With a morning to kill, I visited the Sloss Pig Iron Furnaces (blog post coming) and then began poking around town exploring the sights.
After a marvelous time spent at the Barber Vintage Museum, it was time to find a place to camp for the night. Rather than finding a nice Baptist church to camp behind, I headed toward the skyline of the city. The remaining daylight hours were spent exploring the industrial downtown area and back streets along turn of the century buildings. The city expanded in the 19th century with a focus on mining, iron and steel transported throughout the world by a fan of rail lines and ports south. The railroad tunnels through town have recently had LED lighting installed which changes through the spectrum like Willy Wonka's glass elevator. Night settled in and I continued riding around until the rain began. Finding myself in the working class and rough neighborhoods of North Birmingham, I figured the police would have more to do than worry about me camping out in the city park under a pavilion. Rain fell throughout the evening and I stayed nice and dry sleeping on a picnic table with my scooter beside me. Sure there were a series of gunshots but they were easily over a mile distant. No big deal. Before the morning light shined through the overcast sky, I found myself charging batteries in a McDonalds while sipping on a cup of coffee attempted to log in to their molasses-slow wifi. While there, an older distinguished man with knowledgeable eyes and a warm face asked me about the stickers on my scooter. "I've never met a stranger", he said inviting me over to his group of fellow retired pipe fitters, once union workers in the iron industry and elsewhere through town. We discussed the civil rights struggles they faced, the large families cultivated through the years and community on the north side of town. "I never stop learning. I'm 72 and I learn something new every day. That is my ticket to staying young." Naturally my description and recollection fails to capture his thick Alabama accent or the look in his eyes when he tells me about great grandchildren. With a morning to kill, I visited the Sloss Pig Iron Furnaces (blog post coming) and then began poking around town exploring the sights.
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East of Birmingham lies the Barber Vintage Motorsports Museum, the largest collection of historic motorcycles in the world. To an enthusiast and garage-level builder, the number of machines, historically significant designs and magnificent restorations makes for an unforgettable experience. I arrived on a gray spring day and parked right out front. Once inside, I hung up my gear and set out for a stroll from the 5th floor on down. The varied exhibits each present a unique and often significant piece of motorcycling history. Following my internal compass as well as the "Shortest Route/No Highways" on my Garmin, I soon found myself bouncing along patched and rutted country roads toward the Alabama border. The dotted line displayed on my GPS matched the two orange spray paint marks on the long needle pine so I knew "dis mus be da place". The road surface changed to sandy clay so I stopped for a quick shot. No welcome sign on this road into Alabama. One more state revisited on my travels. The temperature was steady in the mid 60's and the sky remained blue and calm for early March. The predominant industry in this area of the south is timber and milling. Many privately owned forests are stocked with quick growing slash pine or long needle pine which grow fast and straight in the moist climate. Modest old homes line the rural routes, some with full lumber trucks parked out front waiting for the mills to open Monday morning. Rusted street signs reflect the local history such as "Boll Wevil Ln" and "Turnip Way" . A truck and trailer loaded with turnips races past in a passing zone on the way to market or a wholeseller. I can only imagine what the crisco based cooking must taste like in this region where catfish is king and the greens don't get much fresher. Arriving in Tuscaloosa, I had the sneaking suspicion that I'd been here before. Examining the downtown main street, it dawned on me that I was here 7 months ago on my westward leg of the journey. I knew this point would come when I'd recross my path to form a figure eight of this nation. My visit through was only a brief stop but the downtown cityscape as well as the tall bridge across the Black Warrior River were logged in my memory. The weather was forecast to grow warmer but bring with it scattered thunderstorms for the upcoming week. I found a nice free campsite on Blue Creek overlooking Holt Lake. Fresh water was available from a fissure in the rock and I was stocked up on soup, oatmeal and beans to make it through a few days of rain. As is usually the case when I post up somewhere for a few days, the weather turned out to be overwhelmingly pleasant. I spent my time building fires for cooking, hiking around the nearby park and watching large empty barges float up to the nearby lock. By midweek, I was ready for a change of scenery and replenished from thetime spent back in nature. The forecast was improving and a friend of Ken's north of Birmingham invited me to visit over the weekend. Onward toward Birmingham to see what it has to show!
It took only a few hours of riding along relatively desolate Hwy 90 and onward along the Gulf (pronounced "Guf") Coast. The wind had picked up from the south over the water just enough to give a slight chill in the air. The option to turn inland presented itself at Gulfport and I headed toward the land of pines, sandy roads and some of that fine southern red clay. Pausing for a moment along the seawall, I relished the view of the pristine sand and deep blue water. Saying "Goodbye" to a body of water continues to be an emotional occasion for me be it the Atlantic, Pacific and many others along this trip. I woke up in a swamp forest in Bridge City, LA and wound up camping in a beautifu stand of pine in the De Soto NF. Pine cones as large as my head gave a loud "Whomp!" when they fell from 80 feet or higher to the grass around my tent. The familiar hoot of an owl and the din of tree frogs led me off to a glorious set of dreams as to what may be ahead.
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Mike SaundersIn May 2014 I quit my job to ride a Honda Ruckus over 69'000 mi and counting. Wild camping most nights and cooking most of my own meals, I keep the costs low and the landscape changing. Archives
April 2018
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