Baptized

As predicted, today Harvey got a piece of us too. Nothing like what the folks back home are dealing with, but we did get wet for the first time.

It started well enough, as we left Paris on wet roads under overcast skies. The riding was nice -- not too busy, scenic, and a nice tailwind. After about 20 miles it started raining in earnest. We pulled out our rain jackets and continued on. Fortunately the road had a wide, smooth shoulder. Once wet, riding in the rain is not unpleasant. It's fun to watch the rain fly off the bike and hear the tires hissing along. The biggest challenge is dodging the rooster tail of the bike ahead. It rained hard for about 45 minutes and then tapered off.

Eventually we crossed into Kentucky and headed toward the ferry landing in Hickman, where we planned to have lunch before making the crossing. As we rode through the town, it appeared to be a deserted ghost town and we were a bit concerned about finding something to eat. But about half a mile before the landing, we ran across a little cafe called Memaws that was packed with people. Apparently the entire population of the town was having lunch at Memaws.

Dripping on the state line

We decided to go check out the ferry to see what the schedule was before eating. The ferry -- consisting of a tugboat lashed to a barge -- was there and the guy told us there is no schedule; the ferry just runs on demand. "If we ain't here, we's on the other side. Just push the button and we'll come get ya."

So we headed back to Memaws where I had the best Philly Cheesesteak of my life. We must have been quite a sight, sitting in our cycling clothes with puddles spreading on the floor.

Then it was back to the ferry. This time there was no boat, so we "pushed the button" as instructed. The ferry landing is literally a road that slopes down to a beach. The ferry simply runs its ramp up onto the beach and opens the gates. No dock, no station, no chairs, no nuthin'. Just a ramp, a beach, and a button on a pole. So we waited about 20 minutes and finally the ferry appeared, carrying a grand total of one car. Once it unloaded, we strolled on with our bikes, they closed the gates, collected our $2 each, and we were off. The ferry was completely empty except for the two of us and our bikes. Obviously there is not a lot of demand for crossing the Mississippi River at this particular point.

The Hickman-Dorena Ferry, complete with Porta-Potty

Crossing the Mighty Mississippi

Two bikes, no cars. Gross revenue for this trip: $4

After about a 15 minute trip the ferry beached at a similar ramp on the other side at Dorena, Missouri. Our third state today! And we were now west of the Mississippi. Hard to believe just 9 days ago we started in Charleston.

Soon we learned why there was so little traffic. On the Missouri side there was a whole lot of nothing. Just a expanse of flat farmland and long straight roads that parallel the levees along the river. It was ideal for cycling, especially with the continuation of the strong tailwind we enjoyed all day.

We made great time toward New Madrid, the first town of any size after the crossing. Until, that is, we saw a sign that Road WW (apparently Missouri uses an alphabetic labeling system for its roads) was closed ahead. Why we were contemplating our options, which were not good given the sparsity of roads in the area, along came a pickup, literally the only vehicle we had seen for about 20 minutes. We flagged it down and asked about the best way to New Madrid. The guy told us that the road was closed due to construction on the bridge, and that we should be able to get through by walking our bikes around.

We continued on and came to the bridge. Sure enough, there was a pathway of sorts around the construction, but it ran through a muddy field. By the time we got across, our shoes and bikes were covered in gooey, sticky gumbo mud, the kind that globs onto everything and is impossible to get off when wet. So we spent the next 30 minutes or so cleaning our bike tires, brakes, and shoes as best we could.

The Mud Pit

Then it was on to New Madrid, where there are restaurants but no motels, and 8 miles south to Marston, where there are motels (of sorts) and no restaurants. That is, other than Jerry's Cafe, where you can buy a beer at the co-located convenience store, and drink it while you type your blog and watch it rain. Which is exactly what I'm doing right now.

96 miles today, mostly flat and wet.