The bridge over the Atchafalaya River loomed large, but the 6-mile viaduct just beyond it was a much more serious challenge. Dave-the-Elder who had stormed this stretch on his previous trip was not looking forward to it. But Dennis had a plan.

So to Dennis' plan. We would cross the Atchafalaya Bridge and regroup about a mile further east, where hard shoulder disappeared completely as the road narrowed onto the viaduct over the Sherburne Wildlife Management Area. From there, Bill would lead a peloton across the viaduct at a steady 14.2mph. We would take up the whole lane with the van and trailer right on our collective ass providing cover. A brilliant and effective plan, not least in the choice of leader cementing Bill's new position as a bone fide member of the team. I swear I could see his sense of pride as he lead us out into the traffic.

Dave's trepidation was well-founded. The average drop to the swamps below must have been about thirty feet, and the concrete balustrade was exactly the right height to simply flip you over the edge if you were careless enough to argue with it. But with the van and trailer running interference we were free to ride two or three abreast and (almost) enjoy the safety and the views.

Soon after that was lunch, and the option to take a 20 mile detour to bag a century. Obviously I was having no part of that. Dave and Shelley my now constant companions, were just as obviously game, but had misgivings about leaving me alone. I reassured them that they ab-so-lutely needed to do the extra loop if that was their heart's desire, and all was cemented when it became clear that Kevin also declined and was happy to ride with me. Normally it would not be a big deal either way, but Dennis and Bobby were anxious that for this stretch we all had backup, because the split would stretch the support crew to the limits. The century folks peeled off left and would meet back up shortly before the Mississippi Bridge.

Atchafalaya bridge ...

... not bad as bridges go: not too narrow, not too high

The rest of us pressed on and soon were confronted by a wide body of water: clearly the Mississippi. Or so we thought. I found a place with a good view and pulled over to take a snapshot of this momentous occasion. I'm so glad I picked it. Right there was an information board describing the appropriately named False River, an oxbow lake that of course before being cut off would have been a section of the Mississippi which currently was following a course that was still about five miles away.

As we close in on the Mississippi the water table is rising and as a consequence so are the vaults in the cemeteries. The whole route seems well-manicured now, with immaculate lawns as weed-free and closely cropped as a golf green and even the road verges are neat and tidy.

At about the 70 mile mark and soon after rejoining the victorious extra-pointers we finally reached the bridge. As we set off from a photo op right on the apex of the bridge Dave-the-Elder got a flat. Shelley and Kevin had already set off and there was no turning back, and the sag wagon couldn't do more than wave helplessly as it went by, so Dave and I were on our own until Stephen showed up. It took all three of us: Dave had most of the tools and the new tube; I had the muscle to wrestle the tire back on; and after a CO2 failure Stephen magically produced an old-fashioned brass hand pump which made short work of putting some pressure into the tube. I even had the time to wait for the steamboat to get close enough for a decent shot.

Up come the vaults ...

... New Orleans style

Thursday April 6 St Francisville LA to Amite (Franklinton) LA Elevation: 115ft

Temp: 72f - 73f Ascent: 3766 ft Distance: 88 Miles

Doug and RT find a little shade

Today is another day. 88 miles this time, way more climbing, and way greater chance of rain. Once again a bunch of reasons not to be able to make it. But like I said, one day at a time.

Dave-the-Elder, RT, Shelley: Surprise!

Amite River

We were lunching under the awning of Brown's Chapel Missionary Baptist Church in Tangipahoa when a Police cruiser pulled up. Chief of Police Darrell Martin stepped out, introduced himself and his passenger, the Lady Mayor, and then ever so politely enquired about our business.

Having ascertained our innocent purpose, Chief Martin declared that he was also a Deacon of the church, so he opened it up so we could use the bathrooms and the AC which was blasting away in the empty church. Not what I was expecting. He and the mayor then regaled us with stories of the tornado that hit the town six weeks before, obliterating three mobile homes the space for which we could see from where we sat, and demolishing the Quinn Chapel AME Church which we passed shortly after lunch. Mercifully nobody was killed but even all these weeks later, the visceral effect of seeing such devastation with our own eyes instead of through the anonymizing and numbing filter of a TV screen was sobering to say the least.

