Mississippi--"I was an only child. He was an only dog."

That isolated thunderstorm? It camped right above us...all.night.long. I got out of my tent when I heard the first little pitter patter of rain to put on my rainfly so I didn't get wet, but things in the back of the truck did not fare as well. Both of my Brooks saddles were drenched, along with my helmet and sandals. A food box that we kept dry goods in also had about 3" of water in it. Sigh. Fortunately, everything in the box can be replaced. Karen and Liz did some damage control and I rolled out of Donna's driveway around 6:30.





Our thanks to Donna for being so gracious to host us, even when she was away, and also to Piccolar for being "on call" at such a late hour to see that we were settled and had what we needed. You dear women are in my prayers. And my apologies for the poor, low light picture of Piccolar, but we got there in the dark and I wanted a picture!










I zigzagged a little to get on the Trace and headed south from milepost 161. The Natchez Trace is 444 miles long and does not allow commercial vehicles on it. It is as smooth as butter to ride and I loved it in the early morning. It is lined with oak, pine, cedar, and other kinds of trees to provide some shade along the way. I especially love the pine and cedar trees...they are so fragrant in the warm sunshine. The plan was for Liz and Karen to bump up the truck and ride back to meet me. When they passed me I knew they weren't going to get very many miles in...I was making good time. There was something very comforting about seeing the truck come up behind me...here are my friends...my comrades in this adventure...








Liz had to bump the truck ahead while Karen and I rode along the Ross Barnett Reservoir. She came back to us via the "old" Natchez Trail, so the three of us rode that back through the trees to where the truck was parked. It was noon and I had over 60 miles. I finished up the day with a mere 942' of elevation gain, 100.3 miles, and an average of 14.21.

We loaded up my bike and headed west towards Natchez and Highway 61 south. We drove through St. Francisville where Karen had spent a rest day a few years ago riding the Southern Tier with Woman Tours. There are gorgeous plantations in St. Francisville, and it would have been fun to explore a bit, but we were headed east to Peaceful Pines RV Park.

I wasn't impressed. They charged me $15 for each of our itty bitty tents, while a 30' motor home that has power and water pays $30. Our site didn't even have a picnic table. We did, however, have a swimming pool...a pavilion of sorts...and wifi, which told us that there was a 55% chance of a thunderstorm tonight. We asked if we could sleep in the pavilion. Permission granted. Most of the campers were here for extended periods...like the fellow who saw all of our bikes and equipment and came over to see if we had a pump he could borrow. We did. He's here for another two months while he works on some sort of construction project.


We opened a jar of smoked salmon that my dear friend Jerilue gave me. I am going to do some salmon fishing after my last day of riding in Alaska. A Ritz cracker, a little cream cheese, and a bit of smoked salmon. Very, very yummy. Incidentally...I hopped on the scales at Eli and Patty's house...I have gained 4 pounds. Good grief!

We decided to pitch the tents on the back porch of the pavilion because it was cooler...the pavilion building had a tin roof which made it very hot in the afternoon and evening. No rainfly...if that bloody storm comes along, I am going to drag my tent inside. The cicadas were so loud that I decided to wear earplugs. At some point during the night they quit...I'm not sure why. With fingers crossed for no thunderstorms...I headed to bed.

maybe you can't...because you won't...