After our night in the man cave we were dry, but lots of our kit was damp due to the previous evening’s drenching. That said, sleeping in a dark, dank old fort proved much more comfortable than expected, although we decided not to leave a review on Tripadvisor!
Surprisingly, the only wildlife that visited us in the bunker during the night appeared to have been the endangered Alabama beach mouse attracted by Maureen’s McVitie biscuits that Paul had broken open after an attack of the munchies. The usual abode of the little critter is holes in the sand dunes, but perhaps the lure of a good old British biscuit proved irresistable and he kept Paul awake for an hour as he scurried around his sleeping bag hoping for a few stray crumbs.
Fortunately we emerged before any tourists had arrived (the batteries were scary enough on their own, let alone occupied by two soggy Brits) and the rain and the fog had cleared. We ate tubs of Del Monte oats and fruit for breakfast and then cycled the 200 yards or so to the ferry where a handful of cars were already waiting. As the ferry arrived we met briefly with James, who was cycling from Austin to Fort Lauderdale, but we were called onto the ferry just as he got off.
By catching the first ferry of the day we were more or less back on track. Our original plan had been to sail the night before and camp on the other side, but now we were on our way across the entrance of Mobile Bay, we’d arrive on Dauphin Island in time for a much needed cup of coffee and would have 60 miles to cover for the rest of the day. During the two mile crossing we took in the delights of the bay – a strange mix of industrial oil rigs, pelicans and eider ducks.
Approaching Dauphin Island, we could see Fort Gaines guarding its eastern extremity. Like Fort Morgan it had played a significiant role in the Battle of Mobile Bay during the Civil War and a couple of huge cannons still guarded the entrance to the bay, although these days it seems the historic fort is at more risk from erosion and hurricanes than a naval attack.
We landed on the island and cycling no more than half a mile down the road, spotted a bakery sign pointing down a side turning. The Lighthouse Bakery turned out to be a proper English-style tea room – right la-di-da and quaint. We sat outside on the veranda and iced cinnamon twirls (Paul’s favourites) and lattes were ordered and dispatched.
While we took refreshment we had our usual half hour (minimum!) chat with folk who were interested, surprised and impressed with our venture. This tme it turned out to be a couple who had driven down to visit the local gardens, which apparently were quite an attraction, so much so they inisisted on showing us photos on their ipad. The things we’ll do to delay getting back on the bikes!
So, before long we were way behind time and still with 60 miles to do. A series of coastal bridges took us north towards the mainland, first hopping onto Little Dauphin Island and then to Cedar Point on Mon Louis Island. With Mobile Bay to our right and the Mississippi Sound to our left were were surrounded by water – and wildlife. Cycling down this narrow strip we saw ospreys, sawbills, a couple of dolphins, brown pelicans and even a group of nine white pelicans, overwintering on the Gulf Coast.
At one point we passed a bright red Dodge Ram, its owner down by the shoreline gathering driftwood. As we rode on the truck passed us and parked up a short way ahead. The driver jumped out and introduced himself as Kelly – and he was delighted to discover two Englishmen on his home turf and invited us back to his place, which was just a mile or so up the road at Heron Bay, for coffee. We could hardly say no. Schedules are all very well, but there’s no point travelling to somewhere new and not taking time to talk to the locals.
After locking away his small pack of dogs (I’m still terrified of them, even though they always seem more interested in Paul) he welcomed us into his home like long lost friends, sat us down in his living room, beamed with delight at his English guests and went straight for it. “So, how did you both vote on Brexit?”
Kelly turned out to be a 40ish Trump voting, Confederate flag flying, dog lover with four guns and a passion for British TV. It was clear within the first 30 seconds of our conversation his political views were as far removed from ours as could be imagined. After expressing his disappointment that we’d both voted remain we spent a great hour discussing Brexit, the history of American gun ownership and various recent hurricanes and their effects on the local communities on this exposed stretch of Alabama coastline.
He described the place where he lived as Holiday Harbour, but said it was known locally as Hard Luck City. Many years ago it had all but been wiped out by a hurricane which had caused such devastation that afterwards they found bodies hanging in the trees.
