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.

 

Occupy the Building Site - We've Moved In

A portion of the packing material

Despite delays, complications and other frustrations we have finally moved in. There was a problem with some paperwork, but J, the head carpenter said “The city has assured me that they will not stand in the way of you occupying the house, as in their eyes, you never lost occupation.“  Obviously the city did not see the house minus most of the roof, windows, functional plumbing, heating, electricity and a frightening number of exterior walls. The rickety garage would have offered more amenities. The house was incomplete, though habitable so we took the plunge. All the to better enjoy the company of the carpenters, electricians, painters and etc. still finishing up.

Sunset: after railings, and in the midst of exterior painting

We hired a local firm to help us with the move, and they were much better than the national company we used previously, who were maliciously incompetent. Everything seems to have survived unscathed this time. These folks were genuinely enjoyable to have around while they packed up the fragile items and artwork. Their careful use of paper and boxes was a pleasant surprise.  If it didn’t need wrapping they didn’t wrap it.  That’s not to say we weren’t up to here with boxes and paper, but they didn’t use six sheets of paper to wrap one chopstick either. Despite the deluge on the morning they came to load up our household goods, we had a beautiful, sunny weekend to spend unpacking, all the while wistfully eying the decks that were off limits, due to a lack of railings (did I mention delays?).
Though we still had the views.

A pot rack, at last!

Now we understand just how amazing the storage was in the condo.  It lacked a pot rack, but it had a closet big enough for a tandem (a little out of the ordinary), and it also had a window seat with storage cabinets underneath, two small attics, more than ample closets and cupboards everywhere, plus a storage locker! It's been over month and we still have boxes of linens, and clothes with nowhere to go. A couple things we were sure would fit into certain places don't (never underestimate how much space the trim takes up!). D. did a master plan of the kitchen storage, but at the critical point of unpacking he couldn’t find it. Right now cooking feels like a treasure hunt as we search for each ingredient and most utensils. 

A friend of ours generously helped us unpack a large number of books into the built-in shelves on the main floor.  There was a delay in settling into the music room as the shelving unit that was originally in the closet (and would have been perfect for keeping the instruments off the floor) vanished down the same hole as the toilets. We also had to wait for a thermostat to be moved so the bookshelves could go up. But that (or the path to the door in various states of being dug up and replaced) didn’t deter us from rehearsing in it.

Where the sidewalk ends?

Still in progress but not a mud wallow.

One small bedroom somehow acquired three bookshelves and all the luggage, and the other seems to have become the repository for unhung pictures, mirrors and chunks of packing foam that won't fit in our tiny garbage bin - neither room has a bed yet. The office / ham shack is filling up with desks and boxes of radio gear waiting for the antennas to go up. That may or may not happen before they finish painting the exterior; an on again, off again project depending on weather and the work on the path. I'm doing my best to ignore the 'storeroom' which is neck deep in boxes of CDs.  The shelves for those were only levelled last night.

If only they would sort themselves onto the shelves.

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds”. . .  but if you move the mailbox a couple yards, forget about it.  It was up next to the front door for weeks before the mail carrier finally told the head carpenter that she won't deliver anything until we move the mailbox closer to the street.  Ironically, the only mail we received was a notice from the Post Office confirming our change of address. After the mailbox was moved, I  went down to my ‘local post office’ as instructed, to retrieve the mail and ask them to resume normal delivery. The man at the counter said, "you have to go to the annex" (which was due to close in twenty minutes).  I zipped over there on my bike only to discover they couldn’t find our mail, and there was no hold notice in our mail compartment in the sorting area. They took my phone number and promised to call after they spoke to the mail carrier.  The impression I got was that the mail carrier is all knowing and all powerful.  Indeed, once the clerk spoke to her, our missing mail was found, and service resumed.  All that trouble for a few bills. . . and a pair of slippers with non slip soles.

Our illegally placed mailbox in the corner by the door.

Without a Pot to Piss in

 In the continuing saga of missing plumbing fixtures, the original toilets have vanished. One was last seen perched on the top landing of the industrial staircase. After D complained, the contractors agreed to replace them.  We specified a water and space saving toilet for the powder room (inspired by some we'd seen in Japan; no, this model does not have a built in cleansing and drying system). We never knew there were so many different flushing systems for conventional toilets, each with an educational video? (don't try that at home!).  

