| The morning was cold and foggy.
I must be headed to Mississippi, again! Riding into Mississippi pushes me to an unnatural early exit. Natural being about ten o'clock. In anticipation of what I knew was going to be a "knock your socks off" ride, I woke up at four o'clock. No problem until I started yawning. I had planned on leaving about seven to meet Ray in Wiggins, MS for nine. I could burn three hours in preparation with little effort. I drank a gallon of coffee, unloaded and reloaded the bike making sure I had loaded what I loaded. Made sandwitches and packed cookies. I had piddled as much as I could stand and finally left about six thirty. I needed to go about eigthty miles in two and a half hours. Even I'm not that slow. I chose a scenic route which didn't help much. I got to Wiggins and sat for an hour in the now bright hot sun as I disdain noisy crowded eateries. The clock on the bike flashed passed nine. Where was Ray? I had expected him to be sitting in McDonalds downing biscuits. I walked the parking lot again. No Ray. Then I saw his DL 650 swooping off the four lane into the gas station. Long story short. My clock was fast. I was very early, a first. This thing was getting off to a labored start. While sitting in McD's, Ray stoking his boiler, a bingo game started up next to us amongst some older folks, some in wheelchairs. If there was another biscuit ordered I was getting us cards. When the amp was turned up to announce "B4", it was time to go. Thus would begin a day of following Fagan. Ray had told me on a previous outing that he didn't mind if I stopped and took a picture or two. He would just park at the next turn or intersection until I caught up. I stop a lot and when he sees what I first stopped for he'll probably grit his teeth. I took a picture of a rotten tree. I'll tell him DeSoto's initials were on it. I guess I should back up and tell you why I was over in MS doing a joint ride, something I'm basically adverse to doing . We are both into something called micro-touring. "Micro" infers small. "Touring" infers "riding around", to some. We both indulge in investigating relatively small areas prying into the backroads in search of the area's disappearing history, oddities, and personality. Ray knows a lot about Mississippi. He really makes me look like a frivolous tourist, which I am. His offer to map a ride for us was too much to pass up. It was a freebie. Just follow. No radar needed. No gps ogling required. We were finally free of the Wiggins neighborhoods and headed to Mississippi's great paved and unpaved lanes and roads, often named for where they went or came from or both. Many of those places only exist in history. Many are just a sign. Mississippi is a wonderland for the explorer and micro-tourer. Click Next to follow Fagan. |
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| Hope |
| Was I at the wrong McDonald's? Had Fagan over slept, again? Had he forgotten? Was he in a ditch, again? Was he lost? Had he run out of gas, again. The questions repeated, again and again. |
| Cold mid-May morning. |
| The famed DeSoto Tree. |
| A scene to be repeated. Ray waiting. |
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