employment. Brave woman.
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I passed the high point of the trip today. That is the highest elevation I anticipate crossing. It’s the pass just west of Fly Gap Mountain. I’ll add the elevation when I find it.
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The ride down into the Mulberry River valley was surrealistically scary, cars passing me on corners while the drivers talked on their cell phones. Who goes down the Pig Trail to talk on a cell phone? The motorcyclists were more gracious, but I never knew how many four-by-four ATVs could be loaded onto a trailer or just how wide trucks and SUVs had become. They're wider than school buses.
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In the FAQs, I said that the biggest change between 1982 and today seemed to me to be the dramatic changes in communications. There was no such thing as e-mail for the hoi polloi, no cell phones, no text messaging, no Web. This evening at Turner Bend, though, I got a text message from Bill. Who knew I would have service down here in the valley?

The note, nothing more than a short “how far have you made it” kind of note, had an unanticipated effect on me. I thought getting e-mail or text messages would make me feel as though I were only a moment away from home. Instead it made me feel like I was a million miles away. Still a lot nicer than being a million miles away and not having a note.

The battery is going to bed, and so am I.

A Prologue

October 13, 2007 — TURNER BEND

Well, absurd fool that I am, Saturday morning before starting the bicycle ride, I went over to Agri Farm and ran the Chile Pepper 10K. At the time, it just seemed matter of course. I love the Chile Pepper. It’s like a big carnival without the funnel cake. Spires of white tents catch the early morning light, blackbirds scatter among the cornstalks, litlle streams of people walk and run across the meadows to the bottoms, where the race starts. Soon, the race referee holds his flag aloft and whistles the runners to the start line. Gun’s up. He drops the flag and fires the starter’s pistol. A sea of people rush out across the dewey field. Who could stop me from running with them.

Batgirl, Charlie and Wonder Woman at the 2007 Chile Pepper.

Joe Fennel looked at me in disbelief when I told him before the race that I had debated whether to come. Then I told him about the bike and he said, “Run slow.”

My watch time was 53:39, a relatively slow run for me. Clock time was even slower because I stopped to help a runner who had turned his ankle. Good karma and all that. One of the nice things about the race was that I got to see a couple of the runners with whom I trained last spring. Coach McDonnell gave running tips to a bunch of us who were signed up for the Race for the Cure.

Anyway, the run took a toll on my bicycling. First, I didn’t get out on the road until 11 a.m. Second, my legs were like silly putty. But that all seems like fodder for the next entry.

Olé for Jose’s. Vaya con dios.