Stick a Fork in Me, I'm Done - Easter 1999 |
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So, the annual Blitz to Branson was right around the corner, and I had 3 or 4 days before I had to show up in Missouri. Hmmm. Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and Arkansas looked very doable. That would leave me with about 20 stamps left from east of the Mississippi River. In the back of my mind it also meant a long drive from the deep south to get any other stamps. I need to move.
With a brand new StreetPilot in hand it was easy to plan a route. Several questions did arise so I placed a call to the company that sold me the unit. It was now 6 pm and I planned on leaving around midnight. If you are familiar with stamp hunting you are familiar with this time of the morning. There is only about an eight hour window to hit the visitor's centers, so it behooves a rider to be at the park when it opens. A silver-tongued rider is able to talk his or her way into a park before it opens. Now, back to the GPS. At 8pm I hit the sack. At 9pm the phone rang. It was the guy returning my call. He works the evening shift on the west coast. Ok, he answered my questions, but now I'm REALLY up. I guess I'll get on the bike and go.
The StreetPilot works great, but it doesn't take a billion dollars of military technology to guide someone from Tampa to Georgia. Yes, it's a thrilling ride north on I-75. My plan is to hit Tuskegee Institute in Alabama when it opens. It opens at 9 am. In Cordele, GA it was time to leave the slab and time to plug in the Gerbing jacket. The temp was in the low 50s and things were starting to shrivel up on my body. Why, when it's cold, is that the only thing that shrinks? Why couldn't it be rear-ends or love-handles that got smaller in the cold? Of course we wouldn't be riding as much.
It sure is nice to have a big alternator like on the RT. With a 100 watt high beam, a couple of driving lights, a heat vest and grips among other assorted draws of power I'm sure a lesser bike would melt right were it stood. It's early in the morning, so I go right through downtown Columbus, GA. There are nice parts of town, but I won't be moving anytime soon. Then the Alabama sign appears. Uh, it's about 3am and Tuskegee is right around the corner. This is not good. Well, the plan is to go to the national park, check out the location of the "all important stamp" and then find a place to eat breakfast. That should burn up an hour. ARGH!
Tuskegee is a neat place to ride through in the wee hours of the morning. There was a strong police presence which made me a bit nervous, but the university was very attractive. I-85 is just north of town so there must be a place to eat close by. After I traveled 10 miles west on I-85 I said the same thing. After 20 miles I had visions of pushing the gasless bike. I was almost to the outskirts of Montgomery before any kind of gas station/restaurant showed up. Whew!
It's now 4am, or so I think and after talking to a truck driver who owns a BMW motorcycle and eating some of the worst food that the United States has to offer I've burned up another hour. Just to make sure I've done everything I can to make the time pass, the nozzle on the fuel pump doesn't shut off. It's amazing how clean you can get a bike with one of those windshield squeegees. A new plan is needed. Horseshoe Bend, the other stamp I need, is nearby. I planned to hit that after Tuskegee, but it opens at 8am. Ah, the Fodor's guide is great. A quick reprogramming of the GPS and I'm on my way. How did I ever live without one of these?
I arrive at Horseshoe Bend at 7:30, about 15 minutes before a ranger opens the gate. He has some chores to do, but offers to let me ride through the park. The park sits at a bend in the Tallapoosa River and is where the Creek Indian War ended. Andrew Jackson's 3,000 soldiers defeated the 1,000 Creek Indians and closed another sad chapter in American history. The nature in the park is wonderful and I strongly recommend riding through when I did. There was a slight mist from the river permeating the park. Near the bend in the river, I saw several dozen wild turkeys and families of deer. It was nice to see deer while traveling at park speeds.
Ok, it's after 8am and the visitor's center is still not open. I see a light on in one of the offices and the shadow of a person inside. They'll open up soon, won't they. Now I'm getting irritated. I get even more irritated when I realize that I've driven through a time zone and it's 7:15 and not 8:15. Dumb, dumb, dumb,.... Ok, I'll burn up some more batteries in the GPS and do a little reading.
At 8am with stamp in hand Tuskegee beckons and at 9am I'm there. The first thing I learn is that the parking lot for the national park is nowhere near the visitor's center. The second thing I learn is that I have no clue where the visitor's center is. The third thing I learn is that student's who have been going here for years have no clue where the visitor's center is. Fortunately, I find that out after I've walked to all the buildings they told me to check. Then it happens. A person with that all-too-familiar brown emblem is cutting the grass down the hill, it turns out, in front of the center. Inside you'll find exhibits commemorating Booker T. Washington, George Washington Carver and the Tuskegee Airmen. After having done extensive research for my masters on Booker T. Washington, I was more interested in seeing the airmen exhibits and they were closed. Oh well.
