Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Upwardly Mobile

January 23rd, 2012

Three options scribbled in my pocket book. Run north, back over the exposed causeway from Dauphin Island, through the city of Mobile and around Alabama Bay to Pensacola. Or wait for the winds to drop and the ferry across the mouth to start running once more. Reaching Pensacola the same day, or stopping short at Gulf Shores. Dependant on daylight.

Quick check with the ferry company ruled out the last two options. They’d not be running today. And the forecast didn’t bode well for the next day. Safer option was to head for Mobile. Night there, then on to Pensacola the following morning. Little shy of one hundred miles.

I’d pondered riding for Pensacola in a single day but decided against it. I’d struggle to complete in daylight, even if conditions were good. Which wasn’t the case. Winds of around twenty five miles per hour, compounded by being from West-South-West – perfect crosswinds on the causeway. If I needed to walk in places, so be it.

So I settled on two days around Alabama Bay and on to Pensacola. Forty miles or so to Mobile, then a further sixty the next day. A relatively short run north to Mobile had the advantage of a delayed departure from Dauphin Island and the chance to exploit the predicted afternoon drop in wind strength. It might not be much, but it could be just enough.

I reflected a while on the plan. It’d work of course. And it was the only realistic option. Kicking myself a little for not having headed for Mobile in the first place, rather than dropping down to Dauphin Island. But it’d seemed a sensible move at the time. Spilt milk. Costing me two days and consuming much of my margin for reaching Miami and a flight back to the UK. Felt comfortable I could stick to the schedule, but I’d need to be pretty slick with packing up my trusty steed and all the kit. Lots of strong coffee.

obpostlogo

Share

Island bound

January 22nd, 2012

Tasty alternative to tuna I’d said. Smiling. She appeared unimpressed. I’d asked what Catch-of-the-Day was. Mahi Mahi. What was it, I’d asked. Dolphin. Subsequently adding it was the fish, not the mammal. Sounded good, I said. And it came with fries I thought looked a lot like proper chips. Thick. Crinkle cut. Lightly salted.

I was stuck. Dauphin Island. High winds preventing the ferry across Alabama Bay to Fort Morgan from sailing. Retracing my steps over the causeway and heading inland around the bay would cost a hundred miles or so. No choice but to wait it out. For now.

The island was largely deserted. Out of season. Small supermarket, couple of gas stations and a seafood cafe the hub of the community. Steady rain but warm. Dreary rather than depressing. Left pondering what I’d do the next day. Winds gradually increasing.

obpostlogo

Share

Oar House

January 21st, 2012

Just past the ’oar house I thought she’d said. Brief pause. Asked her to spell it. O-A-R, she replied, quickly adding that it was a restaurant. I was relieved. In all probability I’d spent the odd night in one of those places, quite by accident. Question of mistaken identity. Cheap hotel. But I’d told my Mum all about it. The story even featuring in the latest edition of Adventure Travel Magazine. So no chance of blackmail.

I’d crossed into Alabama earlier in the day. Brief foray, planning to reach Florida roughly twenty four hours later. Humid. Not oppressive, just a bit clammy. But unexpected. Memories of northern Australia. I’d half planned to stop for lunch at Grand Bay but found it uninspiring. On to Bayou La Batre. Brief late afternoon visit to Subway. Then push over the causeway to Dauphin Island before dark. Calling ahead for directions.

obpostlogo

Share

Dauphin Island

January 21st, 2012

Ken heads for Dauphin Island. Lots of water but not the Atlantic. Yet. But getting closer…

obpostlogo

Share

Into Alabama

January 21st, 2012

Ken crosses into Alabama. Short visit. Roughly twenty four hours to cross into Florida… or at least, that’s the plan…

obpostlogo

Share

Breakfast at BJ’s

January 21st, 2012

Ken visits a small cafe in Vancleave for breakfast. Not the most obvious of establishments…

obpostlogo

Share

Roundhouse

January 20th, 2012

Ken spends the night in a rather unusual building at a campground in Vancleave, Mississippi

obpostlogo

Share

Recognition

January 20th, 2012

Kathy knew I was English, she explained, because I’d said "Brilliant" and "Cheers" on the phone. Mostly my response to news that she’d a washing machine I could use. It was her own as the campground she managed didn’t have a Laundromat and the site was a little out of town. And she hadn’t asked if I was Australian.

Reaching the campground at dusk, I’d met Kathy at the site office. Actually her trailer. Greeted by two friendly Boston terriers and her husband, heading out for work. There were, she explained, options. I’d guessed as much on the phone. Perhaps something she’d said, her tone maybe. But I just knew there’d be more to it than a simple pitch for the night.

It was, she said, hexagonal, but everyone called it the Roundhouse. A fair approximation I replied, smiling. Set up on stilts, it had lights inside and out, somewhere to roll out your sleeping mat, and the washroom was close by. Kept it for her passing cyclists. Of course, I could camp where I liked. But the building was there if I wanted it. Explaining I was never one to make life difficult for myself, I accepted enthusiastically.

obpostlogo

Share

Southern States

January 20th, 2012

Antonio and Brian were riding west towards California and the Pacific. Ninth day on the road they said. I found this very reassuring, confirming my own timeline to the Florida coast to be a realistic one. Planes to catch. They’d been very spooked by dogs chasing them. I sought to raise spirits by explaining they’d not have the same problem east of Louisiana. Definitely a Southern States thing I added.

We parted company and I returned to riding through gently undulating woodland. Warm, sometimes even feeling a little humid. Tranquil. At a gas station a newspaper headlined with "Stone County quiet in 2011", although directly beneath this was written, in bold red lettering, "D I S A S T E R". I meant to buy a copy but then forgot.

Antonio and Brian had asked how long it’d taken to cross Texas. I’d hesitated briefly. Trying to recall where New Mexico had ended and Texas started. I ventured about three weeks. Rough guess I said. I’d just 650 miles left to the coast. Alabama tomorrow afternoon, Florida the same time the next day. Crossing an entire State in about twenty hour hours. Not that Mississippi or Louisiana had exactly taken long. Days.

obpostlogo

Share

Pulled in all directions

January 19th, 2012

It wasn’t the first time. Directions. Given in good faith but frequently flawed. Lefts and rights confused. Crucial twists and turns missed. Helpful landmarks omitted. The odd phone call to remedy. Assuming there’s cell coverage. But, as darkness approaches, in the cold and wet, less than amusing. No matter how well intentioned the advice may be.

I’d reached Poplarville, my first town in Mississippi. Following notes scribbled on the map to find the small apartment Margaret kept for passing cyclists. Quickly finding them to be flawed. Soon heading out of town. Never a good sign. Fortunately I’d a cell signal and was able to call her. She was very apologetic.

I’d not exactly known what to expect of my ninth State. Mish-mash of mostly film and television influences. Late 70s US drama Roots. Gene Hackman in the film Mississippi Burning. Scribbled in my pocket book Klu Klux Klan. And mud pie. Imagined it to be mostly flat and swampy. Instead gently rolling green fields. For the most part at least. And still the loose dogs, free to chase passing cyclists. Defining feature of both Louisiana and Mississippi.

obpostlogo

Share
Terms & Conditions of Use | Copyright © 2009-2025 Ken Roberts