Murrs Across America

I’m rather behind in posting. Perhaps you’ll understand. I’ve decided to include here my notes for missing days in attempt to catch up to where we are tonight in Tupelo, Mississippi, birthplace of Elvis and home of Bicycle Pacelines and hospitable southern gentlemen like Steve Carter. I do intend to write relevant posts based on these notes later.

Everywhere we go, we’re talking with people about our aim to promote family engagement, health, and environmental mindfulness. While people seem to be interested in our message, they’re also especially interested in our story, and they generously reciprocate with stories of their own. After four weeks on the road, I feel like through the slow, gentle pulse to the telling and the living of these stories, a new landscape–one mingling our shared journeys–is emerging. The stories and the people are more vibrant and seem more extensively connected from our  800+ miles of bicycle travel. My hope is to share some of this unfolding topography  this with you.

May 9, 2010

• Terry and Linda teach parenthood extend graciousness
• Mother’s day Brunch-boats, music, and vodka
• Sidewalk stress- unrelated to vodka
• Alligator Alley
• Sculpture for Barbie at Beef O’Brady’s
• Doug Bean the Good Samaritan
• Presbyterian Campground

May 10

• Doug Bean rocks
• Preschool- Jane misses friends, crafts and structure
• Dillon and Jeff breakfast, dishes, marketing discussion
• Construction of skirt for Barbie: notebook paper, glue, markers, sprinkles
• Ride, tired Brady
• Lunch behind Tom Thumb under small live oak, tired Brady
• Quick! To Bay Minette for new flag and fast flip flops
• Gas station meeting of Lori and Trampas
• Red Doors and Mason, a young southern gentleman
• New house, new start
• Stu eats three bbq sandwiches and two other dinners
• Visiting, stories, and a guitar lesson

May 11, 2010

• Big breakfast
• Pack, Drive, Drop, Cry
• Lunch warnings
• Ride attempt fails: Kate senses danger, halts progress
• Driveway
• Cold Drinks with boys digging a hole to China
• Lori and Taylor, rescuers
• Dairy Bar in Coffeeville
• “I can’t wait to read the blog”
• Camp set up
• Goodbye again

May 12, 2010

• Last of the oatmeal
• Poop and green flies
• 10 miles to town, bad road, Burly breakage
• Picnic, friendly assembly
• JP, super mechanic/gentle spirit
• Hills
• Ezell’s- MaryAnn, Janice, Sherry, Kim and friend, Bronco’s been married 51 years.
• TomBiggby River camping with moose

May 13 Thursday

• River
• MaryAnn’s swimming tub
• Hot
• Rest
• Hot
• Linden
• The Whistle Stop Café
• Kevin the hospitable team roper
• Tea Failure
• News is depressing

May 14, 2010

• Left Kevin’s, no cleaning allowed
• Grocery Store
• Vote Demos Jones for 5^th district Commissioner, Coatopa, AL!
• Epes and the lady in the red dress at her mailbox
• Epes store, Bonnie and Andre, friendly hosts.
• Kate cooks a semi-real meal
• The Sandlot and The Great Fear

May 15, 2010

• Highlight of the ride: stopping to throw rocks at a Bud Light can
• Aliceville’s Bermuda Triangle and meeting new friends, Sarah and Phil
• Storms
• The organic farm at Starkville
• Blackberry shortcakes

May 16, 2010

• Resting
• Farm tour
• Arts and Crafts
• Sarah sews Barbi a real skirt!
• Kate prepares large Indian feast
• House edits
• Storms

May 17, 2010

• Pheba One Stop and Bobbie McKee
• The Natchez Trace
• Matthew the philosopher biker
• Witch Dance
• Headaches
• The Great Fear in a Hole with a frog
• Seeds

May 18, 2010

• 2 a.m. storm
• Crunchy coffee
• Pilot/ Potty training mayhem
• Ladies on Spokes
• First emergency fast food devoured
• Bike store Brian
• Tour de Tupelo with Steve
• Dragging Stu from hardware store
• Johnnie Burgers
• Second dinner
• Beds are for sleeping in, not for jumping on.