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I just could not decide where to go next. Getting to Natchez, MS in time was questionable and I've been down that same road several times anyway. On top of that, I didn't want to miss the park yet again (it would be the third time). So, Tupelo had several stamps and I could take some back roads up that way. Many of the back roads in the area have 65 mph speed limits which is certainly more reasonable. Before I know it I'm on the Trace heading to the visitor's center. If you haven't heard, this is one of the stamp mother loads in the eastern U.S. At the center you'll pick up stamps for the Natchez National Scenic Trail, Natchez Trace Parkway, Tupelo National Battlefield and Brice Cross Roads National Battlefield. It dawns on me that Shiloh, TN is close by with another stamp. What is the speed limit on the parkway. Probably less than what I was doing. |
| Traffic is flying up US 45 and I'm flying with it. I just might make the park in time. The signs for the park, in Corinth, MS are confusing and I promptly get lost. So, here's the Catch-22. If I would have programmed the GPS, I wouldn't be lost. But, if I programmed the GPS I wouldn't get to the park in time. Most people own cell phones for business or safety. Mine is for national parks and out it comes like a gunslinger emptying his holster. Within minutes I'm on the road again and with a little sweet talking the bookstore clerk will wait for me. It turns out that I'm only 5 minutes late and most of the parks facilities are outside anyway. Most battlefields will keep the park open for several hours after the visitor's center closes. This park is no exception. The clerk is very pleasant and tells me about the site as she finishes closing up. Shiloh marks the site of one of the largest battles of the Civil War. Control of this part of the Mississippi was essential to winning the war and several naval battles took place in the area. Unfortunately, they don't have any of the ships like they do in Vicksburg, MS. |
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Ok, I'm beat and want to hit the sack. Fort Donnelson is the last Tennessee stamp that I need and I head that way. A few miles up the road in Lexington, TN I'm beat and decide to get a room at a very overpriced Days Inn. After programming the GPS for Thursday, checking the weather on the Biker's Channel and scraping bugs out of every orifice sleep comes easily.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Who the heck decided that this was the appropriate sound for my watch alarm. Is it that time already? Yes, the fort opens at 8am and yes, it's raining. Well, it's easy to start out this way and the rain gear gets comes out. The temperature is very comfortable and the ride should be somewhat pleasant, even with the rain. Protection is everything.
The GPS allows me to experiment with back roads that I never would have otherwise. Even though they don't show up on the GPS base map, knowing my position gives me a great deal of confidence and allows the exploration of places I never would have before.
The area around Paris Landing State Park and Oak Hill is wonderful. During the summer though, it must be a nightmare as the entire population of Nashville heads on up. In the middle of the week at the beginning of April, it's just fine. It's going to be a tight day as far as time is concerned and I blow in and out of the park which was captured by U. S. Grant. Upon mentioning that this is my last Tennessee Park to the ranger he seemed unimpressed. In general, I was not overly impressed by the friendliness of the people who worked here. Usually, I get the opposite impression. Oh well.
Decisions, decision, decision....I absolutely, positively, must make it to Natchez today, and in time. The Arkansas Post is along the way so the decision is made. Maybe I could make it up to Poverty Point, even though I'm not sure they have a stamp. I've heard conflicting stories.
The GPS keeps me off of a lot of the same roads I just traveled and I'm ready for some freeway miles. Besides, I like riding through Memphis on I-40 and the weather still isn't great. Call me crazy. A trip past the pyramid downtown, over the river and I'm in Arkansas. You know Arkansas, the state that has zero tolerance for speeders, but is more forgiving when it comes to the marital behavior of their favorite son. The freeway sign did say the first part, but the second part is assumed. Actually it didn't say anything, I had to read it.
As much as I like the freeway, yes you heard a rider say that, I'm ready for some back roads and get off at the Brinkley exit. Before long I'm in Claredon which is one of the highlights of the trip. After you ride over an old steel girder bridge, which crosses the White River, the road continues through marshland. Outside of the road, there is no indication that man was here. Nature seems to be biding her time, waiting to take the road back. I feel like she'll do it if I stop for toolong. In Dewitt I pick up Rt. 165 and head south. I've been listening to the local radio station coming out of Stuttgart and begin to develop a feel for this part of the country. Before long I'm pulling into the Arkansas Post Memorial.
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Wow, what a beautiful setting and architecturally unique visitor's center. Ah, the rangers are friendly here and I spend some time talking to them about their park and the surrounding parks. The rangers travel around quite a bit and it's fun to find out if I've been in the same places they have. For example, one ranger in Tuskegee was in my second favorite park, Chiricahua, which is located in southeast Arizona.
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The Post part of Arkansas Post refers to the trading and shipping area that developed along the river bank. Pictures of the boats, loaded with cotton from the south were extremely interesting. This must have been before barges were developed and the boats resemble the cargo ships which ply the oceans, but on a much smaller scale. The containers are stacked to the sky. |
Now it was time to relive some past history. About 3 1/2 years ago I was traveling through Transylvania, LA and I swear the town sucked the life right out of my bike. Just north of the town the bike died and a long, sorry story developed. In Lake Providence a fellow helped me get a Uhaul truck to haul the bike to Baton Rogue for service. You can imagine how helpful my towing service, MTS, was if I had to rent a truck.
