WHO: Kip n Kerry, aka chicken curry
WHAT: Fifty in the Fifties
WHERE: Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana (States 37, 38, 39)
WHEN: September 27-October 1, 2018
WHY: Inspired by Grant, the latest biography by Ron Chernow. Warriors Don’t Cry, by Melba Patillo Beals, follow-up reading after visiting Little Rock Central High School NHS. Besides, these are states, right?
HOW: 1)20 miles cycling the Arkansas River Trail to a hiking ascent of Pinnacle Mountain; 2)Bricks and Spokes metric century ride split between MS and LA
Highlights, Trails, Trials, and Travails:
Little Rock, Arkansas- The Clinton Presidential Library and Museum features a presidential bike. President Clinton was not an avid cyclist. He didn’t learn to ride a bike until he studied abroad at Oxford. That didn’t stop a cheeky someone from gifting him this sweet ride:
I shouldn’t disparage his skill on a bike. I managed to fall off my rented bike within the first half mile, scaping my knees, arms, chin, pretty much anything that had not been scraped in my fall three weeks prior. But since this is Fifty in the Fifties, and I wasn’t even really bleeding, I decided to stick with the plan and bike to Pinnacle. I’m determined, if not very smart.
I rode over the Big Dam Bridge on the day before thousands of others did the same in a century ride of the same name. Unlike them, I had this view to myself. Pinnacle is the volcano-like pinnacle in the distance.
(I will add a photo if the website ever cooperates. There are others I would like to add, but it’s time to go ahead and publish.)
Kip and I met at the East Summit trailhead for Pinnacle. The trail disappeared, so we blazed our own trail. Straight up, through the brush, over the boulders, across the scree.
Hiked 3.5 miles total, then returned to Little Rock to check out the WWII submarine USS Razorback. It was hard to imagine that over one hundred sailors would live aboard for months at a time in one hundred degree heat. Not bothering to shower. A friendly submariner gave me bandaids for my skinned knees, which had turned a most alarming shade of red.
Once we emerged from the belly of the sub,we hit the road for Vicksburg, Mississippi, intent on exploring the National Military Park. Along the way, we stopped in Onward, Mississippi, which gets my vote for the best place name EVER. It is reputed to be the place where Theodore Roosevelt refused to shoot a bear, inspiring the creation of the Teddy Bear. There is nothing in Onward except a general store and inspiration. I decided then and there that I would ride the metric century the following day, despite my fracture and my fall. Onward, miss!
We stayed in The Duff-Green Mansion in Vicksburg. This palatial residence was spared the shelling during the siege because it served as a hospital for Union and Confederate soldiers. We were treated to a lavish breakfast in the dining room and a tour of the home. Outside, it features a swimming pool and a Cialis tub.
On the Saturday, I rode the Bricks and Spokes, over the old Mississippi Bridge and into the cotton fields of Louisiana. I pedaled mostly alone for that 35 miles or so, sharing intermittent company with friendly riders. It was flat and pleasant, and I was making good time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the slaves who picked that cotton in the unrelenting southern sun and humidity for their entire lives..
I made it to the rest stop just at the entrance of the NMP, rubbed my foot, and prepared myself for the hills of Vicksburg National Military Park. They are of variable steepness, punctuated by hundreds of stirring monuments to the men, boys, and even some girls who fought here on both sides of the slavery divide.
As I ascended towards Grant’s headquarters, I heard feminine laughter behind me. Waiting up a minute or so at the memorial to the Negro Soldiers, I met the three Ds- Dee, Diana, and Dandee, going mobile, from Mobile, Alabama.
We climbed all of the hills together and bemoaned the poor road markings and signage, before finishing up in downtown Vburg and settling in for rice n beans n beer. My brakes were failing by the end, and I was glad to be finished, but proud to have completed what I set out to do, despite injury and flagging confidence. Two falls in three weeks will do that to a person.
After the ride, Kip and I returned to the park and saw the incredible ironclad USS Cairo, which was staffed by immigrants and saw a year of service before being sunk by a mine (then called a torpedo) in 1862. It was raised from the muck at the bottom of the Mississippi in 1964. After more than one hundred years, much of her original wood and iron survives. You have to see it to believe it. It reminded me of my favorite Clive Cussler novel, Raise the Titanic, only that was fantasy- This is Reality.
That night, back at the Duff Mansion, my cast was so stinky that it jolted me from sleep every time I turned over and inhaled its perfume. It was doubtless similar to the way the sailors smelled on the USS Razorback.
Sunday morning, we began our return leg to Little Rock, and took an alternate route through northeast Louisiana so that we could visit the Poverty Point Unesco World Historic Site. In the most rural surroundings imaginable rise the remains of an advanced civilization that dates from a period younger than the Great Pyramids but older than the Aztec and Inca cities. Using baskets woven from willows, ancient peoples carted tons upon tons of soil and erected a one hundred foot high mound in the shape of a bird in flight. In its shadow one can detect the presence of four enormous concentric raised rings, upon which the people constructed their homes. Archaeologists continue to excavate the site and delve into its mysteries.
Before this trip, I located Poverty Point, a tiny dot on the map of Louisiana in my Rand McNally Road Atlas. Thanks to 50inthefifties, I made it to this corner of the world and learned something that otherwise would have been lost to me. I can’t adequately explain how much this quest has added to my life. The places you experience first hand, and then write about, are forever etched in your mind.
Back in Little Rock, on our final day, we toured Little Rock Central High. In September of 1957, nine black teenagers stood up to a spitting, shoving, kicking mob and climbed the imposing steps of what was then billed as the nation’s most beautiful school. Once inside, protected in the hallways by the 101st Airborne, they were kept alive, but barely so, since the Airborne could not accompany them into the classrooms, cafeteria, or gym. Although a few white students tried to be friendly, the vast majority were either quietly hostile and dismissive, or, at worst, openly violent. Day, after day, after endless day.
Touring the school, and later reading Warriors Don’t Cry, by one of the Nine, Melba Beals Patillo, was a lesson in social change. It doesn’t happen without immense effort and sacrifice, and it doesn’t happen quickly. As we face continuing racism, misogyny, and the backlash against the MeToo movement, I am reminded of Dr. King’s words:
“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”
I believe we can’t just sit back and wait for it to bend. We must actively demand justice. We must get involved. If the Little Rock Nine can put their very lives on the line, I can at a minimum show the courage of my convictions, vote, support candidates who will help us regain our moral footing as a nation, and call out bigotry and vitriol when I see it. I need to both dream bigger and act bigger in my life. To that end, I will once again volunteer as a challenger in the elections. But I’m kicking myself over an opportunity that I passed up a few days ago. I saw a gaggle of middle school boys from the local Catholic school wending their way down the sidewalk to the library. As an Hispanic man passed by below them, one boy yelled, “Hey! Do you like America?” I didn’t think fast enough; I wasn’t close enough; I have plenty of excuses. But I wished I had asked that boy, “Do you? Just who do you think you are?”
I can do better. We can do better. Onward!