You may have noticed that I have stopped bitching about Billy-Bob. I do not know if someone said something to him or not, but over the last couple of days he has consistently been ready to leave when he is supposed to and it has made a massive difference to me and I suspect to others too. He's also less distracted on the road, so stops less frequently, which all adds up to a much tighter team. I congratulated/thanked him as I drafted passed him on one stretch.

Chief Martin and the Lady Mayor

L to R: Dennis; Kevin; Chief Martin; Bill; Shelley; Doug; RT D-t-E; Steven; Lady Mayor; D-t-Y; Betsy

Friday April 7 Amite (Franklinton) LA to Wiggins MS Elevation: 262ft

Temp: 62f - 73f Ascent: 2969 ft Distance: 84 Miles

So a weird start because we had to be shipped back to the Franklinton starting line. Although it had clearly rained steadily overnight by some miracle we had wet roads all morning but no actual wet.

There is a (large) Baptist church every few miles. I can’t figure out a) why we see twenty churches for every school we see, b) why their graveyards are so small (never more than an acre) especially as the churches themselves could easily hold a 2-500-strong congregation.

I present to you: the B Team!

The Southern Baptist Convention

Most early Baptists in the British colonies came from England in the 17th century after conflict with the Church of England for their dissenting religious views. In 1638, Roger Williams founded the first Baptist church in British America at the Providence Plantations, the first permanent European American settlement also founded by Williams in Rhode Island. By 1740, about eight Baptist churches existed in the colonies of Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina, with an estimated 300 to 400 members. New members, both black and white, were converted chiefly by Baptist preachers who traveled throughout the South during the 18th and 19th centuries. The southern pastors interpreted the Bible as supporting slavery and encouraged paternalistic practices by slaveholders. They preached to slaves to accept their places and obey their masters, and welcomed slaves and free blacks as members, though whites controlled the churches' leadership, and seating was usually segregated. From the early 19th century, many Baptist preachers in the South also argued in favor of preserving the right of ministers to be slaveholders.

The issues surrounding slavery dominated the 19th century in the United States. This created tension between Baptists in northern and southern states. In the two decades after the American Revolution, northern Baptist preachers (as well as the Quakers and Methodists) increasingly argued that slaves be freed. This difference came to a head in 1845 when representatives of the northern states refused to appoint missionaries whose families owned slaves. To continue in the work of missions, the southern Baptists separated and created the Southern Baptist Convention.

The Southern Baptist Convention (SBC), alternatively the Great Commission Baptists (GCB), is the world's largest Baptist denomination, and the largest Protestant and second-largest Christian denomination in the United States. Organized in 1845, the denomination advocated slavery and during the 19th and most of the 20th century, it played a central role in Southern racial attitudes, supporting racial segregation and the Confederacy while opposing interracial marriage. In 1995, the organization apologized for its history.

Religious denomination by state

Attribution: Abbasi786786 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

The map shows the largest religious denomination by state as of 2014. In 48 out of the 50 states, a Christian Denomination was the largest religious group.

This seems to immediately answer the first question: how come there seemed to be so many of them? Answer: because there were. I live in one of the only states in the US where Catholicism is the most popular choice, and even then it only covers half the population. Compare and contrast to Mississippi where Protestantism (read Baptists) is more than 70% and even Louisiana is more than 50%.

But it raises another: why did/do black baptists tolerate this prejudice. And the answer to that, of course, is that they did not, and do not. It is/was my ignorance that assumed that the "Southern Baptists" moniker applied to all baptists, whereas in fact the vast majority of Southern Baptists are white (85%), with few black members (6%) and even fewer Latinos (3%), according to the 2014 Religious Landscape Study. Meanwhile almost exactly half of all Baptists are black. So where are all the others?

Southern whites generally required black churches to have white ministers and trustees. In churches with mixed congregations, seating was segregated, with blacks often in a balcony. White preaching often emphasized Biblical stipulations that slaves should accept their places and try to behave well toward their masters. After the Civil War, most freedmen set up independent black congregations, regional associations, and state and national conventions, independent of white supervision. They quickly left white-dominated churches and associations and set up separate state Baptist conventions. In 1866, black Baptists of the South and West combined to form the Consolidated American Baptist Convention. In 1895, they merged three national conventions to create the National Baptist Convention. With more than eight million members, it is today the largest African American religious organization and second in size to the Southern Baptists.

