This was a bit weird so soon after the start. I think it might be a hunting hide but dunno really. You can see the sail is up and I had a broad reach for 40km. The wind was 12-18 knots, up and down, and then less than 10 knots  for a couple of hours and then back up again. Although I tried without the skirt the kayak took on too mach water so I had to put it on despite the heat, which was 32 deg  C when I finished.

Not many birds again, but I eventually saw shags and pelicans. About that time two dolphins cruised past. The fins were quite large and the rolling motion not so pronounced.

There was no phone service but Julianne turned up OK at the start of the Pungo so we agreed a spot 10km up the river and met up there for the end of the day.

After the abysmal 18km because of the storm, 50km felt good. Total is now over 3000km

On one side of the Pamilco River is this

And the other side, about 8km across the water is this. The hills look like tailings but I’m not sure what this is.

From the cockpit about 3km from shore

This is the most shore protection I saw

10km up the Pungo River I called it a day. See how wide it is. Julianne had a crowd to meet me: Ella Hudson, Billie Mann and Eli Powell. BTW I am soaking wet here.

Everyone was talking about storms. They thought I was crazy to be going out when storms were forecast. True, I didn’t see too many people and one that I did see walking in Washington NC told me to be careful of the storms that were coming.

Paddling down our creek 

Having a breather behind some trees

I was paddling directly into wind which was like a 20 knot southerly so there was a bit of hard work but it wasn’t at sea. It was like when I paddled across Myall Lakes into a strong sou’easter on my way to Sydney or when I set off across Lake Alexandrina into a sou’wester.

Coming into Washington I noticed that there was an abnormally high tide because the lawns at the houses had about 15cm of water on them. I mused that maybe this was a storm surge so I had better just keep my wits about me. 

Washington NC

The railway bridge was open

After I had paddled under the railway bridge the sky looked ominous to the south east, dead ahead. The land disappeared so it seemed prudent to get ready for a downpour. A bridge was handy and I pulled in with a minute or two before it started bucketing down. It was quite cosy, apart from the sand flies but a few gusts of wind soon got rid of them.

As the rain eased something came round the pylon straight at me. “Bloody hell,” I thought, “not a moccasin!” I quickly paddled backwards only to realise it was just a stick. With that little heart flutter over I set off again with the wind down to less than 5 knots. It was bouncy but my speed was about 8km/hr.

Just a stick eh! 

It was pretty good for about half an hour and then the land ahead disappeared again and I needed shelter. A boat shed was about half a kilometre ahead so I sprinted for that and slipped under the roof, again with a minute or so to spare. The wind blew, the rain bucketed down and again I was snug as a bug in a rug.

Heading for the boat shed

 Snug!

Eventually, after many peals of thunder but no lightning to see, the rain eased and I was off again. After about 2km the last of the houses appeared and I was about to set off for 20km of wilderness. Unfortunately the wind had picked up and was around 25-20 knots and only an idiot paddles against that stuff.

Paddling into this causes blisters on my hands (and it’s not much fun)

I pulled into the bank with waves crashing all around and called it a day. It sort of looked like cyclone weather, like I was on the edge of something, but my confidence in reading northern hemisphere weather was about zero. Being soaked through I headed for the nearest motel. They had a bath and wanted $69 for a room. The bath was small but I could lie down and soak up the warmth. It was worth every cent. After that I looked at the weather channel which had what I would have called a cyclone on it; big spiralling cloudes. They were calling it Tropical Storm Ana with wind gusts at the centre of 60mph. Seems like it passed through to the south and headed north west.

Next morning looked the same on the weather channel. The wind blew, it was raining and it still had edge of cyclone feel about it. Turned out it was the earliest tropical storm they had ever had.

It turned into a rain depression well after it crossed the coast. The coast is ill defined because of the huge sounds (bays) slicing into the land, so that explains why it didn’t do that as quickly as a cyclone does at home. Seems like a tropical storm is getting close to what we would call a category 1 cyclone but a hurricane is a lot worse.

East Coast 1

Threats of all sorts of bad weather but I reckoned it was over hype so we were at the boat ramp at 9.00am ready to go. None of the media we contacted turned up but that is pretty much par for the course.

Greenville to the camp site at Tranters Creek against 15-18 knots of headwind was heaven. Lots of expensive houses, lots of wilderness and no markers to the creek. That’s about my impression of the day.

It was 34.5km with pretty easy paddling, some heavy showers and very humid. None of the wild weather that was forecast but I have found that a bit here. Forecasts are always on the dramatic side. The camp site is on the creek about 4km upstream of the junction with the Tar River so it was pretty handy to paddle to and only an 8km total sacrifice. Oh, an no moccasins (poisonous snakes) that everyone told me to watch out for.

Ready to go

Nice place to live

No boats and no people out

I was finally quick enough with the camera or maybe this guy was too slow

That’s Dwain. Pretty good set up. I watched him catch this bass which he threw back. He had caught 25 rock fish and also had 2 big catfish that are considered good eating

Hiding from the rain

Does this mean the water is low pH?

Plenty of grandfathers beard

That’s the sign to turn left into the creek

Klaas   Hi Ho all. Have not written a blog for a while. Nothing to add to whatever has been said by others. North Carolina is beautiful and I enjoy its scenery. I’m still waiting to see some of its wild life. Have seen deer, otter, rabbits and squirrels,  but so far missed out on mountain lion and black bear. I am also vastly disappointed in what I believed was the American supremacy in latest technology and innovation. Half the back blocks have no service on our mobiles, the locals enquire “Where you from ?” and when you answer “Australia” they either say “Oh yeah, saw it in the movie, “Sound of Music” , or Yeah man. I’m going to drive down there for vacation . Or, “Did you kayak across?” Wall Mart is not very efficient and their check-outs are ,in my opinion obsolete. Some staff are so poorly trained or plain stupid it’s hard to believe they are employed. Today we bought a load of groceries and the girl at the check-out was fine with everything pre-packaged, but ,eg. two cucumbers, “What are they”? She did not know what mangos were, or Roma tomatoes. What does that tell you about her diet?. Steve is back in his element and kayaking again. I think he suffered withdrawal symptoms during the biking episode. The motels in this country are on a whole inferior to what I’m used to. No coffee or thee making facilities in the room and no toaster. The people on the whole are very friendly and I have made some nice friends with people in the RV Parks. Happy mothers day to all you mothers and ta ta. Klaas.

