Rolling Down the River : Tandems on the Mississippi

Highway 61- a familiar sight on this trip

In the midst of the Covid-19 lockdown in early 2020 we received an invitation to sign up for a tandem-friendly cycling cruise down the Mississippi river in the Spring of 2022.  It'll all be over by then, right??? Then came the Omicron surge.  We had second thoughts, and tried to resell our spots, but to no avail.  April arrived and double vaxxed, double boosted, wearing KN-95 masks, and full of trepidation, we  boarded a plane for Memphis. Upon arrival at the hotel we faced a crowded lobby, packed elevators, and very few people wearing masks.  We were careful, ate outdoors when we could, and wore masks indoors.  Everyone on the cruise was vaccinated and we were all tested (about 24 hrs) before boarding. 

Tandem in pieces

Before the tour began, we had to assemble our Bike Friday tandem, which flew in its own suitcases. The hotel had an exhibition room that we filled with bicycles in various states of re-assembly.

The roads around Memphis were full of all sorts of debris and there were lots of punctures as a result.  One cyclist said he was going to a bike shop to buy a six pack of  inner tubes. In the end we used two of our spares.

Sun Studio

The theme of  the tour was music, and it began with a shakedown ride (to find out if anything is needs fixing before the serious riding starts) to Sun Studios, a humble little building where many famous rock and roll and country musicians made recordings. We made a detour to a supermarket to buy emergency rations. I am on a limited diet, incompatible with southern cooking. The fact that we used our bike as transportation seemed to surprise and amuse some of our fellow travellers.

Graceland

The first full day of the tour included a ride to Graceland. I like Elvis, he had a great voice, lots   of talent, and was a real showman, but I could have happily passed up this experience.  Graceland is a   combination shrine / museum. The house was nice, if dated, but the family graves next to the swimming pool seemed a little odd. The campus was vast, and we didn't see all of it, though we did take time to inspect his private airplanes before getting back on the bike and heading upriver to meet the boat.

That evening we boarded the American Countess - and discovered that we'd have to haul our bikes up and down from the top deck.  Luckily we have a travel tandem, smaller and lighter than the normal sized ones (the last one in the picture, right).  But the narrow, steep outside staircases were a challenge.

Live music

The tour group comprised a much younger / active / hungry clientele than they were used to. Our group devoured the snacks like a horde of locusts and went through food and supplies faster than anticipated. Like most cruise ships, there were two seatings for dinner. We enjoyed music performances every evening - either groups brought on board for us, or the very talented house band. They entertained whichever group wasn't in the dining room at the time with music chosen to give us a taste of the local sounds.

The first stop was in Helena, Arkansas where we began the day with a morning concert by a family gospel quartet in the beautifully restored Temple Bethel. It was cool and drizzly and the wind was strong as we rode over the bridge into Mississippi. That wasn't as bad as the trucks nearly blasting us off the (blessedly short stretch of) highway. At a lakeside coffee shop, we discovered a flat rear tire and decided to put the bike in one of the trailers and ride the accompanying bus to Clarksdale, home of the Blues.  

We looked around the Blues Museum  and then ate a catered lunch with more music at the Ground Zero Blues Club. Catfish, hush puppies and coleslaw were in abundance. We repaired the punctured tire, but feeling chilled (we'd packed for 80s not 50s), we opted for the warm bus ride to the boat instead of more cold, wet, windy riding.  Happily the bikes stayed on shore that night.

Because the water level in the river was high, our next landing was not in an ideal place for cycling. Everyone took the buses into Port Gibson, where we saw a marvelous display of quilts at the Mississippi Cultural Crossroads.  The vans had brought all our bikes, and once we found ours, we pedaled off for a beautiful ride down the Natchez Trace. 

Natchez Trace

This is a National park, full of wildflowers and butterflies scattered over gently rolling hills, very little motorized traffic. The nicest piece of road on the whole trip. The lunch stop was a general store turned fried chicken emporium where I managed to find some salad and pickled vegetables.  The proprietor serenaded us while we ate, surrounded by shelves of knicknacks.

Natchez Under the Hill

We arrived in Natchez Under the Hill before the boat did, and hung out in front of one of the local watering holes chatting with a couple regulars.  This place had quite a wild reputation in the old riverboat days, and there's at least one fiddle tune named after it. It's down below the bluff, the upper town is Natchez, at one time one of the riches cities in the nation.