As late as the 1960's civil rights movement, most Southern Baptist pastors and members of their congregations rejected racial integration, opposed interracial marriage and accepted white supremacy, further alienating African Americans.

Finally in 1995, the convention voted to adopt a resolution in which it renounced its racist roots and apologized for its past defense of slavery, segregation, and white supremacy. This marked the denomination's first formal acknowledgment that racism had played a profound role in both its early and modern history.

We had lunch at the Main Street Coffee, (unusual, we generally picnic) and the radio was tuned to a religious station which educated us about Easter between tunes. Perhaps the channel was only selected because it was Good Friday but somehow that seems unlikely. Nor the fact that here and elsewhere folks were wearing "Jesus loves me / us all" type T-shirts. I tried to order a "soup and salad" combo, which they said they'd be happy to do. Sure. That's because they gave me full-blown portions of red pepper soup and chicken salad. Much mirth at the table for the size of my order. I waddled out of the cafe, and we chased home trying to beat the "4:15p rain start".

Did somebody say "lunch"?

L to R: RT; Bill; Betsy; Steven; Shelley; D-t-E, D-t-Y; Doug; Kevin

The epitome of a Louisiana ranch?

At the 27 mile mark we crossed the next big river, the Pearl, separating Louisiana from Mississippi. Yes, that was a surprise to me too. In the north of the state Louisiana and Mississippi are separated more appropriately by the Mississippi. But then about half way south the Gulf, the border suddenly heads due east about 150 miles until it hits the Pearl, and uses that to make its way to the Gulf just east of New Orleans. (The Mississippi hits New Orleans from the west.)

The usual suspects: RT; Shelley; Dave-the-Elder

I never get tired of the live oaks

Sandhill Crane lunch stop: D-t-Y; Betsy; RT; Kevin; Steven; Doug; Betsy; Billy-Bob. One of my favorite group shots at one of my favorite lunch stops. Not sure what Bobby is doing in the background, and we will not ask.

Mississippi Sandhill Cranes

The Mississippi Sandhill Crane was one of the first species listed as "endangered" when the Endangered Species Act was enacted in 1973. The Mississippi Sandhill Crane National Wildlife Refuge was created to provide protection and management for the cranes, one of the rarest bird populations on earth. The refuge, in turn, became the first refuge to be authorized by the new law. As a result, restoration of this globally-rare habitat to protect and restore an endangered species began in 1975.

To enhance natural production, a captive breeding and release program was begun. Starting in 1965, eggs from wild cranes were sent to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's Patuxent Wildlife Research Center to form a captive breeding flock. Since 1981, offspring from this flock have been released annually on the refuge as part of the restocking effort.

This crane supplementation, the longest and largest in the world to date, has resulted in a population increase to over 100 individuals and nearly 25 breeding pairs.

The Mississippi Sandhill Cranes (4 - 4.5ft tall) are a separate sub-species that does not migrate unlike its smaller and larger cousins, the Lesser (3 - 3.5ft tall) and Greater Sandhills (4.5 - 5ft tall). They are also darker grey with a much brighter red head and white cheek patch. Sandhill cranes resemble great blue herons (Ardea herodias). A major distinguishing characteristic is that cranes are completely gray. Great blue herons usually have white on their heads and dark colored underparts.

The intercoastal waterway and Dauphin Island Bridge were about as much fun as some of us could stand. Narrow trashed-out shoulder, too good a view of the cold gray cold water too far below, and of course a nice buffeting cross-wind. Even the photographers amongst us were reluctant to stop. The obviously beach-holiday resort community on the other side was a calming contrast though with its deserted streets the empty cottages looked as if they were as miserably cold as we were. Just a few minutes we were in line for the ferry.

We aimed to be first in line which we were, and we therefore aimed to be in plenty of time, which we were. But there was absolutely nothing else to do around the terminal, so some of us got back on our bikes and wandered down the street where we found Fort Gaines. We did not have time to take a tour which would have gotten us inside, but we had a good look around the outside where we discovered that the Brits had held the Fort in the early part of the 19th century—25 years after Independence. That made no sense, so the Fort immediately went on to the "further investigation required" list.

