I was rudely awoken from my sofa slumber by a flash of lightning and the crash of thunder. It was only 5am and it was sheeting it down outside with the forecast predicting it would continue all day. It was also promising thunderstorms stretching out across the rest of the week all the way from Pensacola to New Orleans. That kicked our plans into a cocked hat. There as no way of cycling in that.
After a long hard chat discussing our options and the safety implications of cycling on unknown roads in potentially dangerous conditions we decided to stay put in the church for a couple of days. It was warm and dry and besides which had an endless supply of biscuits, which turned out to be Paul’s favourites.
So we drew up yet another plan to get to the Big Easy and that’s exactly what the plan was – we’d hire a big car which would get us and the bikes there easily. We could even drop the vehicle off at Baton Rouge and use the Air BnB we’d booked before taking the greyhound south and catching the party in time before everyone packed away their masks and went home.
“It seemed the weather had finally put the seal on us completing the challenge”.
We felt very downhearted having chosen the non-cycling way out, as neither of us are quitters. It would mean cutting more than 200 miles off the journey, but it seemed we had no choice. We weren’t worried about getting wet, but having experienced the dangers of the 90 in the dry we chose survival over suicide. It seemed the weather had finally put the seal on us completing the challenge
So with the car sorted for pick-up in three days’ time, we moped about a bit and twiddled our thumbs. Then the room where we’d slept slowing began filling up with pensioners for a Zumba class. We did contemplate taking part, but not feeling on the best of form we were worried they’d show us up. Besides which, bending and jumping around in lycra when you’re in your 50s and 60s should never be a spectactor sport. So, we killed time showering and washing. It certainly wasn’t a bad place to spend a few days – and the rent was free!
By around 11am it had stopped raining and the sun came out, so we ventured outside. With bright blue skies replacing the rain clouds it was so warm we needed to break out the sun-cream. What was going on? We cycled to the historic quayside and went ‘ooh’ and ‘aaahh’ and ‘wow!’ looking at an historic ship and attempting to take photos of a posing pelican.
While down there we met a family from Texas and got some tips of what sort of conditions we’d face crossing the Lone Star State. It turned out it would still be very cold at night and our thermals, which had so far been unused, would be coming our for an airing. At this stage though Texas still seemed a world away and as we explained our plan to hire a car we couldn’t help feeling deflated, made worse by the fact that it was now positively tropical.
We cheered ourselves up by going for a posh lunch in the historic district and made yet another bad decision. What we both really craved was a decent coffee and I wanted some vegetarian food, but instead found we found ourselves in a restaurant that served neither.
“There’s hardly anything on here I can eat,” I said downheartedly scanning the menu. It was at that point Paul turned my attention to a large metal porker standing on the pavement just beyond the outside tables. There was a handle on its side and it lifted up to reveal a large BBQ griddle inside. Somehow we’d missed it – and the fact that the establishment was called ‘The Swinery’. It was turning out to be a pig of a day.
“Paul’s meticulous packing regime is toast!”
The food was excellent, albeit on a hog-based theme, but I did find a dish they could provide sans hog and then we dashed over the road for a long-awaited coffee. While we sipped away, people watching, I studied the map and suddenly had an epiphany. “Let’s just go!” I declared, downed my last drop of coffee and stood up. Paul looked a little confused, presumably thinking I wanted to catch the last few minutes of Zumba, but then it dawned. The Southern Tier was back on!
So we raced back to the church, chucked everything in the panniers as quickly as we could (Paul’s meticulous packing regime is now toast!) and cycled like the clappers towards the Big Lagoon State Park before they shut the gates. A quick phone call confirmed they had space for us and we promptly cancelled our hire car. Eggs and baskets came to mind, but there was no backing out now.
Riding down the very narrow cycle lane on the 262 ( which would have been appalling in bad weather) we put our feet down on the flat and covered the ten or so miles to the junction with the 292A at Pleasant Grove in well under an hour. We hardly even noticed the traffic. Pulling into a food store Paul waited outside while I popped in to boost our supplies.