D has been mocking up the floor plans to figure out where the furniture will fit, thereby discovering some of it won’t.  How do you move from a condo to a house and have less room for furniture?  It’s those pesky views (and the windows that frame them) built in shelves, big closets, and spaces that are just an inch or two too small. The shoe bench won’t fit in the front hall even though we asked the design team to make sure it did. Our new bedroom is smaller than the old one (but the closet is vast).


We gain much needed space in other areas. I look forward to rehearsals where we don’t have to banish the instrument cases from the room because there’s no space for us and them. Or put away everything because there's no room to deploy the Murphy bed and musical instruments. There’s also the attraction of not having to change bike tires in the front hall, or do electrical tinkering on the kitchen counter, or gardening on the balcony. Best of all, the office will no longer be festooned with antennae (though the house will look like a porcupine) and our reception should improve vastly.

This won't fit in the office

There is a surplus of cedar siding; nearly enough to cover the garage -stored inside the garage.  The car might just fit alongside the siding, a gas fireplace and a gigantic wall clock and assorted leftover light fixtures and shelving parts. Since my last post,  the kitchen has come together, the tiling completed, plumbing fixtures and lighting installed and the interior painting done.  Things are going fairly smoothly, except for the railings.

Elevation by Board and Vellum - with railings

There was endless back and forth between the architect, the contractor and the manufacturer over how they would be attached to the decks. At issue were both safety and durability, and the manufacturer's alarming statement that this was a non standard installation and they wouldn't guarantee it will be to code. Finally the shop drawings were agreed upon, the spacing checked over and the materials ordered. However, the promised delivery date passed, and the installation of the railings will be the thing that holds up inspection.

The house was supposed to be inspected by March 13th.  My joking references to move in dates such as Chinese New Year, St. Patrick’s Day, and April Fool's Day have proven optimistic. Our friends have become wary of asking us how the project is going, or if we have moved in yet. Though they have been generous about helping us find boxes.

Here we go again!

We packed up most of the books, all of the CDs and are about waist deep in boxes around the living room. I'm cooking my way through the stockpiles of food in the cupboards and freezer.  We went out for a celebratory dinner, though it was more of a consolation than a celebration. I haven't gotten around to filing a change of address with the Postal Service, for some strange reason. Hookups for Internet and other services have been scheduled and re-scheduled. I’m not sure how much longer our sanity will survive being constantly on the verge of moving. On the plus side, it will be nothing like an international move. . . that long gap while you wait for your stuff to arrive.  Here it will be about 20 minutes, if the bridge is up.

Everything But the Kitchen Sink

Three different stain colors had to be
chosen for this little patch of siding.

Paint and stain colors, flooring, cabinet material, countertops, door, windows, tiles, all that's been chosen. There’s a lot of other little things that remain yet to be sourced. We had picked out the knobs and handles for the cabinets, but neglected to write the information down anywhere or tell the contractors.  So it was back to the hardware store, where we were promptly overwhelmed by choices, again.
At a recent site meeting we were asked to specify light fixtures for the guest bath, and shelving for the pantry and linen closet. To do this, we needed to check some measurements. One dark and stormy night found us prowling around the house with a flashlight, notebook and measuring tape, measuring closets and appliances to

Family sized laundry

figure out what would fit (meanwhile hoping the neighbors didn't think we were burglars). Happily, we don’t have to replace the washer and dryer. The pair that came with the house will fit into the laundry space, with a little bit of room to spare. Who knows what we’ll do with such large capacity machines after all those years of using little ones.

We spent a long morning wandering the endless concrete pathways of Ikea,  looking for light fixtures and storage for the front hall.  Everyone in Ikea shuffled along at the same slow pace, in the same direction, as if we were on a conveyor belt. I felt like an extra in a zombie film. It was a successful trip, at least in terms of inexpensive, functional lighting. But the storage we liked wasn't the right size for stowing bike bags. On the other hand, we avoided buying anything flat-packed that needs assembly.