“The couch you sat on today; had you been there during Hurricane Katrina water would have been to your neck,” he recounted. “ I swam in from the bridge and picked up live oysters from the middle of highway 188”.
He described how these had once been prime fishing grounds, but the oystermen and shrimpers were now all gone along with their catch. We assumed this was down to the Deepwater Horizon disaster in 2010, but Kelly put it down to limestone rock being put into the harbour.
“He spent his afternoons watching Time Team, Bargain Hunt and Doctors”.
Kelly had a lot of theories about all sorts of things and when we asked him about why he supported Trump he explained how he loved that the President spoke directly to people through Twitter, without any filter. Kelly was nobody’s fool, he was intelligent, with a Bachelor’s degree and his wife Daphne was looking to start a doctoral degree in the Autumn. He was also a self-confessed Anglophile, loved the Romans and spent his afternoons watching Time Team, Bargain Hunt and Doctors.
It was good to get outside your own echo chamber and hear a well argued different view. We still agreed to differ, but it had been a friendly and fascinating conversation and he left us holding a bag of fruit from his backgarden and a promise to keep in touch.
Back on the road, our ‘schedule’ shot to hell, Kelly hadn’t quite finished with us. Shortly after we left he caught us up in his truck, and then directed us down to the bayou to see a house Nicolas Cage had once lived in … it turned out to be a stunning neo-Greek Federation style mansion … wonderful. And the ride along the shoreline was a bonus. Thank you Kelly – it was both enlightening – and a pleasure!
At Grand Bay we woofed down a supermarket lunch … the deli waitress loved our accents – and Paul tried some of the local catfish. Shortly afterwards we crossed into our third state – Mississippi – and then we did something anyone who follows the Adventure Cycling Association maps knows you should never do. We broke away from the prescribed route and headed off into the unknown to try and reach New Orleans from the eastern approaches.
When riding the TransAm anyone we met who had ventured off the maps recounted horror stories of appalling traffic, fearsome dogs, or dead-ends. But our reason for ripping up the rulebook was twofold. Firstly, unless we did so we were never going to make New Orleans in time. Although the ACA map does include a spur going down to the city, this starts in Baton Rouge and approaches from the west side. We simply didn’t have time to do that.
Secondly much of the Southern Tier route had been pretty crappy so far anyway – and our route south simply meant spending more time on the 90, so we knew what to expect. Our main hope was that there would be a shoulder. We could put up with the traffic, we just needed a few feet of safe tarmac to see us through. So, instead of heading north to Wade and Vancleave we continued south west through Pascagoula and then across the Pascagoula River.
Our aim was to get to the Davis Bayou Campground, Gulf Islands National Seashore before sunset when they shut the gates. We just made it and the route worked out just fine.
We appeared to be the only cycle campers, with most of those on site in more luxurious RVs and trailers. We were instantly befriended by William, who had been born in the Bronx to Puerto Rican parents and had driven out here to avoid Mardis Gras – where we were heading! He was so helpful, running a cable from his trailer and fixing up a light so we could see to put up our tents. He then made us coffees – what a star.
“It was like listening to a group of teenagers larking about after downing cans of cider down the park. Except these guys had sharp claws – and teeth”.
William then told us about our other neighbours – who weren’t quite as helpful – the racoons! It seemed this campsite was their favourite meeting place and in particular the dumpster, which was just a little too near our tent for comfort. As we spoke we heard them crashing around the bins, looking for food and when the camp warden Kevin wandered over, William suggested that perhaps we’d be better pitching our tent a little further away.
Kevin, who was all smiles and so laid back he was almost horizontal, didn’t seem to think we’d have a problem. As he left he added, almost as an afterthought, that our nosiy neighbours could open the zips on tents. “Hide all your food, or they’ll have it … even from inside your tent”.
So we decided the best course of action was to eat it ourselves, so they didn’t. Noodles, McVities chocolate digestives and a peanut cookie were wolfed down before we got into bed and lay there listening to stripe-tailed mammals causing chaos outside. It was like listening to a group of teenagers larking about after downing cans of cider down the park. Except these guys had sharp claws – and teeth.
Today’s miles: 62.15
Total miles since Anastasia State Park: 642.58