The hills were flattening out to gently undulating country and the old fella and I went flat strap to finish the ride. With the temperature at 28^oC everything was starting to feel different.

Throughout the ride there has been strong contrast in the houses. It is not so obvious in Australia with the distinction between rich and poor areas but every day I passed through both. Covering 100km/day on the bike took me through vastly different landscapes from leafy country roads, to crowded cities and sometimes picturesque lakes.

Highway 70 just stopped in Salisbury so we just put Greenville into the GPS and it tooks us the shortest route. So far so good, but I didn’t want to have any more discussions with state troopers so we will just see were a bit wary.

We reached the outskirts of Siler City and booked into a motel at $45 after covering 105km.

The next morning an opaque sun tried to fight its way through the frosted glass clouds. With a temperature of 17 degrees, a following wind and ever decreasing hill size the day was perfect. An early start ensured it would be a big day. The temperature peaked out at 27 degrees after lunch and I peaked out at 141km. My goal of 100 miles in a day (160km) would never be reached because this was my second last day. Next day was only 62km and that was it – Greenville, the Tar River and then the Atlantic Coast.

The pedals have started to click and groan and I think their axles are a bit bent but for a cheap bike from Walmart it did the job. It got me 1400km over some pretty hilly country. I feel good and ready to hit the water tomorrow.

Met Jeff walking towards me: : https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-WHY-Project/704933462954364?sk=timeline

Out of Salisbury

Dutch Second? Does that make me Dutch first?

This is what hold the water for Dutch Second

Cool and leafy

We reckoned it was wheat

This yellow weed seems to be contained in relatively small areas and the livestock seem OK with it

Typical

This is in a city. It is hidden behind the trees. Note traffic lights.

Dunno how drivers are supposed to read these

Suburbia

Its a start but not quite deep enough for the kayak

Recreation area on water storage

Highway 70 comes back after 200km. Weird.

But it was short-livedWe had to turn onto the 42 shortly after

Poor Klaas. He really thought this might be a bar

More food crops getting closer to Greenville

Klaas liked this

Paddocks are fairly small

Converted school bus. At one stage a convoy of six passed me loaded with greenery

Typical bush beside the highway. Two highway patrol men checked us out when we were stopped here. They just wanted to know if we were OK. Unmarked car.

My last hill, if you can call it that

I’m here!!!

Walked into the Pirate Radio station and saw this

Pirates is the name of the local university football team and they like the idea of Radio Carolyn that I remember from the seventies.

Troy and Cliff: Live at Five   Good blokes and a ton of fun

More on this later but one of the problems is that it was a politician who presented the science ie An Inconvenient Truth. It seems that immediately politicized something that is fact, hence normally intelligent people are confused about whether to accept facts or to keep their belief system.

East Carolina Universtity is at the forefront of some climate research especially in paleo records. Politically they have censored public servants who will lose their jobs if they say “climate change” or “sea level rise”.

Like a speeding bullet I ate up the highway. No problems at all, just followed the “70” signs through rural areas and cities with the land getting flatter. The mountains were a distant memory and I had a sniff of the end of cycling, albeit with a few days to go.

After a late start the tally for the day was only 91km but with yesterday the average was still where I wanted to be.

My head is clear, my hands are getting soft, my legs are getting fitter but I am a long way from being a decent bike rider. When the road starts to go up it is not long before I get dead legs and have to back off or stand up on the pedals. This is totally different to paddling where I can flog my muscles until a tendon pops, which actually happened on the last day of the big river and is still not healed.

Julianne took her first shift at backup today with Klaas going fishing. He came back with plenty of stories but no fish. The camp site has lots of water with many people fishing, some in small dams and some in the main creek with pools and rapids. Success seems to be few and far between but for fishers it is not the catching so I am told, it is just the act of fishing.

The trains here all go slowly, 50km/hr and slower, with long macho blasts of the horn. It’s fine during the day but a bit over the top at midnight. They are the only evidence of the destruction in the region. All I have posted is of picturesque sites because that is all I have seen, but the trains are taking coal from areas where whole mountains have been removed. You can see the beauty of the area. Imagine the mentality of the people who raze these mountains. The destruction is almost unimaginable. Some of the most beautiful country I have seen, lush, green, productive, scenic, I don’t have the words but it is vast. Mankind then destroys it to get at a poisonous material that is changing the earth to a state that is unliveable for mankind. Why? It is insane.

While on that subject, check this out:

http://reverbpress.com/discovery/science/psychopathic-traits-more-likely-in-rich-right-wingers/

There is some logic to it.

It is a river but behind a dam so no kayak route

Gated community near the dam

Typical country road for the day

The cows came over to say hello

How they transport prime movers

Typical towards the end of the day

 

Back on the road at eight degrees, bright and sunny but after a couple of days off the legs reckoned this was a mug’s game. The first couple of kilometres were a struggle but the body settled in just in time to pass through Black Mountain and then head for the summit.

It was nuthin’. Highway 70 had merged into the I40 and the grade was not too bad. The distance wasn’t much either so I was at the top way before I expected. Then it was 10km downhill at six degrees slope. This was my best day’s riding yet. At the bottom the temperature slowly climbed, the road stayed flatish and I decided that Interstate Highways were much easier to ride than the old highways.

All went well for about 60km. The shoulder was wide and I felt safer than on the narrow highways. Heading east with the sun to the south meant that a lot of the time the road was shaded. I was actually enjoying myself, thinking maybe this bike riding stuff isn’t so bad after all.

Then the state trooper arrived.

“How many bikes do you see riding on the interstate?”

“None,” I replied also thinking, “same number as on any bloody road here mate”.

“Well that should tell you something”

“Yeah like what I thought”, but I actually said “there are no signs and it is a lot safer than the seventy”

“Speeds are too high, it is for your safety” was the trooper’s comeback.

“Like I said, it is safer here than the seventy where there is no room for bikes”.

He mellowed a bit and said that he personally couldn’t care where I rode but “dogooders” ring up and complain and he has to do something about it.

So, it was back to the seventy with its narrow edges and hope that people didn’t get too impatient waiting to pass a bicycle.

106km for the day but would have been more if I had been allowed stay on the interstate.

