Okay,. so I'm not so smart... it just took me 10 minutes to find the 'create new post' icon.  It's a big, giant orange pencil.  Duh.

Soooo.... it's almost 9AM on Saturday morning and I'm typing this in the lobby of my hotel in Memphis.  I'm staying at the Super 8 about 2 miles from downtown.  More on that later (but don't hold me to that).

Let's start with last night.  (I'm proofing this now, and I didn't even come close to starting with last night!) I have been trying hard to write this chronologically so that people (like future social scientists and archaeologists can trace my extremely non-linear road (and off road) ramblings.  For those of you who are also following along on Facebook, I hope you have enjoyed the videos.  And, yes, I am crazy.  If I weren't, would I be out on the road for 8000 plus miles (and counting) seeking sanity?  Perhaps sanity can be found in my kitchen cupboard?  Oh, wait, I don't have a cupboard... or a kitchen... or a bathroom... or a bed...

It did strike me at one point this week that I am officially homeless.  I don't have a place to call my own.  It adds an element of uncertainty to my return trip (return to where?), but I haven't dwelt on it too much otherwise...

Since I last updated you:

I camped out on St. George's Island State Park on the Florida panhandle.  (I'd hoped to pay only a modest fee for camping on state land, but it was $26.16!!!!  Ouch! For another 15 bucks, I could stay at a Motel 6, after all, they left the light on for me (okay, couldn't resist) :)

Riding along the Gulf of Mexico was beautiful and I didn't hit any rain.  I rode down a dirt road in a wildlife preserve - great 'mental health break' stop!!!   I posted a video on Facebook...

Along about 5PM, it was time to find a place to hunker down for the night.  I had read about a campground in Carrabelle FL, but I went to the wrong one and it was an RV only joint with all concrete slabs.  I backtracked to an abandoned motel I'd seen on a small promontory about 10 miles back.  I thought I could pull the bike in behind the buildings and hide it, then pitch my little tent down by the gulf undetected.  Well... this is where things went horribly wrong.  I realized I was still visible from the road, so I pulled the bike up as far as I could behind one of the dilapidated structures.  In doing so, I got about a thousand small prickers on me from what looked like a small daisy bush.  (It's 4 days later, and I'm still finding them on my clothes...)

Well, I started to unpack; dragged out my tent and sleeping bag; and came to the sudden realization that this site just wouldn't work.  Argh.  It was 6PM and I wasn't yet settled for the night :(  Not good.  I did a quick internet search on my phone and found St. George's Island State Park.  I called and (as I was to find out subsequently, the most attractive Park Ranger I had ever met) said they had plenty of capacity, as long as I got there by 7:30.  I looked at my watch and thought, I've got about 40 miles to cover in 90 minutes... No problem.  Uh oh.

Repacked the bike.  Took off as many of those friggin prickers as I could given the circumstances.  Then, started to back the bike out the way I'd pulled it in. Now, fully loaded, my bike weighs about 700 pounds.  There is no reverse.  Put my fat ass on it, and you're just shy of a half ton of inert mass.  To back up a motorcycle, sometimes it's best to use the engine to create forward movement, then use this momentum to rock the bike back in the opposite direction.  Since I had pulled the bike into high weeds near the old building, I had very little room to maneuver.  Back and forth I rocked - until I realized I was only spinning my wheel in a huge rut I'd created.  Ugh.  I was able to get off the bike and stand there without touching the bike and it stood there all by itself, buried up to the axles!  Not good.  Not good at all.  Hmm... Clock is ticking.  I'm by myself.  I'm sweating, swearing, sweltering, swatting flies, and STUCK.  I start to dig out the rear tire.  Of course, as I do so, the weight of the bike causes it to list to one side.  I'm holding the bike with one hand, and digging with my foot.  I finally create a rut big enough so that I can roll back...  A whopping 15 inches!  I look at my watch, and time is ticking away.  It's about 6:20 and I know that much of the ride to the state park is posted at low speeds (I found out later 25MPH and 15MPH).  Panic is beginning to set in.  I decide that if I can turn the wheel, clear the building, get enough purchase in the loose sand with my rear wheel, I might be able to ride forward out of this predicament.  I managed to do just that, while riding through the pricker bushes - of course!  #self-inflicted wounds....

After my clean-scrubbed, extremely cute, very sweet (married) ranger checked me in, I headed down the peninsula (okay, I know it's an island - I'd already crossed the bridge from the mainland, and now I'm going down a peninsula on the far eastern end of the island).  I find the campsite in the gloaming - man, I wish I had some prescription motorcycle goggles; I miss so many turns when squinting doesn't work - and I get down to business.  I'm rushing, it's humid, it's warm, and I'm fresh meat for all those mosquitoes.

FLASHBACK TO TWO DECADES AGO:  My brother, Brian, and I head to Yosemite from San Francisco, leaving Foster City at 5:15PM.  After fighting through rush hour traffic on the San Mateo bridge, we arrive at Yosemite in the dark...  The rangers show us pictures of bear damage, warn us of bears, admonish us not to leave food in the car, cabin, etc.  They were very thorough in their cautions.

