Wednesday June 2, 2010
Copyright(c) 2010, Jim Beachy
But the ending always comes at last,
Endings always come too fast,
They come too fast but they pass too slow,
I love you and that's all I know
- Art Garfunkle (Jimmy Webb), "That's All I Know"
We are up and showered early, eating breakfast before the rest of the family so as not to interfere with their plans. The kids are going to an alligator farm today and we will be leaving at the same time they do.
Yesterday Kitty was sick with a fever, chills, and upset stomach. Last night she gathered a thick blanket around herself and was still shivering. This morning she pronounces herself "not quite 100% but ready to travel." I'm not so sure. I'm thinking we should hang out here for a day or two longer, regardless of plans or other commitments. After all, it's not like a sick passenger can sleep on the bike they way one could in a car.
But Kitty is steadfast, so at 8:45 we are saying our tearful good-byes to the Mississippi family and are ready to start our 1,020-mile trek homeward. Any journey of a thousand miles homeward from here starts with good-bye. You'd think this "good-bye" thing would get easier with practice, wouldn't you? But it doesn't, at least not for us.
"Bye, Papa. Bye, Nona," says Danica bravely. We wave good-bye, ease out of the driveway, and in 30 seconds are out of sight around the bend.
"Danica is doing pretty well this time," I manage in the headset. "Better than I'm doing!" Kitty seems to feel what I feel, or maybe she feels the lump in my throat, or it could even be she hears a sniffle in the headset, and rubs my shoulders in an understanding gesture that is beyond words.
It's already hot, 87 degrees under large puffy white clouds, as we run north on US 49. Off to the left are some black cows in a lush green field: Kitty's favorite cow scene. "There's your scenery for the day!" I tell her. "You won't be seeing much other scenery today!" Otherwise, few words are spoken as we each try to make the transition from grandparents to a biker couple. It's harder than I thought it would be.
Normally we avoid Interstates with a passion, but the trip parameters, maximal time with the family in Mississippi, and the need for Kitty to be home for a seminar on Saturday have conspired to create a mostly-Interstate ride home. We catch I-59 at Hattiesburg, and from there through Alabama there's not much to see on the Interstate except trees on either side.
A few miles north of Laurel, Mississippi, Kitty asks "Where's the next rest area?" We've traveled about 100 miles without a break. I check the GPS and see "Parking Area" about seven miles ahead.
"I doubt the parking area will have facilities. We can ride to there and then stop at the next place if there are no facilities," I tell her.
In a minute she says "We'd better stop at the parking area." Her voice is strained and I know something is amiss, because normally she wouldn't be asking to stop at a parking area without facilities. I sense trouble and unceremoniously duck off the Interstate at the exit we happen to be passing at the moment, Exit 104 for Sandersville.
"My eyes won't focus!" Kitty says.
"Are you dizzy?"
"I don't think so, but I really don't feel well and my eyes won't focus!"
I believe she's about to lose consciousness, and I have to admit I'm freaking out as I have visions of Kitty passing out and falling off the bike. I go through a mental checklist on how I'd stop the bike and what I'd do if that were to happen. I keep talking to her to make sure she's still conscious. There's absolutely nothing but trees and a narrow two-lane road here where we are, and not even a suitable shoulder to pull off. If I have to stop, it will be squarely in the roadway. I do a frantic GPS search for medical services, and the nearest listing is more than 8 miles back the way we came, in Laurel.
I slowly ride the mile to the tiny village of Sandersville, which has one gas station. I quickly pull in and help Kitty off the bike. She staggers and nearly falls as she slides off the passenger seat. "I guess I was about to go out and didn't realize it!" she says.
After sitting in the shade for 30 minutes and drinking a bottle of water, she feels much better. "I think maybe we should find a motel back at Laurel and just hang out for the day," I suggest.
Kitty wants to ride at least to Meridian, a larger town about 55 miles farther north. "I feel fine now," she says, "better than I did yesterday. I think it was just a combination of being sick yesterday and maybe not drinking enough water." We are both conscientious about drinking large quantities of water while riding, even if it means more rest room breaks.
I'm still dubious but I finally relent. "Ok, we can try that, but next time don't wait until you're passing out before letting me know there's a problem!" I'm wearing my favorite t-shirt, "Temporarily Out of Service," and I tell her we should swap.
By the time we reach Meridian she's feeling even better and wants to push on. As we roll northeast on I-59 and I-20, my Kriss Amp-U-Tron reads 90.7 degrees and clouds are gathering ahead. I can tell we're going to hit rain but don't think it's a large cell and opt not to put on rain gear. I'm right, it's just a little five-mile rain squall and as long as we keep moving at road speed, we are almost impervious to rain except Kitty's shoulders and front of her shirt where the still air pocket created by the big Tulsa windshield collapses. The temperature has gone from 90 to 73 degrees, a drop of 17 degrees, and it a refreshingly cool ride until the temperature climbs back up into the upper 80s and lower 90s.
I insist that we stop every hour for a 30 minute rest break. As far as I'm concerned all trip parameters are a thing of the past, and my only concern is for Kitty. I'd be happy just finding a place and staying there, but she continues to feel ok and wants to ride, although feeling a little queasy at times, and she hasn't felt up to eating. At noon we cross into Alabama and finally do stop at a Cracker Barrel in Tuscaloosa, Alabama for a late lunch at 3:00 PM. Now, we hardly ever eat at Cracker Barrel, but in this case I choose it primarily because of one of its consistent outstanding features: The slow service will insure that we sit there for at least an hour or more, which is exactly what I want!
We run through several more rain squalls and finally find a new Hampton Inn, near Gadsden, Alabama, so new it is not yet in my GPS map. We've ridden 362 miles in about 8 hours including over 2 hours 15 minutes of stopped time for rest breaks. I can tell Kitty has been feeling better as the day progressed; this evening she says she's tired but hopes she'll be fine by tomorrow so we can push on toward home. As for me, rather than suffer a repeat performance of today's adventure, I'll gladly stay put for a while.
Tomorrow will reveal its secrets when it arrives.
GPS Track, Day 11
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