Audie left us in a parking lot at Perdido Key. While it was probably a little nerve racking for him, this drop off seemed not nearly so scary to us as when Christopher left us in St. Augustine. We simply put our gear and bikes together and headed west. There is a fantastic bike lane along this stretch of road until Orange Beach, Alabama where the route turns north and scary.

We stopped for a picnic lunch on the beach of leftover Chicken Marengo and Publix treasures including cashews and fresh veggies. After lunch we chased crabs and spent a long time watching bivalves burrow in the sand. We had wanted to volunteer with oil spill clean-up efforts while we were in town, and though I contacted several organizations, most required training, and I didn’t find any that just wanted helpers for a day or two. We had heard beach-cleaning crews had already pre-cleared the local beaches of debris, and as we picnicked, a group of Navy cadets shoveled sand off walkways.

The ride afforded us views of the highly developed shoreline and a great bridge view of the bay.  We posed by the Welcome to Alabama sign, happy that we had traversed our first state.

As we turned north on Highway 59, though, the good feeling, at least for me, disappeared amid three lanes of traffic and no real shoulder to speak of, save a foot-wide aggressive rumble strip. After a few miles of literal nerve jolting travel, we sought the air-conditioned shelter of a Publix where we bought ice and a box of popsicles, which we shared with grocery store patrons. Clearly, we were procrastinating.

When we did leave the store, we cautiously made our way to a point where a bike trail magically appeared along the road. Fortunately the East Shore Trail is straight and smooth along the Point Clear shoreline, which features stately, well-kept and well-sighted second and third homes nestled in woods behind signs boasting family names and puns.

We met officer Fred along the trail, who said we were welcome to camp behind the Fair Hope police station. Knowing we had a safe spot for the evening, we decided to stop for dinner at Tamara’s Steamers where we met one of the most lovely couples on the planet, Terry and Linda.

Before we had exchanged names, the pair had invited us to stay at their home. Even though they were finished with their dinner, they stuck around and chatted with us, picked up our dinner bill, and gave us solid directions to their house, just a little ways past the police station. The roughly four miles in the dark was a bit much for me after the jostling, stressful, and long ride we’d already put in. We stuck to sidewalks after hearing horror stories of the way locals disregarded bikers, which was additionally agonizing for me, since the weight distribution of my packed Burly pushes my bike around on curbs and uneven surfaces. At one point, we were poised at the top of a sidewalk hill and I froze. Jane told me to count to 10 and come on, so I did, and Stuart kindly rerouted us to hilly neighborhood streets.

Our hosts met us outside to guide us in to their driveway, then led us to their bedroom, where they had a futon mattress waiting for the kids, and a big king-size bed waiting for us. After tucking in the wee, the adults visited and enjoyed good tunes and Southern Comfort served from an heirloom green glass eagle poured into small barrel glasses.

We Skyped this morning with Springield’s KOLR 10. We rested and played, visiting first the National Naval Aviation Museum and then the beach. We made Audie and Vicki one of our favorite dinners and after the clean-children-that-I-love-most-in-the-world went to bed, I made oatmeal walnut shortcakes and we had those with strawberries and homemade whipped cream. Rest days rock.

We knew May 6 was the National Day of Prayer because signs every 20 feet along Highway 90 told us so. In a perhaps unrelated story, as I was donning my bike shorts this morning, I accidentally flashed the preacher.

Cursing (quietly), I pulled up my pajama pants and went to change clothes across the street at the filling station, which features outdoor bathrooms for which you don’t even need a key. There, the kids and I met Bicycle Tourist Paul, who gave Jane a Barbie doll (sans pants) he had picked up in Madison. She had been bungeed to his rear pannier because he said he couldn’t resist picking up a half-naked blonde. I think Paul will have a good trip, and as he headed west I reminded him that it was the National Day of Prayer.