At the fort: RT; Bobby; Kevin

Fort Gaines

Fort Gaines

Fort Gaines was a crucial site for the south during the civil war. The well-preserved ramparts of Fort Gaines have guarded the entrance to Mobile Bay for more than 150 years. Now a historic site, the Fort stands at the eastern tip of Dauphin Island where it commands panoramic views of the bay and the Gulf of Mexico. The Fort was recently designated as one of the Eleven Most Endangered Historic Sites in America due to on-going shoreline erosion.

What brought Fort Gaines great success is being coupled with its brother, Fort Morgan, which is located on the opposite peninsula (and the ferry destination). This allows the Forts to control the main channel to the bay, keeping the land, ports, and supply ships safe from enemy fire.

Fort Gaines was also crucial during the War of 1812 for helping the United States defend against the United Kingdom. The Forts are built in a star pattern, a classic defensive design in its day. Fort Gaines’ main objective was to give shallow draft vessels a sheltered anchorage.

Dauphin Island and Mobile Bay were mapped as early as 1519 by Alonzo Pineda. But things did not really get going until 1699 when the French explorer Pierre Le Moyne de'Iberville decided to set up a colony here because of the abundant timber, reliable fresh water, and a great harbor, and despite renaming it "Massacre" because of the burial ground he discovered. Massacre Island soon became the headquarters for the French colonization along the Gulf Coast. It was renamed in 1707 in honor of the heir to the French throne: Dauphine. At this point the island was the capitol of the Louisiana Territory which was almost two thirds the size of the United States.

During the course of the next century, control of Dauphin Island switched from France to Great Britain and to Spain in 1780. Finally in 1813 the United States seized the territory around Mobile Bay. The British captured Dauphin Island and used it as a base for a proposed campaign against the city of Mobile. The British took Fort Bowyer on Mobile Point before discovering that the War of 1812 had ended four months earlier. The War of 1812 proved that America needed adequate defenses for its long coast line.

Construction of a fort as part of a comprehensive system of nation defence began in 1819, but was still not complete by 1861 when the outbreak of the Civil War left the remainder of the work to the Confederate State of America which added the last touches by 1862, just in time for its moment of glory, the pivotal role it played in the 1864 Battle of Mobile Bay, one of the war's most notable naval conflicts.

The Battle of Mobile Bay

By 1864 Mobile was one of the last ports open to blockade runners bringing supplies to the beleaguered Confederacy. In August Admiral David Farragut had assembled a large strike force to capture the forts that guarded the entrances to Mobile Bay. Farragut's fleet prepared to run the gauntlet in a daring manoeuver where four ironclad monitors would lead the assault on Mobile Bay as a screen beside fourteen wooden-hulled frigates lashed together in pairs. But the run between the two Forts Gaines and Morgan would demand a heavy price.

At 6:30am on August 5 Farragut's fleet closed in. As his frigates ran the passage, the ships released volleys into the fort defenders, but the Confederate fire was more gruesome. "Shot after shot crushed into the Hartford," said one eye witness "mowing down men, deluging the decks with blood and scattering mangled fragments of humanity so thickly it was difficult to stand on the deck".

Amid the carnage, hearing a muffled roar, Farragut turned in time to see the lead bottom and screw propeller of the U.S.S. Tecumseh turning in the air, sinking immediately. The torpedo (now known as a mine) field had claimed a victim. Farragut reacted immediately with his famous line: "Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead!" The Hartford, lashed to the Metacomet steamed through the heat of Morgan's withering fire to a safe harbor out of range.

The Confederate Ironclad Tennessee, commanded by Admiral Franklin Buchanan, was left to fight one of the most lopsided contests in naval history with inevitable consequences. The Confederate sailors engaged as many as seven ships at once, firing into them from as close as three feet away. With the Tennessee's steering chains shot away, and her smoke stack so riddled with shot that the interior filled with smoke, the wounded Buchanan cruised to a point a mile north of Gaine's guns where at 10a he surrendered.