“Cookies for Girl Scouts?” Paul heard someway say and then turned to see an attractive woman at the open boot of an SUV. “Are you Australian?” She asked and, when he answered to the contrary she tentatively ventured “New Zealand?” before he put her out of her misery.
Having travelled in Europe, Laura was disappointed she hadn’t identified the accent. Paul was just happy to have a conversation about something other than rain, routes and roads. It turned out she was selling boxes of cookies, which were stacked up in the back of her car, to raise money for the Girls Scouts of America. The Girl Scout Cookie programme helps girls develop five skills they use throughout their lives – goal setting, decision making, money management, people skills and business ethics.
Sadly those five skills didn’t seem to include baking cookies, as the biscuits were in a pre packaged box and made by Little Brownie Bakers in Kentucky. It reminded Paul of his time as a cub and ‘Bob-a-Job’ week, when he would knock on people’s doors and ask if he could do some chores for a few pennies.
“If I’d have been a few minutes later Paul would have bought enough baked goods to put the whole troop through college”.
Hardly tall enough to reach the door knocker and wearing his cub cap, badge-adorned jumper and blue and green scarf (with woggle) he imagined the conversation. “Hello there – sorry to bother you, I’m raising money for our next cub camp and I wondered if you’d be interested in some money management advice?”
“What?! Are you on something kid?”
“Well how about I go through your business ethics with you – it will only take an hour?”
Looks of disbelief on the doorstep. “Look, you little snotbag, you can clean my car for 50p or sod off – alright?”
Mind you, the Girl Scouts weren’t doing it for nothing. Laura was selling the cookies for $4 dollars a box which must have meant a profit margin of around 75%. Finding the store I’d visited only sold clothes I emerged back into the sunlight to find Paul filling his arms with boxes and asking if I had any change.
“What’s going on?” I asked, surprised to find him looking through the boot of an SUV with a soccer mum.
“What flavour do you want?” he asked. “Laura has peanut butter if you’d like. They are for the Girl Scouts. Look Laura’s got a uniform in the boot too,” he added with a smile.
“Don’t push your luck,” I remarked, paid the money and dragged Paul back in the road with a knowing glance. “I only left you for five minutes and you are buying food out of the back of a car!” he said.
“Good job she had some cookies since there was nothing in your shop,” he ventured, extolling the virtues of the lovely Laura and it was hard not to argue. Although I think if I’d have been a few minutes later he would have bought enough baked goods to put the whole troop through college.
We took the 292A south past the Pensacola Naval Air Station onto the Gulf Beach Highway and arrived at the Big Lagoon State Park just after 4.30pm where the warden, Mickie Quigley, whose daughter was a keen cyclist, seemed to take a bit of a shine to us and let us camp for free in the youth section. Maybe she’d seen all the cookies we were carrying?
While we were pitching our tents Maureen and her husband Earl turned up. “Word gets around here fast – you’re from England and are cycling across country so we’ve come to listen to you talk,” said Maureen handing us a plate of cakes and melon slices.
Maureen, 77, had originally been from Leeds and had walked the entire Appalachian trail in six months at the age of 71. Along with husband Earl, 89, they live in Maine and have been volunteering in state parks for 20 years. They were a breath of fresh air – much younger than their years and keen hikers.
We walked across the boardwalk to the white sandy shore, ate our cake and melon and watched the sun go down as an Osprey fished in the calm shiny waters. The contrast from this morning was astounding. “You know what that was don’t you?” Paul asked and I replied immediately with two words: “Trail Magic!”
It had appeared when we were at our very lowest. Tomorrow we’d push onto Dauphine Island and hopefully into Alabama. The Southern Tier was back on. We went to sleep listening to a strange mash up of a frog chorus mixed with the roar of jets from naval station. It had an eerie resemblance to our night camped at First Landing in Virginia where we’d started the TransAm nearly five years earlier. It felt like we’d turned a corner.
Today’s miles: 16.23
Miles since Anastasia State Park: 536.37
Wow. I hadn’t realized quite how hard this was early in the trip! Nice you two finally got a break.
Yes the Florida stretch was definitely the hardest! Personally I’d advise scrapping that part unless you can find better roads, possibly through Panama City.