Resting on the way up

 

Not all that impressive but it is high to me

 

Handy, a small sign where you can’t stop

The long run down

 

Flat through the hills

 

Really enjoying this

 

Party pooper trooper

Riding 3

It was fourteen degrees, light breeze and sunny, perfect for riding and complemented the Nashville experience which we had all enjoyed. As we have moved north and then east from the Gulf area we all managed to understand the people better and they could understand us as well.

Tennessee continued with the bike signs coming out of the city. There wasn’t much logic to where they were sometimes though, it still seemed to be random placement of bike route signs in some areas. We didn’t see any other bikes for two days until a couple of guys out training appeared in the Kingston area.

The country heading east is a bit like paddling up most rivers. As you get fitter, the river gets harder and each time I reckoned I was done with going up hills another one would appear. I take back everything I said about Davy Crocket. There are mountains in Tennessee. They are not fun. I am not a cyclist.

Klaas was hopeless at organising the right winds for me. After battling a head wind he said he would sort out a tail wind. This he did, proudly boasting of his expertise. It was fine for an hour or so but that was it, head and cross winds again. He then reckoned that was what I deserved and it would make me a man. The way to get the miles done is to just keep at it, take whatever comes and put the hours in. There has to be a limit though, so we set it at about 62 miles (100km) per day. My speed was back to 8mph with all the hills so that was about eight hours on the bike. When you think that Pat Farmer ran over 80km/day from the top of the earth to the bottom, my effort is pretty lame. When I think of Bradley and Seda (family) riding from Harrington to the top of North Brother Mountain and back in a day, I feel pretty lame. It will be nice to eventually get back into the kayak doing something that I am better at.

On the map was a small place called Chestnut Mound. The climb up was the longest so far. Just when I thought it was getting easier and was about to roll over the top I would go around another bend and the road would get steeper. “Mound,” I thought, “that sounds like a hill. Hills have tops so the down run should be fun.” After 30km of riding along a hilly ridge that idea was long gone. Cookeville was just up ahead so we called it a day, tied the bike onto the front of the Ford and zipped down to the I40 to get a motel.

A couple of kilometres later the battery light came on. We made it to the motel, rang Ford which turned out to be half a kilometre away, and I took it round to them while Klaas stayed behind. Because the headlights are on all the time the battery was rapidly draining so when I pulled in there were probably only one or two starts left in the battery. It was about 5.00pm but a lovely woman called Karen said that they would look at it at 7.30 in the morning. I unstrapped the bike and rode back to the motel where we ordered pizzas for dinner and watched a couple of movies.

True to Karen’s word they got stuck in at 7.35am, fitted a new alternator and a new battery, and it was ready to go before 9.00am meaning almost no disruption to riding. We have had mixed service in America with phones, data services, sports and outdoors shops, and even Walmart, but every Ford experience has been good. They are not cheap, but for what you get they are not expensive either.

Highway 70 is a lot longer than the I40 for about 30km after Cookeville but much less traffic and mainly just a rural road, pretty much up and down like it was coming towards town. Maybe it was my imagination but I still had the feeling that there were a lot more ups than downs. It is interesting that mentally there had been many more lows than highs but that’s another part of the story. The sign coming into Monterey proudly boasts “where the hilltops kiss the sky” and it certainly felt like it. Perhaps mountains would have been a better word but hills was good enough.

We stopped in Monterey for a shake. Shakes are thick in America, even thicker than our thick shakes so you spend the whole of the drink with your cheeks sucked right in like egg cups. We had peanut butter flavouring which turned out to be surprisingly good. Not sure what good the sucking exercise is though, unless we needed to siphon a petrol tank maybe.

Monterey to Crossville is like riding along the top of the world even though you are not very high up. The trees were well behind the others we had come across in that the spring leaves were just starting. It wasn’t cold but it felt bleak compared with what we had been through. The whole area looked like a big wind had come in from the North East blowing trees down and shearing off branches. An internet search later showed that a huge storm had wiped out a lot of the Cumberland Plateau in February.

At Ozone Falls I was intrigued by a sign near the bridge coming into town. Klaas had stopped, so we took a break to investigate. About 100m off the road is a spectacular waterfall. The locals said they had just received rain and this was as good as the falls get. Klaas being who he is could not help standing right near the edge for a photo. There is no way that somewhere like that would be unfenced and un-signposted in Australia. Here, you could just walk down the track and straight off the edge if you were that stupid.

After a lot more smallish hills and then a bigger one we passed below Mt Roosevelt. Again we took time off to zip up to the top for a look. I certainly wasn’t going to ride up there although coming back down would have been exhilarating. You can see lots of water from up there, all of it lakes associated with dams. The eastern side of Tennessee is covered in dams.

Plunging down from the base of the mountain is about a quarter of coming off our East Coast escarpments, lots of fun but put into that perspective not all that impressive despite feeling like I had ridden to the top of the world. The bottom area was flat for many miles as the road wound around the lake areas of Rockwood and Kingston. Interestingly Rockwood was a dry county until six years ago and there are still dry counties in Tennessee.

It rained during the night so the next morning was a foggy start with expectations of a drenching as thunderstorms were forecast. The terrain was flat and there was no wind so the plan was to get as many miles down as quickly as possible. The temperature was twelve degrees but it rapidly warmed up, the road dried out and the sun shone again. Now that was a pleasant surprise.

Highway 70 is full of surprises. I was glad of that, sort of pleased that our maps were very limited. Farragut looked like any other small town on the map. Riding along the country road very wealthy subdivisions appeared. They were in communities with large, expensive looking houses. One after the other they appeared which was pretty strange being in the middle of nowhere. It gradually became evident though that I wasn’t far from somewhere big as I came into town. Farragut is big. It is wealthy. Large BMW, and other European car dealerships, same huge shops spread out just like in Texas, but with trees everywhere. It exudes affluence.

After another hour of riding the city just seemed to keep going. The wealthy look disappeared so I assumed that was just evidence of which side of town I was on. Eventually a sign declared that I was in Knoxville. Throughout the ride I had been surprised at how far I had come. Klaas almost couldn’t believe me when I had told him we were just 12 miles from Nashville a week ago when in our heads we had thought we were about a day short. So here was Knoxville, with the poorer area giving way to wealth, hills and no room for bikes. You just have to take your chance in one of the two lanes, stay off the edge especially when there is a rock wall beside you with nowhere to go, and trust that drivers obey the 3ft rule for cyclists. Luckily they do.

