Tent pavillion |
Perry (she was named after an uncle) and Lep (short for Leopold) were amazing. Not only did they come fetch us, we showered in their house, had a place to set up our tent, and they fed us dinner. Of course I fell in love with them. She's totally a bike nerd and helped me with my brakes and suggested a readjustment of my saddle. Love. She and Lep built their house and used reclaimed wood throughout. Plus, they've been hosting cyclists since 1999. Total love.
The next morning they fed us again and saw us out. The weather was clearing up, and the day was looking to be fine. Perry said that they call the weather from the day before "the punish" weather; the weather before the reward (hence the Foucault reference). The first part of the ride was beautiful - rolling hills on tree-covered back country roads and minimal traffic. There was a moment when I was flying down a hill, under the shade, with the smell of honeysuckle all around where I thought I could weep. Yes, I'm becoming an emotional cyclist - don't judge.
We had to rejoin Hwy 61, but it was a different road at this point. It was still a highway, but nowhere near as busy and not lined with strip malls. It was hot, though, and the ride felt more like a "get from point A to point B" ride than a "wow, how beautiful is that!" ride. But we did see this...
I'm a little confused by the number of plantations one might visit here. I don't know, to me it'd be like being in California and getting to visit a historic reenactment of an internment camp. Not our finest moments if you ask me.
Natchez was a bit frustrating because to get to the Visitor's Centre we had to ride all over town when we could've gotten there more directly. And then the Centre was closed, and the vending machine ate my dollar. But my dad thought it might be better to stay in a hotel that night since we're going to be getting plenty of camping in, and we had laundry to do. Holiday Inn Express, I love you. (Hampton Inn & Suites - you lose since you weren't very helpful with a decent room rate).
We walked to Hot Mama Tamales where we both had the Gringo Pie. Quite honestly, nothing to write home about, but it was food, and there was beer.
Note styrofoam plate and spork! Mug was glass, however. |
Oh, and before I forget - yes, everyone thinks that my father and I are a couple.
I told you that is how you would be 'read' by strangers! The younger (most likely second) wife! xoxoxox
ReplyDeleteHey my friend--got this story earlier today from Liss. Amazing! You're amazing!! Rock on.
ReplyDeleteIn Mexico the lady at the hotel thought Gavin was my Dad!!!!! Twelve years later, he is still pissed!
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