Jane was delighted with her new friend, who she took for a dip in Blackwater River a few miles down the road. We had a picnic there and saw the funniest thing: a man paddling upriver whilst standing on a surfboard. The man made this feat look easy in the strong current, then he turned his odd vessel around, picked up a passenger couture life-vest-wearing dog, and continued to paddle his board downstream.

This day was not without hormonal raging for me, and I earned three stars easily with a fit that ensued after I fell off my stopped bike into the road after missing a turn. Of course this was Stuart’s fault, and so for a 5 mile trail stretch into Milton we rode separately and I had a small pity party during which I stormed ahead of my family and considered compiling graphic images of my bruises and scrapes in a photo album and presenting it to Stuart on our upcoming June 1 eighth wedding anniversary.

Fortunately, the fantastic Milton bike shop, Truly Spokin’, was right next door to a chocolate milkshake. Or a really neat place that serves chocolate milkshakes, Sherry’s Lunchbox. Don’t miss this efficient stop in Milton, dear bikers. Sherry will fill your bellies and Victor and T.K. at Truly Spokin’ will handle whatever ails your bike.

Audie (the father of our good friend Mr. Eric Street) picked us up at the bike shop and took us to his home in Pensacola where we met his lovely wife Vicki and cleaned up for dinner. We dinned on the beach at Flounders, an iconic Pensacola restaurant, where the kids played in the sand and where Brady learned to head bang.

Breakfast at the Hotel DeFuniak was as impressive as the hospitality and the ambiance. Below Brady demonstrates how much he enjoyed the French toast and Jane writes postcards to her friends Bela and Abbi.

We bid Cate and the hotel staff fond farewells and visited Richard over at the café, where Jeffry with the local press caught up with us. I ate a burger with a fried green tomato that was pretty outstanding and we met several interesting families who checked out our story and our bikes. It is always great when kids are curious about how Jane and Brady are traveling. Brady usually shows off his baby, and Jane generally shows off whatever small “treasure” she has at hand. She usually always has some sort of seed.

As we rode toward Holt on Highway 90, I had a lot of time to think about the inspirational people I had met in DeFuniak Springs. Cate had been a city slicker Texan but always wanted to work in a small town where the community was engaged and tight-knit. She investigated a lot of choices and systematically chose her career at the hotel. She is loving it. She loves the proximity to the beach, the feel of the community, the influx of nature, and the rewarding work. She does a great job, too. Another guest at the hotel was ill that morning, and Cate made her a special breakfast, called the local doctor, and in every way attempted to make the guest comfortable. When people are doing what they love they positively impact everyone around them.

Jeffry enjoys his job at the Herald and his life in DeFuniak. But as we were talking about the bike trip he mentioned a dream he has that he has yet to realize. He knows very clearly what his vision is, and he knows the primary reason why he isn’t making steps to accomplish his vision: fear. I respect tremendously that he has been able to identify both his vision and his roadblock, and know that such awareness is often difficult to come to. I wish him big breaths and small steps toward his dream.

I had a conference call in the afternoon, so we found a brilliant playground and waterpark and the kids splashed around while Stuart rested his legs.

My wheel started clanging about two miles from Holt. When we pulled up to Bill’s Country Buffet, we discovered there was a razor blade jammed in my tire! Because apparently, people discard RAZOR BLADES from their car windows. GEESH!

At Bill’s, five plates of food later (Stuart says to clarify that it was I, Kate, who ate the five plates of food, not the entire family), Rick the Local pointed us to the church next door where Pastor Fred welcomed us to camp in the churchyard and handed us a New Testament. As a bonus, Church Member Jeff finally revealed to me the meaning of a hand painted, obviously cornerstone sign we had seen back in Caryville that read, “Caryville, Home of Best Worm Fiddlin’ in the World”.  That’s a story for another day.

Thank you to Cate and the DeFuniak Hotel, Jeffry and the DeFuniak Herald, and to Holt First Baptist Church.