Admiral Farragut could now turn his attention to Fort Gaines. The garrison was under siege from land and sea, day and night, until August 7 when a small boat bearing a truce flag was lowered from the Hartford and rowed to the Fort with a demand to surrender. The Confederates, sensing the hopelessness of any victory, accepted Farragut's invitation to visit the ship, and after discussing the placement of the forces against them, Colonel Anderson decided not to risk what would surely be a suicidal defence. The Fort surrendered on August 8th.

Thus the Fort that took 40 years to build, and provisioned to withstand any attack from land or sea, at great strategic advantage, became an overnight victim of obsolescence. New armament technology doomed the Renaissance fort design.

Later

The fort served in World War I with a Coastal Artillery unit garrison manning the "disappearing" guns and became an anti-aircraft gunnery school during and following the war.

World War II saw the fort used as a camp for the Alabama National Guard and a base for the U. S. Coast Guard stationed there to operate against enemy submarines prowling the gulf in search of merchant vessels. Today the Coast Guard still uses a base there to take part in crash rescue boat operations.

Hot Shave

Even this I had to research, because it turns out that a straight razor shave is not the same thing as a hot shave. Half a dozen barbers near me can give you a straight razor shave. Only one of them does a hot shave. So it was more by luck than judgment that the "Gentleman's Quarters Barbershop" half a mile down the beach from our hotel actually did the latter.

I grabbed this from the interweb: "A hot shave naturally exfoliates your skin. Yes, exfoliating gets rid of dead skin, dirt and oil. However, the other big benefit is the fact that it helps you generate new skin cells. This makes your skin look brighter and feel healthier. Last but not least, a hot shave simply feels good. The steam calms your body and relaxes your mind. Many men say that it makes them feel refreshed, rejuvenated, and re-energized. It’s no wonder why many men visit a professional barber for a hot shave on a weekly basis."

Of course the hot shave uses a straight razor, but it was the hot towel part which was such an unexpected pleasure. I only have a sample size of one, but the master stroke was placing the first hot towel over my eyes. The shock of the heat and the surprise location, and of course being forced to close my eyes focused me inwards. Two other towels then followed until the only exposed part of my face was my nostrils. Then the barber quietly went into the next room, leaving me to my thoughts. But I didn't have any, so I just lay there in a sort of meditative state. It was bliss.

Eventually she came back, took all the towels off except the one over my eyes. Oils were massaged in. Since at this point in my life I have almost no hair left, she applied the oil over my whole head and as far down my neck as she could reach. Then the first shave. Then repeat the hot towels. And the oil. The second time with the razor was clearly closer and smoother. The next towels were nearly as shocking as the first, because they were cold. After that some sort of aftershave I assume. It was more cooling and one assumes helped to remove the remains of the oils in a final vigorous all over rubbing with a room temperature towel.

I was stunned. It was a way more intense experience than than last week's massage. As advertized on the interweb it felt really good. It was refreshing, it was rejuvenating, I felt re-energized, and I didn't feel like moving.

Doug, Kevin, Bobby and I were the only takers for dinner. We were in the mood for meat, so selected Hog Wild Beach BBQ. It was the best part of two miles away, so Bobby volunteered to drive, but we volunteered to walk so that we might twist his arm and have a beer. Actually I think Bill set off with us, but in classic Bill style he peeled off on his own adventure about half way there. I do remember that he walked home along the beach in the dark, and got some great nighttime snaps.

Oh the irony. There was no Beach at the Beach BBQ, but much worse, there was no beer. There was also no going back. Half a rack of ribs for me please, with fried pickles, and BBQ Baked Beans. And then miracles, as we were ordering we noticed that the cooler included beer amongst its regular soda selections. The canteen / take-out-is-our-specialty atmosphere meant that we thoroughly enjoyed our supper but thirty minutes later we were all done. We took a more leisurely pace on the way home, and although Shelley was not with us, the sweet-toothed member of the party (naming no names, Capt. America) insisted we stopped at Matt's Homemade Ice Cream which had been highly recommended to him. It was highly expensive for sure, and I thoroughly enjoyed my raspberry sorbet, but for me by far the highlight of the expedition was quality time with the big dogs.

Scoops: Bobby; Doug; RT; Kevin

Beach: Dave-the-Elder; Kevin; Betsy; Dave-the-Younger.
Below Bill's nighttime on the beach shot