There were plenty of signs declaring that I was still on the 70 so I just kept on going through town. Klaas had the GPS set for a position on the other side of town and was up ahead. At the end of the city high rise the road stopped being just a road and fed straight onto the freeway. There was no other option but to keep going. Being the weekend cars were few so it was OK and after about 5km there was a sign showing the 70 heading east at the next exit. Eventually one of the familiar Purple Heart trail signs appeared so Knoxville had been tackled unscathed and I was headed in the right direction.

Again there was some rain overnight and showers were forecast but lady luck smiled on us once more. The day was uneventful, except for a sign letting me know that I really was at a mountain. Google maps had all sorts of numbers on the roads but luckily in real life there were plenty of signs with 70 on them. Newport finally appeared. It looked like a typical highway 70 area that the I40 had displaced, but on a bike you don’t go off exploring side areas, you just stick to the route so maybe I did it an injustice.

After a good night’s sleep the mountains that I could see were not so worrying. As it turned out the road flattened out as it followed a river, and what I will call mountains crowded in on both sides. It is the French Broad River. You depart from the river for an absolute bitch of a climb up to the state border and enter North Carolina. There is a great sense of achievement though, and as I had passed a few signs declaring that this was a bike route there are obviously people who ride this. Mad buggers!

Hair streaming in the breeze (I wish), I sped downhill to Hot Springs where there are lots of rafting companies. Let me try that sentence again. Hat shield flapping in the slipstream…. Oh well, it was a fine time until the road went up again. There were four slow vehicle lane sections as it wound itself ever upwards. Even mountains have a limit though. They eventually top out and what goes up comes down. The only worrying thing though was that the French Broad River was still there. It flows west. After crossing the Appalachian Trail I had hoped to have reached a summit but for my journey it was just an intermediate peak.

Highway 70 joins the 19 and heads south towards Ashville. The 19 is divided highway but luckily it had wide shoulders. After 8km I pulled off and headed through the suburbs which actually turned out to be highway 70. That was more good luck than good management, but take it when you can I say. Called it quits at Asheville East after 528km and won’t get back on the bike until Saturday.

Some of these are out of order, sorry.

Klaas having a go on a downhill run

 

Klaas:      Just back after five days on the road. Seen some beautiful country traversing the Appalachian Range which runs between Georgia and Main.  The scenery is magnificent and reminds me of Switzerland. It is so very different from Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi, which are as flat as pancakes. The biggest difference I noticed in this country are the non existence of pubs outside of the cities.I have travelled now several thousand kilometres (On the wrong side of the road) and have yet to see one pub. Plenty in the cities but not like in Australia where you to travel on country roads there is always a pub every fifty or hundred kilometres.Down here you see churches, literally hundreds of them. It seems there is a church every one or two miles.The Baptists win by around eighty five percent, followed by Methodists, Lutherans, Pentecostals, Presbyterians, Klu Klux Klans, and lastly Catholics. Talking about the Bible Belt. Take your pick. They all fiercely compete for what I presume is the same God. Different States have different laws too. eg. You cant purchase alcohol on Sunday in Louisiana but slip across to Mississippi and you can. Klaas

Riding 2

Good weather or bad weather, kayakers and bike riders eat it up. Some may say that I am biased but unless paddling up a flooded river, give me kayaking in the wind and rain any day. That said, on the bike on a pleasant day screaming down the other side of a hill that you have just conquered, well, you could get to like that pretty easily.

Oh, and another thing. If the kayak leaks a bit just sponge it out every now and again. Maintenance is minimal. Bikes have tyres though, and tyres have air in them. When you run over something sharp the air comes out and you have to stop and fix it. The good thing I guess is that the front one seems to be the one that goes down because the back one is just running behind a wheel that has already cleaned the road.

The bike came with standard valves and 700c tyres. Walmart don’t sell the same tubes as in the tyres of the bikes they sell but they do stock them with Presta valves. We discovered the valve issue when I went to put a tube in that I bought with the bike. Oh well, shit happens I thought, so we tootled off to the nearest Walmart which was less than 5 miles away and bought a pump. That’s when the trouble started. It took a while to figure out, but the inside of the pump didn’t fit the Presta valves. Once we discovered that and got a replacement pump life became a lot better. For a while there we were fixing flats every hour or so and it wasn’t fun.

Body wise it was a good thing to have done a shortish ride one day, move the van the next day, and then get back on the bike. By the time I got to Nashville the miles were just sliding by, even with the hills. I did have a tail wind, but knocked over about 130km that day.

Highway 70 proclaims itself to be a bike route in places. The signs seem to have been placed at random because mostly they are where there is 30cm of shoulder. I didn’t see any other bikes until twelve miles from Nashville when I saw an old bloke huffing along the other way. My excited hello met with a raised finger as he struggled with whatever demons were plaguing him. Two miles later a couple came towards me on a tandem and waved enthusiastically back. That was it though, sadly no more bikes.

Typical farm. I can understand why farmers want the water off their land but it does make a huge difference to the river system 

The road was raised above any flat land most of the way

 

Didn’t expect to see these but there were a lot of them

 

A lot more of these though

 

No city limits at Nutbush because it is not even a town. Now no sign of a mountain in Tennessee. No mountain top? Where was he born then? Did he really kill a bear when he was only three?  Was Davy real even. Oh dear.

Lots of places without many people. Must be more in strawberry season?

I didn’t swear. Not once and I lost count of how many times this happened

A real bikeway. Got this maybe 2% of the time.

Quite a lot of these signs

The sign says $1500 fine for littering. Seems to work.

Klaas waited at the rotunda for an hour for me to come past. He wanted a photo with the cannon. I was about a mile short, waiting for him to realise something was wrong. It was the first flat tyre. In the end I managed to flag down someone to drive through and tell him. Scores of cars ignored me standing there with a bike obviously in trouble with no front wheel, and me waving my arms above my head. After an hour about three people stopped. They were all over sixty. Young guys in their trucks just whizzed past, although two waved at me! The people who stopped were fantastic. One couple had even turned around to come back. As I have said, American people can be great. Can you imagine standing on a country road in Australia with an obviously broken bike , waving your hands above your head and for an hour having cars drive around you? Some of these people are sick and I blame the media, including one ex-Australian climate science denier.

