Day Fifty-Five: Tupelo

Katie woke up at the crack of dawn to get ready for her long drive back to New Orleans. Slater and I, on the other hand, slept and slept, subconsciously putting off our first ride in the last couple of days, until Slater finally woke up to Tío sitting upright and staring patiently just inches away from his face. We got up just in time to eat continental breakfast, along with every other person in the hotel, then spent some quality time with Katie and Tío before parting ways. We knew that the next time we’d see Tío, he would be all grown up, and my eyes turned misty as I kissed his chubby little furry tummy goodbye. What a memory, eh? It’s rare you find a perfect puppy on the side of the road in Arkansas and decided you can’t live without him. Or, if you’re me, it’s not that rare. It’s bound to happen.

While it was hard saying goodbye to Katie and Tío, it was even harder to face the fact that we still had 600 miles left to ride. After all, the trip is unbelievably rewarding, but it’s also utter hell when it comes to the whole cycling thing (at the end of the day, we try to black that part out), and our three-day hiatus had us feeling as if we were all done… tah dah! That wasn’t the case, however, and although we were dreading the day ahead of us, we sat our butts back on the stiff seats and took off without a clear destination. We rode a ways through Tupelo, and before leaving town, we decided that we should stop at the historic home where Elvis Presley was born. We passed the sign accidentally and swerved our bikes back around, then slowly turned a corner on a busy highway back toward the house. Just as we turned, I felt a flat tire coming my way; I began to hear a rapid and steady squeaking noise, much like that of a wet shoe on a laminate floor. But unlike the numerous flats I had faced over the course of the trip, this one was different—and within a split second of noticing the low pressure, the tube burst, and I just about ducked for cover from what sounded like a gunshot.

I practically peed my pants—I actually thought someone had shot a gun—and apparently, so did everyone else, because when we rolled my bike across the street to the gas station, the customers let out a sigh of relief when they found out the sound came from my flat tire. Plus, they told us we weren’t in the best part of town, so getting shot wouldn’t have been too uncommon… lovely. The blown tube had pinched my last nerve with that back tire of mine; I had had one too many flats and finally decided it was time to change out the tire, which was worn paper-thin. So, whaddaya know, it looked like we were going to be spending one more day in Tupelo.

The nearest bike shop was seven miles away, so we changed my tube and rode toward the store, trying our best to avoid road debris, sticks, speed bumps, and anything that might irritate my flimsy tire. We arrived quickly but not without a thick, smelly layer of sweat, and let the storeowner take care of replacing the tire and tire liners. Meanwhile, customers walked in and out, prodding us with questions, and one of them advised us, “Don’t fly your rebel flag down there [Charleston]” as if we had any intention of doing so in the first place. When he left, the owner apologized for his ignorance, which made us happy to hear that at least one Mississippian was living in the 21st century. The next customers, however, were a fresh breath of air. The Kellums are avid cyclists and successful doctors, and they were happy to come to our aid in the bicycle shop to share their knowledge of roads leading out of Tupelo. Since it was already late afternoon, we asked them about campsites in the area, but their first reaction was to offer, “We have a garage apartment!”

And that’s the story of how we ended up staying with the Kellums. We grabbed Starbucks to kill time while they ran a few errands, then we pedaled North about 7 miles to their beautiful home off of the Natchez Trace Parkway. The house was warm and inviting, almost cottage-like, surrounded by lofty pine trees and greenery. We had the entire separate apartment to ourselves, complete with a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom, and we were in heaven. That night, we rinsed off and returned to the main house to eat dinner, where the generous couple spoiled us with gourmet pizza, hummus platters, spinach and artichoke dip, and fresh fruits and veggies. Once again, we were in heaven. We spent a couple of hours sharing stories and drinks, planning a route out of Mississippi, and playing with the family dogs, Nemo and Prim. It was absolutely amazing to indulge in the hospitality, and we went to bed fat and happy that night, thankful for being in the comfort of a home that felt like our own.