From Janie:
Friday, October 19. From Marston MO, through Kentucky, to Dyersburg TN.
Where to start the post about this day? With the Bates Motel Revisited (where we did not stay)? With the breakfast of Cheerios, no coffee, and yogurt from the car? With the four hunters on the side of the levee, waiting for the hounds to scare up . . . what? Racoons? Birds? What season is it in Missouri anyway? Or how about the farm with the miniature donkeys? Or the dead snakes on the road? Or the petting zoo with zebras, a camel, emus, a peacock and dozens of other animals?
Lots of pictures and some politically incorrect, but absolutely accurate and heartfelt, language.
We rolled early from the motel, anxious to get back on the road while the winds were at our back, and not blowing so very hard. We had a county road route planned, which in some states can include gravel roads. Guess what? Yup. Gravel roads, lots of gravel roads. Then paved. Then the four mile stretch along the top of the levee - beautiful pavement, good tailwind, swift cycling. A bald eagle in the top of the tree to the left of us. Gorgeous countryside.
Jody, riding on the first of many gravel roads.
Then . . . we hit the "Road Closed in 8 Miles" sign. Jody flagged down a pickup truck, just coming from behind the barricade. "What's up?" we wanted to know. "They done blowed the levee," he said. "Back in the spring."
The US Army Corps of Engineers had indeed deliberately breached the levee, back in the spring, when the Mississippi was flooding. The breach was located in a rural area, to avoid flooding in a more populated area.
"Can we get through?"
"Well, y'all can prolly carry them bicycles and walk across, but I don't know about the car."
We decided to drive down and take a look. See where they done blowed the levee. See if we could walk across. If so, Peter would leave us with extra tubes (Jody had flatted twice the day before, and Peter had changed out the thorn-filled tire as well) and drive around the long way to meet us at the ferry. Yes, I did say ferry. Off we went.
The road to the worksite was gravel on blacktop, then gravel on mud, then mud. Jody rode as far as he could.
The 'done blowed' levee.
Jody, riding through the mud up to the levee.
[Photo by Peter Doran]
Peter and Jody, assessing the route.
Jody is on top of the newly constructed segment of the levee. Hard packed, but no way to get The Little Darkness up there. None of us had phone service. No one at the job site, which was both good and bad. They couldn't chase us out, but if we were going to get stuck, it was really going to suck.
Jody's brakes, after riding through the mud.
[Photo by Peter Doran]
Jody walked on top of the levee, knew that he could get through. Peter walked down the road a bit. Have I mentioned that Peter lives in Vermont? Where you either learn to drive in the mud or you don't go out during mud season?
Jody picked up his bike and trekked the length of the levee down to where the road picked up again. Peter got back in The Little Darkness. "Are you ready for this?" "Sure."
There comes a point when you either trust your team or you don't. I trusted. Peter drove. Drive fast and don't stop - that's the key to driving in the mud. That, and knowing that it was slop on top of a pretty hard surface. Whooping, slip-sliding, and casting rooster-tails of mud up behind us. Right out the other side, then down the gravel road and past the other road closed sign. Muddy, but triumphant.
English is a wonderful language. Expressive, rich, idiosyncratic. The graduate seminar I taught when I got my MFA in Creative Writing (Queens University of Charlotte, 2007) was about how there are no synonyms. Each word has its own meaning - so, pick the one you want and use it. Even if it's politically incorrect. Here is the view looking back at the done blowed levee:
We don't need no stinkin' road!
[Photo by Peter Doran]
Then we were off to the Dorena Hickman Ferry to cross into Kentucky. We knew we were close when we saw the signs that read: "Road Ends in Water".
Note the signs: "Road Ends in Water"
[Photo by Peter Doran]
Waiting for the ferry from Missouri to Kentucky.
Where the road ends in the water.
Looking east toward Kentucky.
The Dorena Hickman Ferry
We've got a ticket to ride . . .
$14 for The Little Darkness
$2 for Jean-Luc
Driving onto the ferry was no big deal. We spent some time talking to the ferry boatman. (And bought Theo a shirt.) It was a windy (surprise, surprise!), but relatively short ride. Getting off, however, was another story. Big dip from the ferry boat plank to the sharply rising road up into Kentucky. And The Little Darkness hasn't got a lot of clearance. No matter how slowly we went, it was going to happen - we bottomed out leaving the ferry.
Jody rushed up to the car to tell us to stop - we were dragging a piece of the car behind us. Sure enough, the sporty part of the bumper - the plastic lower trim piece - had broken and was dragging under the car. Jody broke the rest of it off, tossed it up in the Thule box on top of the car, and we were off again. Shit happens - we should be so lucky it,s always simple shit like this.
The Little Darkness is not a pussy.
[Photo by Peter Doran]
Despite the gnarly headwind, I wanted to ride across Kentucky. Well, at least the 7 miles stretch of Kentucky that we were crossing to get to Tennessee. Out of the car, onto the bike, rode about 200 yards. Flatted. Jody rode by, headed for the border. Peter changed my tube. Flatted again. Changed the tire. The wind picked up. I got back in the car - having ridden all but about 7 miles of the Kentucky crossing! - and we were off to catch Jody before he got to Tennessee.
Jody rides across the Kentucky-Tennessee state line.
[Photo by Peter Doran]
Soon after, I returned home to my family, with a determination to bring them as soon as possible to live in Kentucky, which I esteemed a second paradise, at the risk of my life and fortune.
~Daniel Boone
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