 Lots of history

 Tennessee River. Looking upstream

 Looking downstream.

Look closely to see how high the water is. You have to go through water to get to the vans on the right. Lots more water to flow down the Tennessee into the Ohio and then the Mississippi all still in flood.

Very pleasant riding here

 

Taken between wobbles on fast downhill slide

 Lots of little creeks like this

 For Warren, who got Don and me through geology. This is everywhere around Nashville. Uplifted sedimentary mate?

 In the countryside one minute, then under the I40 and into Nashville. Not sure what the sign means but I just kept going.

Highway 70 in Nashville suburbs

My mate Hoody, who planned part of this with me reckoned the climate project, of which climate reality leaders like him and me, was based at Nashville. We had budgeted to fly over before the trip but in the end decided not to. Mario, with whom we were liaising, is from Boulder nearly 2000km away. I didn’t realise but tried to contact the climate project in Nashville as I was passing through. Unfortunately there is no receptionist, no person that you can talk to unless you know who you want. There is a media person but you just get a recorded message. I decided to just ride to the address on the web site, but there isn’t any mention of the climate project there. Oh the joys of a foreign country.

It is off to the  east from here so I will be off line for at least four days while the old guy head out and rough it while putting as many miles as possible under the tyres.

Legends corner eh!

 

Headed for the brew house probably

 

 

LYNNE. Well. Boys left early this morning for the first of three days biking.  We’ve had heavy rain for day or so and huge thunderstorms last night but weatherman seems to think its clearing up. For Steve’s sake hope he gets a good run of dry weather. Nice and cool so far for him anyway.  I’m left to my own devices so taking myself into Nashville. Am still chasing down likely contacts who may be interested in promoting some publicity but nil responses so far. Oh well, keep trying. Folks here in our rv park are very friendly, I’m finding. More outgoing, all out doggie walking, happy to chat, spending time outside their rv’s which is the opposite to what we mostly encountered down further south. I ride my bike around the park meeting and greeting. Some are families with small children. Great play centre for kids (and dogs) with pool and surrounds. Our near neighbours are a lovely couple who travel around rv parks, staying a while and working at the park in return for their park site. Great idea!. There are over a hundred sites.

The goal is to get to Paris. The river won, so Plan B was required. With a few hours sleep to recover from the river ordeals, I woke at 2.00am with the answer. I would get a bicycle and pedal across to the coast, which is only about 1600km away.

An internet search showed Bikes Plus had many awards for service so we tried there first. All I can say is that their web site had to be self-praise and worth as much. Service? Advice? The guy wasn’t even going to lower the seat so I could try it for size. What a waste of time, and probably unfair of me to not try another bike shop but I went to Walmart. It cost $150 all up with helmet, spare tubes, tyre levers and new seat. The seat was straight across for putting your backside onto without the other bit under the testicles that is usually there just lurking, waiting for an opportunity to inflict pain.

For decades I have thought bike seats were a crazy design and here was one exactly as I had designed in my mind, and it was only sixteen bucks. Back at the RV Park my test ride was less than perfect. The bike was too short and the seat was uncomfortable, but the gears were good. Oh well it’s only for a month I thought.

Doesn’t he look good. Beard trim and all. 

Klaas and I set off next morning to the departure point at the Mississippi. The first thirteen kilometres was on the river flat and then a climb onto the bluffs for a last look at the great river system. The seat came loose and the bike was uncomfortable. Klaas had gone ahead and there was no phone. Mostly the scenery was just farmland but there was small community next to a bayou. All the houses were small, standard long and thin shape of the poorer areas, and about 4m off the ground. Presumably that made them above any known flood level.

Note the seat

The climb up the hill past the grey Kudzu wasn’t as hard as expected because of the gears. Green patches were appearing all over, heralding the coming of spring and with it the mosquitoes. Klaas was halfway up ready for a photo so I grabbed a spanner and fixed the seat. For ten kilometres I had been able to experiment with where it should go so at least I got that right. After a drink and a chuckle at Klaas’s discomfort with the mozzies I set off with a new attitude to the bike. It was starting to grow on me plus I was getting a handle on what my speed would be. Unfortunately I was a big disappointment. My average speed was a bit over 8mph, not even quite 15km/hr.

The area on the hills was much wealthier and much more populated. Churches, mainly Baptist, popped up with monotonous regularity. Pretty soon we reached Ripley where Le Chef issued sandwiches which we both devoured in seconds. There were road works but I sort of worked out where to go until I came to a stop sign and wasn’t sure whether to go left or straight ahead. After trying to flag down cars and ask, I chose straight ahead. About six cars made sure their widows were up and just drove around me. It is so sad to see this in America. People are so fearful. As I found out earlier, hitch hiking in the USA is a thing of the past. Americans are now too scared for that to work. It is not a reflection on their generosity, just a reflection on their media.

Having made the decision to go straight ahead the man himself went whizzing across from right to left at the traffic lights a few hundred metres ahead. He had the GPS so he had to be right. Turning left I rode for a couple of kilometres and spotted an old bloke standing in his driveway about 30m off the road. I called out to him a number of times but it took a while to get through. This sort of behaviour must be foreign. Eventually he came towards me and he could not have been nicer. Together we figured out what I needed to do so I set off in pursuit of Klaas. Luckily he had stopped about another kilometre on. He had got to where we were by guesswork just like me. He had tried something in the GPS that had not worked but I just put the destination back in as I had done at the river and it came up with the route that the old guy and I had figured out. Back on track.

The country was rolling hills and a sign proclaimed the road a bikeway. It wasn’t the sort of bikeway I was used to though, just an ordinary bitumen road with about 40cm or less outside the white line at the edge. There was a green crop in most of the fields. It looked like grass about 40cm high but no doubt would mature into something with a head. Pity I am so ignorant of these things. I am not ignorant about water though and it was interesting to note the lengths that the farmers go to directing the water off their fields as quickly as possible. Back to the old issue of why the Mississippi, along with most rivers in the world, have to cope with more water and thus more power when there are significant rainfall events.