Stanton Hall, Natchez                        

Natchez is a beautiful little city, full of historic homes, live oaks, blooming azaleas, and quiet streets.  The next day's riding took us to three mansions.  They all featured extremely high ceilings, verandahs, and beautiful grounds. The tour guides told how they were gradually able to re-acquire many of the original furnishings that had been dispersed among family members.

Longwood's floor plan

Longwood was an unfinished architectural marvel. An innovative octagonal building with a dome on the top. It seemed a rather pleasant place to live, though only the ground floor was ever finished. The weather was quite warm, and everything was blooming, and by the end of the day we were beginning to feel the effects of riding through all that pollen, D. started sneezing, and my eyes were really red and sore.

The Mississippi from Natchez Under the Hill

We started off the next day at Pointe Coupee, riding past the Detention Center, and the Big Cajun 2 Power Plant (lest you think it was all scenic byways and mansions) and then over the Audubon Bridge. It was beginning to feel quite warm and humid. A few miles later we were struggling, and noticed the rear tire was low, again. We pumped it up and limped along until we found a shady spot for repairs.  The mechanic's van showed up just as we finished, and they loaned us a full-sized pump. We stopped at the Audobon State Historic Site where someone off to the side was sneezing violently.  The tour guide shook her head and said the oak pollen was bad this year.  Whereupon several of our cruisemates mentioned they'd been feeling allergy symptoms. 

Live Oaks Rosedown Plantation

Lunch was in the grounds of Rosewood Plantation, where, after riding 30 miles, the only thing I could safely eat was undressed iceberg lettuce and a cherry tomato.  Oddly, I wasn't hungry enough to break out my emergency tin of sardines.  Tired (riding on a low tire is hard work) and hot, we boarded the bus rather than ride the last leg to the boat.  The bus waited for a while outside the pub stop (where we watched a shopping cart-load of eggs being loaded into the cargo bay).  One of the non-cyclists, tired of waiting, complained bitterly that "those damned cyclists think it's all about them"

Docked at Baton Rouge

Because of the warm weather, we were glad for another early start (why do we get up earlier on vacation?) from Baton Rouge.  The day soon became humid and hot, blindingly sunny, and this was the longest ride of the trip for us.  We bypassed the city entirely and rode for awhile on top of the levee, with very pretty views of the river on one side and cattle ranges on the other. 

Waiting to board the ferry

There was an all too short ferry crossing, and then we cycled downriver below the levee.  We made several stops, including visiting a tiny little chapel that had all the statues of saints laid out in the grass while they repainted the interior, and the final mansion of the tour, Nottoway which is now a resort hotel. We looked around the public rooms (including a semi-circular ballroom) and lurked in the shade while waiting for the boat to land downriver.

Nottoway from the levee

Back on board, we scraped together lunch (more salad!), and decided against doing the 'Critical Mass' ride in New Orleans the next morning.  We'd ridden in several real Critical Mass rides in London during rush hour on Fridays, and this looked to be a guided tour with a bunch of tandems not used to riding in close quarters. We snuck the tandem into our stateroom and packed it into its suitcases in air conditioned comfort (as opposed to the hot, sunny, top deck of the boat). Then we took a well deserved nap.  We were tired, and D. complained of achy legs (the effects of early hours, insufficient food, long rides, unfamiliar heat, and pollen catching up with us?). We had a quiet dinner on our own, celebrating our anniversary, and went to bed happy in the notion that we could sleep in the next morning as the boat sailed to our final port, New Orleans. 

 Overnight D. became unwell - coughing, sniffling, and feverish and I woke up exhausted and nauseous.  I called the purser's office and the nurse appeared with Covid tests.  D. was positive, I was not. Their Covid-19 protocol kicked in and we were confined to quarters. The nurse dispensed a handful of cough drops and Tylenol and told us to order room service.  Somehow the comforting 'steaming bowl of chicken broth' on the menu morphed into a chicken flavoured salt bath consisting of excessive amounts of insufficiently dissolved bouillon. We had done most of our packing already (the big job being the bike) so we spent the day dozing and trying to stay warm.  Arrangements were made for a room at the post tour hotel, and late in the afternoon we were made the move, leaving before the rest of the passengers disembarked the following morning. It felt like we were skulking off the boat, avoiding contact with people. The woman at the pursers office sounded like she had the same symptoms D. did and I began to wonder how many of us on board were infected. Something I doubt we'll ever find out.