I wanted to stop in and, once again, thank the man who helped me. His shop was still there, but he wasn't. I left my business card with a note and headed to the beast, Transylvania. Fortunately, it was still daytime which helped me make it through the town in one piece. My neck still itches though.
Finally, I'm in Natchez during the daytime, but where do I go. There are three stamps in this town, all say Natchez, but they list the individual homes that are part of the park. Outside of the Melrose house I talk to a ranger who sends me in the right direction. With these elusive stamps in hand a big smile broke out over my face. Yippee! I head up toward Monroe and got a motel for the evening.
| In the morning I set out in search of the Poverty Point stamp. Well, it's official, the stamp doesn't exist, but the park is still worth while. The park has several burial mounds and, according to the ranger, there are many more in the area. It's a beautiful place and memorializes the history of people who lived in the area from 1700 to 700 BC. But why isn't it a national park, or is it. Well, it seems that a gung-ho state senator pushed a bill through Washington making the area a national park. When he came back to Louisiana and told the governor, the governor flipped out. The problem is that once a bill is a bill it's almost impossible to turn back the hands of time. So, it is a national park, but Louisiana doesn't care. Another concern they had was with the recent budget fiasco that strapped the national parks. The state believed they could run the park better by themselves. Do they feel that way about their roads also? So, I took several pictures and got a letterhead with a park stamp on it (not the familiar round one) and that was the best I could do. The neat part was that my trusty cell phone informed me of a park south of here that wasn't open to the public, but had a stamp. My friend Mike, who has many, many more stamps then I do, will die when he sees this one. |
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I take back roads to Natchitoches, LA with my eye on Natchez, LA. Natchitoches is a wonderful place. It's still morning and the town is waking up. Along the river is a wonderful collection of shotgun-type buildings with wrought ironwork. I recognize the scene from a movie, but can't remember which one. Amazingly, traffic is backed up and crossing the river takes time. The local police are forced into directing traffic, which I bet happens every morning. |
Thanks to some good directions from the ranger I find Cane River Creole, soon-to-be national park. It will consist of a collection of antebellum plantations and is in the process of being restored. I get a pamphlet for the park off of their laser printer. It isn't even the final copy that will be going to the printer and I feel quite privileged to have it. The ranger tells me that her degree is in historical restorations and is ecstatic to be working there. On top of that, she used to be the head ranger at the Arkansas Post. Neat. We talk about that park for awhile also.
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Yes, it's hammer time if I'm going to make the Buffalo National River and Branson before it's too late. Just north of Shreeveport on Rt. 3 I pass through the part of Louisiana just hit by tornados. The devastation is thorough and complete. There are many Red Cross vehicles and the Army National Guard is all over. People are being I.D.ed so they can be let into to sift through the rubble. It makes me think how lucky I am to be riding my bike on a vacation while these folks are watching their lives fall through their fingers. When I get home I'll send a check to the Red Cross. There isn't much else to do.
| It almost kills me to ride past Hot Springs, because I love the area, but there just isn't time to stop in again. Before long I'm on US 65 north and heading toward Marshall. The park is just north of there and would be a great place to camp. The river has cut a path through limestone bluffs and looks very inviting. Without a second thought the boots and socks are off and the pants are rolled up. Surprisingly, the water isn't that cold, but it is running fast. The water is still cold enough to convince me that I don't want to take anything else off. I'm sure the other visitors would appreciate that also. |
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Back on 65 through a bunch of twisties and up to Branson. A bike is the only way to travel on that road as passing zones are at a premium. Well, I'll just say that Branson, MO must be hell's waiting room. It's Gatlinburg on steroids and I can't find many saving graces in the town, outside of the Internet group waiting at the motel. I renew many old acquaintances and meet two of my favorite people, Mike C. and Chuck D. Mike and I have picked up many national park stamps together. Now Chuck has the disease, but it is somewhat dormant so far. He have a full- fledged stamp attack before too long. |
The next day I'm heading toward my last Arkansas stamp at Pea Ridge National Military Park. The GPS lies to me and tells me there is a road that doesn't exist. I spend 30 minutes looking for it, but it just isn't there. That's not a problem and I find another one nearby. The roads west of Branson are fabulous and perfect for someone whose skills are a bit rusty. Each curve has around 5 arrows leading you into it and the roads are freshly paved. I get into a flow and begin to feel like a 270# ballet dancer. It kind of gives "The Nutcracker" a whole new meaning. At Pea Ridge there is a fee and I end up buying a Golden Eagle Pass. I was hoping to put that off until this summer, but what the heck. The park itself is a civil war battlefield and I'm not terribly interested this time. After a walk through the museum I head back to Branson to kick tires and tell lies. After an early start I ride the 1,150 miles back to Tampa in twenty hours. |
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Well, Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi and Arkansas are now done. Where's that next stamp? Right now it's just too far away. Tomorrow will be another story.
