Stereotypes are funny, because sometimes we don’t even know just how they got there in the first place. I suppose I have a stereotype in my head of the “South”. I figured everyone would say “ I do declare” before they went ahead and said something, I thought I would call everyone Governor (for some strange British reason), the girls would all be Belles and lemonade would be sweating on every porch I passed. I'm happy to say, that while this all may exist in the south, it's not the south I saw. I saw bayou, swamps and marshes in Louisiana, the enigma that is New Orleans, the north shore area, the forests of Mississippi, with it's rolling hills, pine forests and endless streams and rivers. So far, the south has been far different than I would have thought.
When I left New Orleans, there is a really large lake that made it hard to get to Mandeville, on the north shore of the lake, where I wanted to go. So, I had to go around, way around, lake Pontchartrain. But it was nice and I got to ride the entirety of the Tammany Trace, the only rail trail in the state. It went for about 30 something miles, from the factory town of Slidell, into Mandeville, north past the Abita Brewery and ending in Covington. I stopped half way in Mandeville to visit an old friend, saw a bald eagle, cypress strewn beach, art in a wine store, poured my own beer from a tap, played some cool games like Pigs and LittleBigPlanet, and made my way, via Hammond, to the state capitol in Baton Rouge.
Baton Rouge turned out to be what other cities have turned out to be: only as good as the host. I stayed with an intrepid warmshower host and THE bicycle advocate in town. I was able to navigate the streets, often with my host, through idyllic residential streets and got a taste of the city I wouldn't have gotten otherwise. “Its not where you are but who you're with that really matters” it's been said. I also had a good friend visit me, as I missed him n New Orleans. Sadly, a cyclist was killed during my stay and another injured by a drunk driver. Too many take driving for granted, forgetting that its a privilege and that it can often be a dangerous means of transportation. Baton Rouge, while slowly improving, was like many other towns I have passed through where the infrastructure gives no respect to the actual people living there. No sidewalks, or broken bad ones if they exist. No thought about how anyone can travel by any mode other than a motor vehicle. Thankfully cities have people like Mark, my warmshower host, fighting the good fight.
Leaving Baton Rouge, I enjoyed the Exxon polluted “scenic” highway out of town before getting on smaller country roads towards Jackson, where I stayed two nights to let some of the rain pass by. My warmshower hosts were amazing hosts, having put people and groups up for over 11 years!! They love it and it shows. And then my time in Louisiana came to an end as I made my way to the start of the Natchez Trace Parkway, in Natchez, Mississippi.
Severe storms and tornadoes were my welcome committee. A night escaping the thunder and lighting, a morning with dark clouds still high in the sky, and I started at milepost 0 of the Natchez Trace Parkway. The parkway extends 444 miles from Natchez, MS to Nashville, TN following more or less the old Natchez Trace route used by natives, traders, Kaintucks, and many others. It was a postal route, a corridor used during the civil war, traders up the Mississippi would float down, sell their goods and boat and walk back along the trace. It's a well worn path, that has seen it's share of history. Now, it's a top bike route thanks to it's low traffic, no trucks, free campgrounds, relative flatness (thankfully there are some hills to keep me interested) and nice scenery all along the trace.
I spent 6 days meandering along the parkway, passing through the heart of the state and the capital, Jackson, winding my way northeast towards Alabama. If it weren't so called winter, I would go all the way to Nashville, but it's darn cold up dar in the foothills. Instead, I left the Trace after staying at a bicycle only campground and headed towards the distant shores of Alabama, where the crimson tide does roll.
See the glory at picasaweb.google.com/bingleadventure
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