A drain in the field 

Runs into this one

These are not contour banks. Note flow in foreground was quite fast

The next town on the map was Nutbush. “How many Nutbushes can there be?” I thought, but this one wasn’t even a town really, just a name on the map. I took a photo of the sign coming into town. It said the town is unincorporated, whatever that means. Klaas had stopped at some dilapidated building up ahead. The sign on the building boasted Birthplace of Tina Turner and the road out of town was named Tina Turner highway. All in all it was pretty unimpressive. Apparently there is a Tina Turner museum south of there which is more accessible to the I-40, the main interstate highway, but that’s not where we were headed.

Brownsville was the next town. The houses set amongst the trees looked upper middle class and it turned out that Klaas thought it was a “nice place” along with my similar impressions. The ride through was pleasant and then something weird appeared. I couldn’t make out what it was but drawing closer it seemed like a huge sculpture of some sort. Called “The Mindfield” it was fascinating to look at all the pieces but I just couldn’t figure it out until I found the following by Beth Shaw Tripp.

“The Mindfield” is the creation and life’s work of Brownsville, Tennessee artist Billy Tripp. The structure was begun in 1989 and will continue to evolve until Billy’s death, at which point it will become the site of his interment.  Included in the network of steel are individualpieces representing various events and        periods of Billy’s life, especially the death of his father, Rev. Charles Tripp, in 2002.  One of the latest large additions, a water tower salvaged from a defunct factory in Western Kentucky, was dismantled, transported to Brownsville, and reconstructed single-handedly by the artist.  It now stands as a memorial to Billy’s parents as well as a testimonial to his current life, his belief in the inherent beauty of our world, and the importance of tolerance in our communities and governmental systems.

My backside was getting sore and my legs were complaining that although bike riding is a great way to get across the country, there are limits to what one should do on the first day so we called it quits at just over 64km.

The Mississippi Wins

Shattered, deflated, tired, emotional, downright buggered really, this how I felt after having to concede defeat. That’s two losses. First it was the Southern Ocean in South Australia in 2007, then the mighty US river. Ah well, better to have tried and lost than never to have tried at all. At least the fight was good and long before conceding this time. Better than being bashed up by a huge wave after about ten minutes and then getting hypothermia.

Memphis started so right. First I replaced my phone. AT&T had one the same, it was unlocked and we just put the SIM card in, paid the $32.50 and I had a working phone again. This was remarkable. Flushed with success it was off to Walmart. They had butane cylinders for a Coleman stove. Fantastic, and after rummaging around I found a stove. It had been opened and the clips on the case were broken off, but a stove and cylinders? I could hardly believe my eyes. Out of all the Walmarts and sports and outdoors shops we went to none had managed to achieve this feat. There were ten cylinders there so I suppose the next customer will find no cylinders and no stoves when they look. Too bad mate, that’s life.

We spent the afternoon looking up the river for a place where I could be picked up and had cell phone coverage. It was 60 miles away, three day’s paddle and all phones worked. Hallelujah.

Leaving Memphis

Ready for an early start next morning, Sunday, I had to cool my heels waiting for the TV people to show up ,but at 9.15 we established they were not coming so it was time to go. About a kilometre upstream some sort of outfall was bubbling below the surface. That explained the sign at the boat ramp warning people not to eat the fish. Shame really seeing as the city is bike friendly and had impressed me until then.

Here’s the probable cause

It was uneventful for 25km with the usual tug and barge activity near a city and then just plodding along against 4km/hr current. There was a new sort of barge though with different gravels on them, ranging from what we call crusher dust to 20mm aggregate. The barges have flat tops and the gravel is piled onto them. To unload, a grab on an excavator on a large barge picks it up and places it in trucks that have backed onto the barge beside it. A loader drives onto the gravel barge and pushes the gravel to the grab. It does not matter what height the river is because it is all floating.

Full barge

From the barge to the trucks

On the barge moving gravel to the grab

At 25km, a boat ramp came into view and being a Sunday there were people there. People are probably the scarcest life on the banks of the Mississippi. Unfortunately no-one wanted to chat. I got little more than grunts. Maybe they were in shock seeing some nutter clawing his way up the river.

People!

About 1.00pm there were a lot of small islands and the current seemed to be evenly distributed at about 3.5km/hr so I moved over to one. A brown head swam off from the bank at 45 degrees to a point 20m in front of the kayak. Whack! A big hit from the tail and it was gone. Beaver maybe I thought so I stopped for a few minutes, just paddling at the same rate as the current. Whack! This time it was about 20m from behind and next to the bank. In the meantime up in the sand, about 2m above the water there was a constant sound a bit like a kitten crying. Some sort of baby I decided and headed off, not wishing to upset its mum any more. About 1km further on a grey furry body dived just beside me. All I saw was its back but it was wide, wider I think than an otter. There is always birdlife around but animals are scarce. Did I just see two beavers? Who knows but it was nothing like I have seen at home so that’s an experience.

Waiting for the beaver

 

A farm just out of the water and about to go back under

About 5.30pm a sandy area appeared in the trees. This will do just fine I thought. Pity a million mozzies thought so as well but after 35km with a warm sunny day I was in fine spirits. Lighting the fire was easy but the mozzies were tougher. In the end I retreated to the tent, killed the 50 or so that had slipped in when I had left the front unzipped for a few minutes, opened a beer and ate some of Klaas’s chicken and cauliflower. It was delicious but I wasn’t all that hungry and kept most of it for the next night.

Kayak in background, fire in foreground

Next morning rain was threatening and I was on the water at 7.30am, an hour after first light. I had listened to the river during the night and knew there was a significant groin just up ahead so was pleased that I would be fresh to tackle it. After ten minutes there it was. The approach was tight with little room for a run up but it didn’t look too bad. I hit it hard, moving half a boat length into the torrent. Every ounce of strength didn’t help though, I was slipping backwards. Can’t give up I thought, so I moved out into the main flow of the river. Behind me was mayhem with whirlpools and roaring water but I started to win. Inching forwards I crept back towards the bank just 10m above the jet that beat me. Phew, it was over as fast as it had begun. I was safe.

Typical

Holey dooley, there was an eddy here and I was being carried into trees at 6km/hr. Steering left and full power half helped. I got past halfway through tree. My hat was torn off and I side slipped into the next treetop. No chance for the hat, it swirled a bit and was sucked under. Better my head wasn’t in it as it went down I thought. Stuck sideways in a tree top is not a lot of fun but with only 6km/hr current it is manageable and I eventually extricated myself.