It seems we've spent most of our time recently, shopping for ironmongery, fixtures and hardware. Roughly half of our cookware won’t work on an induction cooktop, including our moka espresso pot and tea kettle.  January is a good time to buy pans, as they have excellent sales. We got an extra discount because we bought the floor model.

It’s a pity our stainless steel kettle won’t work on the new cooktop, because most of what we found out there is poorly designed, ugly, or not induction compatible. No wonder folks are going for the built-in, hot water on demand spigots.  Yes, we know we can boil water in a saucepan, and yes we have induction compatible saucepans.  But they don’t whistle. A whistle is essential for absent minded folk like us.

During one of our shopping trips, D. phoned the head carpenter to check on something. During this conversation, J. sheepishly admitted they managed to lose the kitchen sink. Oddly, the disposal unit that was attached to it was found in the garage, but not the sink. The plan was to reuse the stainless steel sink that was in the house when we bought it. The sink, diningroom light fixture, a bathroom vanity, a mirror and lots of light fixtures and bulbs were stored in the garage for safekeeping. It does look a bit overstuffed, even after they tidied it up. But seriously, how do you lose the kitchen sink?

Let the Sun Shine!

The U-District basking in a sun beam

Readout from one of our two inverters

We must be a little obsessed - the highpoint of our Christmas day was cycling over to the building site and watching the electric meter run backwards. There have been big changes from the last post, the roof is on, the solar panels installed and we're producing electricity.  The production meter isn’t hooked up yet, that will happen sometime in the new year.

Roof, solar array, siding, and bubble wrap rain shield

The roof itself went on very quickly, much to the detriment of the workers installing the siding. For some odd reason the gutters didn’t go on until they had put the siding on two walls.   Until then, every time it rained water sheeted down the slick metal and glass, cascading over them like Niagara falls.  They rigged up awnings out of bubble wrap and other plastic sheets they had on site.

So many things seemed to happen nearly at once, the doors are all installed, the insulation went in, the heating system is operational, and in the past week drywall has been hung and the interior painting started.  

Panoramic view of the top floor with drywall

We occasionally meet one of our future neighbors when we’re out visiting the site.  "Are you moved in yet?" they wonder.  The house is still lacking in some basic amenities, such as light switches, plumbing fixtures (aside from one bathtub that that is boxed in with plywood to prevent it being damaged) or even flooring.  

The garden

All the former lawn areas are now mud wallows. I did ask them to kill the grass.  But not the creeping rosemary or the lavender bushes, and I fear for the health of the pear tree underneath the rubble.

The original estimated finish date was Dec. 24th.  We’re hoping for March. 

I worry that the weeds will get a head start before I can get in a crop of ground cover.  I can’t plant anything until the cleanup is done, the last thing they do before handing over the keys.

Even so, it was a nice Christmas present to ourselves to finally have solar panels of our own.

Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet

Droplets on the bushes

Welcome to rainy season, mudslide season, and power outages caused by falling trees, their roots ripped loose from the saturated ground. Let no one say life is dull in these parts. We are very glad that snow, ice, and avalanche seasons are relegated to much higher elevations. I like the rain. There’s something exhilarating about cycling in the drizzle, or the roar of rushing water during a downpour. Except when you don't have a roof over your head.  

Framing the deck / porch roof

"I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in". . . 

No, we're not homeless, just roofless. The condo roof is being replaced, very slowly. We spent the dry season waiting for the roofers to begin. They waited till the rain started to fall (and once it starts, it hardly stops for months). They tore big pieces of the old roof off and then disappeared for days on end (skipping several dry days to go fishing, no doubt). They screwed two by fours onto the roof to keep their tools from raining down on us (only after I complained about falling tinsnips). These also function as little dams that hold the water back. The water then runs down the screws that penetrated the waterproof membrane and the plywood, and spills into the units below. So far we've had a stain on the carpet, a soggy sleeping bag and a camp stove full of water, and some very near misses with my violin and electronic keyboard. Some of our neighbors aren't that lucky.

"Raindrops keep falling on my head". . . 

