MACH.14: Day 6 - Metamorphosis

Day 6: Metamorphosis

Saturday May 3, 2014

Copyright(c) 2014, Jim Beachy

“These people are serious about their departure time,” I tell Kitty.  “When they say 9:00 AM, that means everybody on the bikes, engines running, and pulling out at 9.  I  don’t want us to be the ones watching all the other bikes’ taillights as they roll out.”

So we make sure we're awake in plenty of time to be fully packed and checked out of the hotel in time.

When eating crawfish, one should carefully consider the implications of wearing contact lenses.  I learned this years ago in Memphis on some motorcycle trip.  Having eaten quite a few plates of extra-spicy mudbugs, I paid no special attention to extra hand-washing; the instant I touched a finger to my eye to remove the lens, someone lit a match in there that did not diminish for many minutes.  There was no remedy except to wait.  And then repeat for the other eye.

Since then I've learned how to scrub carefully around the fingernails, which doesn't completely obviate the capsaicin's effect but makes it tolerable.  It's the lesser evil compared to taking out the contacts first and figuring out how to affix my glasses after putting on my helmet for the ride.

This morning my eyes smart only a little and it's gone after a few minutes without residual effects.

At breakfast, Kitty asks about various people whom I probably know or should know but she probably doesn’t.  One such is Willie Davis, who I hadn't seen yesterday. Willie is a rather small man, quiet, unassuming, never given to telling a lot of stories about himself.  “But make no mistake,” I tell Kitty, “He may be the fiercest Iron Butt rider of us all!”

It’s another crisp and delightful morning, nothing but sunshine and blue sky, one of those mornings that makes a biker happy to be a biker. Maybe a gardener has that same feeling but it doesn't quite have the same ring, does it?  Riders start assembling their bikes in an informal queue so the ride can start in an orderly, unified fashion.  When the procession pulls out, led once again by Picky, filling in for Roger who's still in the hospital, Kitty asks what time it is.  I glance at the clock in the bike’s display:  9:00 AM exactly.  “I told you they were serious about their departure time,” I say to Kitty.

As a sidebar, I've resolved one mysterious issue:  Last night I discovered my Slime tire inflation pump, cleverly disguised as a Slime tire inflation pump, stowed in the extreme rear corner of the right saddlebag.  I'd checked there several times before giving up at the beginning of the trip.  I don't know how I could have  missed it.

The 30 or so bikes take a leisurely pace southward, a pleasant ride on Hwy 27 to the Natchez Trace.  The Trace is a bit like the Blue Ridge Parkway without the mountains.  Picky acts as our tour guide.  "If you look off to your right, you'll see some trees.  Now if you look over to your left, you'll see some more trees."  I don't count the miles but in probably 50 miles or so and with two rest stops we reach US 61, which we take northward to what has become another annual tradition: The Old Country Store (http://www.natcheztracetravel.com/natchez-trace-youtube-videos/562-old-country-store-restaurant-lorman-ms.html).

"My grandma was the Queen of cooking cornbread.  I'm the King of cooking chicken," proclaims proprietor Arthur Davis, quite famous in these parts and even beyond.  "If Colonel Sanders had my recipe, he would have been a five-star general."  At various times Mr. D will come out and sing for the patrons.

It's hard to argue with his sentiment, and while we are there, a number of other biker groups stop by for some delicious all-you-can-eat fried chicken.

We've planned from the beginning to tap out after lunch and head to Gulfport, MS to see our family.  After making our rounds of goodbyes we strike out in a generally southeastern direction for the 200 mile ride to Gulfport.

I've had the GPS generate a route via roads whose numbers I don't even know, but seems to involve Hwy 28, Hwy 550, and US 84 to Monticello where we pick up Hwy 587 to Columbia. 587 would be a fine 2-lane road if only it had a decent road surface.  I will avoid this segment on future rides. Mississippi roads tend to feature long stretches of forested areas with few towns and little development, so making sure there's a plan for fuel is a good idea.  At Columbia we pick up US 98 for a few miles to Hwy 13 and then the final miles on US 49 before following several street roads to our son Kevin and family's home.

We make room for the bike and trailer in the garage and the metamorphosis is complete:  Biker couple transformed into grandparents.

We are content to be with our Mississippi family.  We drive in the van about 15 miles to the Back Bay Seafood restaurant for dinner, but it really doesn't matter.