Well that was an interesting start to the day I thought. No hat wasn’t the end of the world but the mozzies thought it was pretty good. There was no bank to put into and get something out of the bulkhead to fashion a hat with, so I just put up with it until a flash came to me and I reached around for the plastic container just behind me. The pressure bandage for snake bite did the job even if there was a bit on top that I didn’t cover.

There were small groins poking about 5m into the flow and at right angles to the rock bank. These were heaven for a kayaker. The flow around the end is about 4km/hr with no flow between and the groins were about 25m apart so I made really good time through this section.

Friendly groins 

Finally it started raining heavily enough that the mozzies gave up. Relief. I had figured how to put my handkerchief on my head before I wrapped the compression bandage on so I was pretty much under control.

There is a boat ramp to the right and trouble ahead

A house and farm buildings plus a ramp appeared before a high hill. The buildings were well up and there was slack water behind the hill. Round the other side wasn’t much fun though and it involved another two gut busters to get through. Up ahead the sand cliffs looked like they had been sprayed with roundup. It is Kudzu which dies off in the winter and was just starting to sprout some green leaves. From Wikipedia: Kudzu (Pueraria lobata) is a serious invasive plant in the United States. It has been spreading in the southern U.S. at the rate of 150,000 acres (61,000 ha) annually, “easily outpacing the use of herbicide spraying and mowing, as well increasing the costs of these controls by $6 million annually.”  Its introduction has produced devastating environmental consequences. This has earned it the nickname, “The vine that ate the South.”

Above the farmhouse 

Kudzu

A groin closer to the surface maybe, or further down maybe, had a smooth crest of water over it with a drop of about 150mm. It looked confronting and there was no way of avoiding it as it was right to the shore so I ploughed forward. Surprisingly I burst right over the top into water that I could paddle against. It wasn’t easy but it was not insanely hard either. Perhaps a pleasant surprise would describe the feeling of topping out and knowing it was beatable.

Good thoughts don’t last on the Mississippi and with rain falling and fog moving in I was in a narrow area with large grey rock cliffs. The first outcrop was tough. For a while I slowly went backwards until there was enough of a swirl that I could beat it. Backwards again then another swirl. Hard as you can mate, pull hard, do not slacken off. My legs were quivering as I tried to control the rudder. The spindly little things were trembling right up to where my backside used to be before it disappeared a month or so ago. But I made it. And I made it past the next one. For over a kilometre I fought that water beside those enormous grey cliffs. I did not let it beat me but I was concerned about the toll it was taking.

Really not good for at least half an hour big slog

The cliffs disappeared and were replaced with trees. There was no land though. None turned up until 5.30pm. There was some sand in the trees, just a narrow strip maybe 200m from the real bank. Was it high enough? It seemed so and I was tired. Being so tired is of concern because you need all of your wits about you to stay alive. There was a lull in the rain and I decided this would have to do.

I pulled the kayak up as far as I could which was about a metre above the water and tied it to a tree which is what I did every night. Like last night there was a lot of water in the rear bulkhead. Not sure where it came in but it needed to be checked before the next leg.

With mozzies everywhere and stupid me without any repellent, I settled into the tent with the new stove as rain started tumbling down again. I opened some barbeque crisps but wasn’t keen because they are so sweet. The beer was good and gave me enough energy to start heating the chef’s chicken cauliflower. This I forced down because tasty as it was, I could not get my stomach to want it. That was serious I though. Maybe ten hours with a few life threatening bursts and the rest just slogging on was a bit too much. As I was 77km up from yesterday the next day would be shorter and better I thought.

Futile drying attempt

I was lying on the small self-inflating mattress, about 20mm thick, when water started dripping on my right arm. It was coming in a seam and running along the floor to the corner near my feet. The rain was teeming down and a fine mist was coming in from just above my head. My plan was to lie on the mattress with the sleeping back covering me so as to keep it dry. Good plan in theory but it got wet anyway. The rain poured until 4.00am when a big gust came from the north, shaking the trees and cooling the air. The waves crashed on the sand and I was pretty sure the water was up. Daylight proved me correct with water almost lapping the kayak wheels, having risen over half a metre.

The only bit of land and that was disappearing fast

In all it was just a wet night camping but I wondered about my reserves. Most importantly my thought processes did not seem like they should be. I had muesli which I enjoyed, two coffees, a lie down for half an hour and then up and at it. At 8.00am I was on the water but feeling drained. One last look back from the river and I saw my life jacket. There it was hanging on the tree where I had hung it to dry in the cool northerly. That was the moment I decided to get off the river. Having suspected I wasn’t the full bottle, here was the proof.

The day was no better than the previous. Despite thinking I was strong, maybe I was kidding myself. The north wind blew fiercely, just like paddling the great straights of the Murray River only this time there was 4km/hr of current as well. I was wet from the waves, the sky was grey and purple and the bank was about 10m behind the trees keeping me in the current.

Shame it wasn’t as easy as this one 

A big groin directed flow at 30 degrees into the river. The whirlpools were murderous. Although there was no way around on the bank, there was a way through the treetops even though the path was narrow. The flow was fast but possible. Bursting into the trees the right back wheel snagged a branch. Dancing on the paddles I freed it only to have it catch on the stove across the rear deck. Great, now I had a tree branch between the wheel and the stove. Think. Think! Gradually, just keeping pace with the current using close to full power but not flat out I managed to move the kayak to the left. Phew. Easing off the power I slowly drifted back to safe waters, not an easy thing to do.

Next shot I stayed about 300mm wider. I was surging a head when a vortex swirled down from a large tree ahead. Left rudder. No, right rudder. No, left rudder. Into the tree top on the left now. The bow danced from side to side, the left wheel was snagged. Please not here I thought. What a stupid thing to think. Why was here any better or worse than the other places. Only this time it was after I had decided to call it quits.

Snagged, and if the kayak spun sideways I would be caught between the two tree tops and with this water velocity highly likely to be turned over. I backed off just enough to drift out of the snag. The tree to the right was still there but under full power and dancing rudder pedals I inched forwards. Twenty metres later and it was all behind me. Yet again I had made it.