Meanwhile. . . at the building project, we don't have a roof either. Most of the windows have been delivered and installed, the steel support is in place and. . .  the roofer that was lined up to do the work bailed out at the last minute.

Windows, steel, but no glass door.

Even if a new roofer started immediately, there's a two week wait for the materials. The backordered glass doors are also causing delays - the siding folks want the doors and windows in place before they get started. The schedule is a mess because interior work such as drywall can't be done until the building is weatherproof.  Right now, it’s even leakier than the condo. Every delay means more expense.

Tubing for the underfloor heating

“Rainy days should be spent at home with a cup of tea and a good book.” 
― Bill Watterson
On the plus side, the plumbing has been roughed in, most of the electrical work is done, the underfloor heating is in place and the framing for the walls is done. They're running out of things they can do inside. The longer we wait for materials and subcontractors to finish the exterior, the worse the weather gets, it's a vicious circle. At this rate, we'll be lucky if we can move in by Chinese New Year. Given that the painters want ten days of dry weather before painting the exterior I don't expect the house to be finished until sometime in mid-July. We watched Grand Designs for years, and thought we knew how to avoid the worst of the home building pitfalls. At least we had enough sense to laugh at their first estimate of being finished by Christmas Eve.

“The rain to the wind said,

You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged--though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.” 
― Robert Frost

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Things are progressing in fits and starts:
We have rafters, temporary front steps, and plywood sheathing. Lots, and lots, and lots of plywood.  The whole house is covered in it. It reminds me of the Malvina Reynolds song "Little Boxes". Though ours won't look 'just the same' as everyone else's. At least we hope not. Certainly the antennas will make it stand out a bit.

Temporary stairs.

The steel that will support the
stairs to the entryway, the deck and part of the roof has been delayed. Until that is installed, the exterior work (and the solar panels, and antenna mounts) is on hold. Some things are moving ahead. Most of the windows have been ordered, and the plumbers have made a first pass at the pipes. Some of the interior framing has been done.
It's starting to look more like a house and less like a FEMA site (complete with blue tarps).

Preparations are in process for the radiant underfloor heating.  But there’s another snag. The bamboo floor that we wanted to salvage was so thoroughly nailed in, that the nails were driven all the way through the subfloor to stick out the underside. From the experience of one of our London neighbors, we know nails anywhere near radiant heating is a very, very, very bad idea.  In his case, several tubes punctured and water cascaded down the stairs. He was not amused.

Unplanned indoor water features are generally not a good thing.

We tossed a few ideas back and forth with the contractors:
A) Another layer of sub flooring (this would reduce the efficiency of the heating system).
B) A couple days worth of carpenters grinding off the ends of each and every nail (mind bogglingly dull, repetitive work, and it only takes one missed point to wreak havoc).
C) Rip it all up and replace it.
The safest option is C), so the floor has to go, and we'll replace it with cork.

Cork flooring = happy feet!

At last! Cork flooring, something I learned to love while working at the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library.  Quiet, warm to the touch and every so slightly springy, not to mention, it has a beautiful look. Cork flooring will cost a bit more than salvaging the bamboo floor, but we have become resigned to the extra costs that pop up at every turn. The thing about redoing old houses, you never know what you will find when you open it up.  Speaking of which, there is one small space in a bedroom that will not have underfloor heating.  It was part of the original front porch, and  there’s no space to install it. Apologies in advance you you stay in this room over the winter, the consolation prize is it has a stunning view (and extra blankets).

Quince

We've had a modest pear harvest, and I can see (but not reach) a half dozen quinces.  Perhaps with pruning and some TLC it will do better next year. The patch of lawn in back looks well and truly dead now that it’s had lumber and debris piled on top of it for months. Killing it off was the first step in planting something else there besides grass.
My poor beleaguered creeping rosemary is thriving, despite the concrete blocks the builders keep piling on top of. The shrubs are all wildly overgrown, the front looks like setting for a horror film. I've been dreaming of a mini-orchard of dwarf fruit trees in the parking strip, surrounded by strawberry plants culled from friends' gardens. Don't ask me where the time will come to tend this little Eden. We were hard pressed to salvage the basil plants before the roofers working on the condo demolished them. We now have a bag full of pesto pucks.