Bikes, Blues[,] & Bayous

Friday, downtown Greenwood was as busy as I have ever seen it with the exception of Band Festival Day back when I was a kid. Howard Street was hopping so hot that I was surprised when I found a parking place. 

I was headed to the Alluvian to register for the 2018 edition of Bikes, Blues[,] & Bayous. Besides the traffic, people on foot were everywhere. Couples walked hand it hand, exploring the glory that is one lovely street in Greenwood. I overheard someone asking for directions to Giardina's. Inside the motel, every available seat in the lobby was filled. I found my way to the registration table and did the deed. I payed the money and committed myself to ride miles the next day for which I was not prepared. What else is new?

Saturday morning I arose just in time to slip on cycling shorts, pump up two almost flat tires, and make my way to Front Street where I was greeted with the spectacle of 1,056 cyclists. What a sight. 

The starter's gun went off at 7:00 am. Although I did not time it, a solid three minutes must have passed before I began to push my bicycle with one foot while trying to stay balanced at 2.1 miles per hour. It took another three minutes to pass the Aluvian. Eventually we crossed turned west, then north, and finally crossed the bridge onto Grand Boulevard. By then we were up to almost seven miles per hour. I'm not complaining; I'm explaining that it takes awhile to get over 1,000 bicycles up to speed.

The morning was amazingly cool. I have always been aware of weather, but I do not remember an August that has ever rolled in so cool as this one. The temperature would rise to 93 by early afternoon, but at 7:00 am it was still a pleasant 67 degrees.

I was only riding to Money and back. Although I rode the 46 last year on minimal training, I didn't want to suffer the last 15 miles this year so I took the short option. It was fun out there on the road with scores of other cyclists. I bumped into people I knew and many I did not. A few miles out, I heard someone yell, "Dr. Hodge." I assumed it was a student because almost no one else calls me that. I tried to turn to look, but one sign of my advanced age is I can't look behind me while I am riding a bike anymore. My neck just won't make the bend. I yelled back, "Who is back there?" "McCoy," was the answer, so I slowed enough to get beside one of our city councilmen who is always a nice man wherever you meet him. We rode together for awhile before I decided to press on a little faster.

That building in the background is
Ben Roy's Service.

When I made it to Money, the place was jumping like a Saturday night dance on the Fourth of July. In my haste, I had not even put a water bottle on my bike so I needed something to drink. At first, all I could find was pickle juice and I drank it like cold water on a hot day.

I saw Tom Flanagan, the tall lawyer I used to ride with often. Later, I bumped into Wilson Carroll and his son Spencer, some of the saviors of this year's Chicot Challenge. Then I saw Jackie Blue and her husband, Jerry. Of course there were people everywhere I had never seen. The rest area, at Ben Roy's Service. was well furnished. Back when I was a kid, my did often stopped here for gas, beer, and bait when we fished the McIntyre Scatters a few miles up the road. Now the building has been refurbished and serves as the Money rest stop. Next door is the collapsing building where the Emmett Till incident took place. Unlike Ben Roy's, it is falling down a few brick per year, and vines cover much of what remains. As a young man, I ate lunch in that building one day. Now posted signs cover what little can be seen. The owners, like many Mississippians, just want it to go away, but our past can't be escaped that easily.

The lovely Jackie Blue. Unlike her name,
she is always happy and bubbling over.

On the way back, I passed David Pentecost who was headed north with three of his grandchildren, all the little ones on little bicycles. At the start he had come up to me and asked if I remembered when we made the ride to McIntyre Lake and back when we were kids. Dad had taken all the neighborhood children on the ride to the lake where we swam, are hot dogs, and jumped off the bridge. Now here we are, old men reliving our past, and he handing down bicycle memories to his grandchildren.

I hopped a few wheels on the trek back to Greenwood, but always managed to get dropped. But I made it. It was a nice ride, day, event. Maybe next year I can go all the way to Minter City. The rest stop there is over the top.