RETURN FROM FLASHBACK:  My lovely park ranger warned me about mosquitoes and, sure enough, there were signs and pictures of mosquitoes, and warnings about all the diseases you could get from mosquitoes!!!  Mosquitoes were certainly the bears of St. George's Island State Park (only they actually bit me, unlike all the rocks my brother and I thought were bears in our hysterical paranoia when we insisted on hiking in the dark with no flashlights at Yosemite).

Non sequitur warning:  I actually typed this next part before describing my camping experience noted in number 1 above... I am now tired of typing and losing my focus.  I'm going to leave you now, but don't go until you read this next part, okay?

I left Biloxi and went Northwest (NW) to Jackson, MS.  (See if you can guess what Johnny Cash song I was singing out loud during this leg of the trip?)  Then, I got on the Natchez Trace and rode NE.  So where was I going?  Memphis - which is pretty much due North of Biloxi (Quick Geography quiz:  What foreign country lies due south of Detroit, MI? - First person to submit the correct answer as a reply to this blog wins a fabulous prize!  [shameless bid to increase blog responses])

The Natchez Trace is a single lane scenic byway that runs from Natchez, in the southwestern corner of MS, to Nashville, TN. The speed limit is 50MPH, which is right in my wheelhouse!  I love putting along at 50, watching the trees, the wildlife, the clouds, the grass, the water, the ROAD!  Wake up, and pay attention to BUSINESS...   When you are riding 7-8 hours a day for days on end, it's not hard to let your focus wander.  Speaking of wandering focus :)

It was a pretty uneventful ride, but a great evening.  I found a free campsite along the trace (with the help of my friend, Jim, at the AAA in Jackson, MS - he was very enthusiastic about my trip!).  I set up camp and just as I was doing so, Jesse pulled in on his Honda Shadow - the same model my son used to own [how I miss riding my my son, I hope we can do it again someday]- and I helped him set up his brand-new tent.  (His old tent opened up while riding down the Thruway in Upstate NY - that's not ideal)  Jesse is a young school teacher from Windsor, Ontario, Canada who was teaching in the Yukon Territory.  He grabbed a bike in Halifax, Nova Scotia, headed to New Orleans by way of friends, couch surfing, and camping.  (He said he had two out of three good experiences using couchsurfing.com; I may check it out yet as funds continue to dwindle)  Next arrivals in a motor home were Jim and Patty, retired educators from Florida.  They had attended a wedding in New Orleans and were meandering back to St. Augustine, FL.  Irony alert:  They had also 'camped' on St. Georges Island on the Florida panhandle - home of 70 gazillion mosquitoes!

I had such a nice evening visiting with these fellow teachers, camping, sleeping in my pajamas, listening to mother nature - including a nearby barn owl.  I did a much better job crafting my pillow than I had done on the Gulf.  (I have a mesh laundry bag filled with my socks and underwear, do that I don't have to fish around in my bag for them...  I use this bag and stuff it with rolled up shirts, etc. then cover the nylon mesh with a T-shirt; voila!  Instant pillow!)  It was one of my best nights on the road to date.

The morning dawned crisp, clear, and hungry.  Jesse and I broke camp by 8:15 and headed out for breakfast after saying our goodbyes to Jim and Patty.  Good times.

After breakfast with Jesse in Mathiston, MS, I backtracked down the Trace, passing Jim and Patty as they departed the campgrounds heading northeast.  I took Route 9 and headed north.

I pulled over to do a map check and to have a 'mental health break' on a dirt road in Bellafontaine, MS.  NOTE TO SELF:  DON"T PULL OVER ON ACTIVE DIRT ROADS!!!  Not one, not two, but three different jacklegs went flying by me...  Uh, dude... dirt road... guy with maps spread out and nice motorcycle...  could I get a courtesy 10 or 20 MPH reduction?  Uh, no?  Okay, be that way...  Karma is a bitch!!!!

Anyhoo... while I was pulled over by the side of this dirt road, I noticed a few things.  One was a jawbone laying on the ground.  I'm not sure, it could have been canine, coyote, maybe something a little bigger...  The second was some beautiful flowers.  I tried to take some artistic shots, but I prolly failed.  Finally, just as I was leaving, a beautiful butterfly landed on my boot.  I took several pictures and was moving gingerly so as not to spook it...  every time i tried to snap a shot with his wings open, all I got was wings closed.  Couldn't time the exposure properly.  I started to give up and was walking toward my freshly dusted bike (I felt like Cary Grant in North by Northwest!) when the butterfly moved up onto my shin.  He wouldn't let go!  Maybe he was trying to tell me something.  We got in the rhythm together and I got several good photos of him.  Later, while unpacking my saddle bag in Memphis, I found a dead butterfly... Not that same one, but... (Cue the Twilight Zone music...)

IN THE INTEREST OF FULL DISCLOSURE, THESE ARE THE LAST WORDS I AM TYPING IN THE BLOG TODAY.  I've still got so much more to tell you, but now I've gotta go live :)

Much love from the road <3

(Memory jogger for future posting: Songs in the head, health update, rules for the road I've created in my journal,  random observations about the South, and fun Memphis times)