Day Fifty-Nine: Jasper - Birmingham

The Quality Inn treated us to continental breakfast, and to our surprise, we were the only ones there, so we felt no shame eating all of the weird egg disc/patty things. Before leaving, we texted a couple from Birmingham that we found on warmshowers.org in hopes of finding a house to crash in for the night. Jody texted us back to let us know that he wouldn’t be around, as he was on his own tour from Savannah, GA to Astoria, OR for the Wounded Warrior Project, but we were welcome to text his wife, Casey. She responded just as quickly to tell us that we were more than welcome to stay, and with the security of a homestay in mind, we left for Birmingham in high spirits.

We rode to the gas station to buy more snacks, then left from there. Slater’s tire gave him troubles the entire ride through; it had a slow leak, just enough to have to re-pump every few miles, and he continued to do so until we finally took a break at a small store, where the tire eventually fell flat. It was too hot to eat outside, but the store didn’t have any tables or seating, so we opted for eating on the floor next to the bathrooms (classy), and wasted time in the air conditioning before receiving a call from Casey, our host for the night. She told us that she had a meeting that would last a few hours, so we could either ride through the city to her house or hold out for her to pick us up at the current location. Just then, a tall man with a shaved head wearing military fatigues approached us, curious about what we were doing on bikes in the heat, and he instantly offered to hitch us into Birmingham. We told Casey we’d be there soon, so she sent us her address, and off we went, in the car with another stranger—by now, it seems normal.

Jonathan, our helpful driver, hauled us into town while giving us a miniature tour from the confines of his standard cab truck. He also made sure to inform us that the sizeable collection of beer in the bed of the pickup was from the weekend before, and he wasn’t drunk—always good to know. He was a true southerner, experienced in hunting and fishing and manly-man things; but truly well-mannered in his ways. He dropped us off at the Hershbine home, where Casey’s stepson, Jordan, let us into the house, and we all shook hands and introduced ourselves, a scattered group of strangers brought together through some strange series of events. We waved goodbye to Jonathan and hauled our gear into the house, where we were greeted by the welcome crew: three excitable dogs. There was a lean black lab, a bright-eyed husky, and a stout, hefty mutt (we’re talkin’ like 120 pounds). Despite the intimidation factor of the three sprinting down the stairs full-force, we were ecstatic to be in a home full of pups since we missed our own!

Jordan showed us around the house and handed us the remote to kick back, relax, and watch some TV while we waited for Casey and her daughter, Alex, to return home. They were back within an hour or so of us arriving, and they were just as friendly and welcoming as we had expected. Alex, a middle schooler, acted much older than her age, and we had a blast hanging out with her and her mom that night over a spaghetti dinner and unending conversation. We laughed on and on, bringing up everything from the Alabama/Auburn rivalry to stories from college to the differences between our “accents” (I still refuse to believe that I have an accent). We managed to stay up later than necessary and finally gave in to our exhaustion, and passed out on the living room couch and pull-out bed under cozy, warm blankets.