With Wiggins off route, we decided to stay on state road # 26 to state road # 63. Only 36 miles, and it was more direct and ostensibly easier. The route was shorter in miles but longer in misery. We saved 31.5 miles. The conditions were as follows:
no shoulder
constant logging trucks in both directions
very few side roads/driveways for pulling off
(is this story getting old? It is for us . . . )
We pulled off the road for all trucks, any size, no matter what they were hauling (except Wal-Mart rigs - We'd go head to head with them every time) We'd quick head-check back for truck traffic, pulling off as they rumbled by. Monday's are busy down here and constantly yielding slowed us way down. I think I said "we're not suppose to be out on this road" about eight times to Chris.
Passing through Brenndale, Mississippi we crossed over the Pascagoula River a few miles later, then into Lucedale, where we took a hard right south on state road # 63. Conditions improved but the shoulder came and went like the tide. We'd roll along and watch the gap narrow, staying as close to the fog line as safely possible.
Heading south toward Escatawpa, Mississippi We came upon two large groups of prisoners out of a Dr. Seussian fantasy. They wore bright green and white horizontal striped prison garb while picking up roadside trash. We'd roll past, they'd all looked at us. A shotgun-equipped guard sat in an idling truck a short distance behind. I could not help wondering what put them behind bars. Convicts are people just like the rest of us but their crimes define them. We draw immediate conclusions about a murderer, far different than those drawn about a car thief.
We finally arrived in Escatawpa where Interstate 10 crosses over state road # 63. We ate a quick lunch at a freezing cold Subway. As we buckled down to leave, an SUV pulled up. The man in the passenger side asked if we were riding for a cause and raising funds. I quickly outlined what we were up to, he whips out a $20, hands it to me, wishes us good luck as the rig pulls away. Dinner paid for, and thanks so much for the gesture.
A few miles south on 63 we hang a hard left heading east on US Federal Highway 90. The road surface was brutal; old concrete with expansion seams. Sitting in the frigid Subway for lunch combined with 15 miles on jarring surface pushed Chris's right knee to the limit. It started nagging her at the top of the pedal stroke in flexion.
The land flattens out with no hint of elevation gain or loss. We're running along the gulf coast now closing in on the Alabama state line. Finally off of 90 onto state road 188, we cruised through dense forest with perfectly smooth roads, flat, comfortable, warm. A few turns left before arriving into Bayou La Batre, I looked back and Chris was slowing down. I looked back a second time and she says "can I get some help here?" meaning, drop back and let me draft a bit. Keep in mind she is a stoic rider, never asks for assistance or issues a "wait up" but just keeps churning. Her knee pain had ramped up again, power output down significantly. I dropped back and pulled her along, helping where I could.
Just outside of the town of Grand Bay, a dog trotting inside a fenced yard had a two-foot piece of aluminum siding in its mouth. He started barking as soon as he saw us. The bark vibrations shot through the siding, raising the pitch of his protests, like he was barking through a harmonica. I yelled "grab your camera" to Chris. As soon as she pulled it free of her bag the dang dog dropped the siding but kept on barking. The full effect would've been lost without sound.
Bayou La Batre (pronounced Bah-you luh BAT-ree) or by locals as (by luh BAT-ree) is "the seafood capital of Alabama" and is more famous than most of us will ever be:
Bayou La Batre is mentioned in the film Forrest Gump as the home of Forrest's army buddy Benjamin Buford "Bubba" Blue, whom he met during the Vietnam War. After Bubba is killed in combat, despite Forrest's attempt to save him, Forrest eventually fulfills a promise to Bubba by moving to Bayou La Batre, buying a shrimp boat, and trying to catch shrimp. Forrest and another character in the book, Lt. Dan, are out shrimping in the Gulf when Hurricane Carmen strikes the region; Forrest, Lt. Dan, and the boat survive, but the rest of the Bayou La Batre shrimp boat fleet is destroyed. Forrest and Lt. Dan then make a fortune catching shrimp and found the fictitious Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, based in Bayou La Batre.
In Winston Groom's book of the same name (upon which the movie was based), Forrest doesn't buy a boat to catch shrimp, but starts a small but ultimately successful shrimp hatchery in Bayou La Batre with the help of Bubba's father.
In April 2005, Disney Studios launched a secretly built pirate ship, the Black Pearl, out of Bayou La Batre for filming sequels to Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl.
Oyster husks piled up everywhere, the crushed shells the staple for use as gravel. The town felt like it was sitting directly on a beach island, the substrate bleached white shells. Here's a random pic pulled from the web, with random guy providing commentary
"Outside were huge piles of empty oyster shells, and a fine white dust
over the cars. We realized that the strangely white road
was actually paved with crushed oyster shells" said random guy.
We arrive at the hotel, clean up and remember the front desk clerk mentioning a great seafood restaurant "about 1/2 mile down after the second light." It was either that or Sonic Burger. We thought seafood more appropriate when staying in the seafood capital of Alabama, right? We stop at a corner store and tank up on juice, since the sweat poured off us in the humidity. We start walking, and walking and walking. The country road (no sidewalks, cars speeding by) winds this way and that, but no sign of the Lighthouse Restaurant. We stop at a car garage and ask how far the place was. We're told "just down a ways around that curve in the road." We walk and walk, crossing a bridge with ZERO pedestrian accommodation. Imagine timing a dive into a small inlet along the coastline while the tide rushes in, rushes back out. That's what it felt like, scurrying across this bridge before another wave of speeding cars came upon us in an instant.
We complete the country 1/2 mile in roughly 45 minutes, marveling at how different it seemed from an ACTUAL 1/2 mile that we'd grown accustomed to over the course of our lives. The Lighthouse had the most amazing hush puppies, while Chris said the fried oysters ruled the land far and wide. I am not a big seafood fan so I had a cheeseburger, one of the stable fuels used since California.
We considered calling a cab for the return trip to the motel but the thought lasted about one second. Once we started walking things got better. Walking after a meal cannot be underestimated. It works.
We slept well this night. The room was large, clean and comfortable.
over and out
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