The river was not finished with me though. Another groin, another fight, trembling legs, burning arms, sick stomach. Please, I don’t want to spew in the middle of this I thought. It might make me break my stroke which would be a very bad thing.

Then it was over. The river was straight with just the tops of trees to paddle beside with 4km/hr current if I could keep really close. Why hadn’t I reached the pick up point where they were expecting me at mid-day, half an hour ago? Passing houses and mowed lawns, the GPS showed that I was 2 miles past the ramp but I was as certain as one can be that I wasn’t. After paddling another kilometre I turned back and went up to a house. The current drifted me at 7.2km/hr.

The house appeared empty with just a Chihuahua and something the size of a St Bernard but after calling and then, giving up and starting to leave the owners finally came out. I asked how far to the boat ramp and was told about four miles. That was an hour and a half away. Demoralised and feeling done in I walked back to the kayak. I wasn’t sure I could do another four miles so I went back to the house and offered $20 to the man to drive me. His name was Michael and he was very pleased to so. At the ramp he would not take any money so I signed a book and gave it to him before driving our unit back to the kayak. As it turned out I had already paddled halfway from the house to the ramp because it was less than two miles.

When we got there his wife came out for a chat and insisted that I write Patsy, her name, in the book. Apparently they get a few people coming to their house on the way down the river. Some of the stories about people doing it in the last few years overlapped but they didn’t mention the guy with no legs that I had heard about a few times. They were a salt of the earth pair, chain smoking, very hospitable, up for a chat which always suits Lynne and Klaas, and because we were further north we could understand them.

Lynne took a snap of me at the kayak. Klaas and I dragged it to the vehicle and we set off back to Memphis after doing just under 100km for the three days. The river had won. On reflection I wasn’t despondent as I expected, just respectful of the river and the fight that had been raging. Maybe I was secretly pleased that it had taken the best I could give and spat me back still alive. On the river, with a trembling lip, I longed to just be a grandfather.

 

Klaas      Memphis Tennessee, staying in Elvis the Pelvis Graceland’s RV Park.,  Had a quick look around the grounds on arrival, what a money making machine this is. We are jammed in like Sardines but the amenities are good and clean. Elvis’ Pink Limousine does the rounds and picks people up from the RV grounds to next door for the house inspection and his two aeroplanes, which boasts Gold Plated buckles on the safety belts. (Wanker). Madam wants to see it all of course. Good luck to her. I, being a grumpy old fart, shake my head at the extravagance, the self indulgence and morality of a life of gross excesses. But, that’s how it is buddy. I see the difference between rich and poor everyday. Sub standard housing in every five states I have been in so far. Slavery might have been abolished a century or more but tell that to the vast majority of “Afro-Americans”. They still do all the manual jobs for little pay. Not all the beggars are black either, plenty of poverty around . Klaas

We sit outside the RV

Lynne Phillips and me

and along comes a bumblebee

Humming and hovering for all to see

A mate comes along, a he or a  she

and soon a dozen or more

are looking at me

They dart and dance and hover

and dive onto the clover

They can hover ,than dance away

Some dance the dance of love

Join up high in elevation

mating and begetting a new generation

They come down and check me out

and settle on me, their humming loud

I feel accepted and mighty proud.

Klaas   Good old America efficiency. Steve asked me to have the car serviced while he is paddling. We booked it in at Wal-Mart at 7.30 this morning The book-in clerk said it would be one to one and a half hours as there was only one mechanic on duty.

I went shopping and went to pick up the car at 9am but it had not been serviced yet, To keep it short, three hours later they took it in and ten minutes later brought it back and said they did not have the oil filter for this car. I am ropable, three hours wait for …………  American efficiency? Bullshit. They are way behind in a lot of things and prices for common goods are a lot higher then back home. One pissed off Aussy.

Lynne      Here we are settled at the Graceland RV Park on Elvis Presley Bvd.. Graceland is next door.   Steve is now kayaking to the next pick up point about one and a half hours from where we are. We found a boat ramp at a convenient spot along the river there. Phone coverage is iffy, but there is a house nearby if all else fails. We will start out early, as we have the car booked in for a service at 7am, so can continue on to pick up point.  .  His departure point was Mississippi River Greenbelt Park. I had contacted a journalist from Fox TV and she agreed to meet us there with a TV crew, she was to phone around 9am, this was Sunday. No Show once again. Having rung her at 9.15am she apologised for not ringing me. Her film crew were called to Nashville to a Memorial Service there, couldn’t make it, back up crew were not prepared to come in. Sorry about that.!! Steve was hyped up ready to go, it was disappointing for us all, however, hope I got good pics of his departure. We are finding that in certain areas efficiency is not high on the agenda. Klaas will no doubt let you all know about the NON car service….We accidently  left a bag of 5 items on the bag carousel at Walmart,  somehow lost the receipt, blown out somewhere, I went back to customer service to explain the matter but no receipt, no refund, however, I explained that the bag was probably still at the checkout and could someone check. 6 attendants were called to deal with the matter, she’s got NO RECEIPT was the cry! Sorry Mam, you must have a receipt, well that’s ok but surely a bit of commonsense can be put into play.   They  eventually let me go and pick up new items but I would have to pay for them OK I said, will do.  In the meantime another customer service lady came along, checked the check outs, found the bag immediately and off I went.  1 hour later. At the same checkout I had a 6 pack of Corona, I had to show my ID to say I was not underage, no flexibility there, the check out lady and I had a laugh about that, Rules are rules she said!!!.  Graceland visit for me today, thanks to the 2 ladies, Bess and Connie for befriending me, they were great and we had a fun time. We are now fb buddies

The final say from Le Chef

You all remember the song

Johnny Cash’ ” Big John”

We can all sing it along?

Steve has given his all

answered his conscience call

Kayaked where no man has been

through the swells and through the current

Upstream against the tide

no one else could abide

From the gulf to Memphis

battling all the way

none was a deterrent

“Do or die,” he’d say

Than the rains came up ahead

the river rose and became very bad

Still he went out and battled on

against overwhelming odds

the river pulling, trying to suck him under

a tree branch hit him from asunder

He stared the old reaper in the face

and decided to give up this race

his children and grand children

more important ,than what he was doing

It takes a “Big Big Man ” to admit one can’t be fooling

The “Old Man River.