Chief Ladiga Trail, Day 3 (June 21, 2009)
This morning we got ourselves up and checked out of the hotel nice and early, about 7:30. Driving to the trailhead (in Piedmont, Alabama, today) took about forty minutes. We were able to drive straight to it because yesterday on the way back to the hotel, we had passed through Piedmont, tracked down the trailhead, and asked Elza (our GPS unit) to record the location so she could guide us back to it this morning. The plan worked like a charm. We still had our normal pre-ride rituals to get through, but as we started rolling down the trail, I asked Karen what time she had and she responded that it was 8:30 exactly.
Piedmont is about a tenth of mile on the high side of marker 13.5. If you've been following along, you know that we left off Friday night at mile marker 10.5 and Saturday we finished up at mile marker 20.5. So the plan for today was to start at the visitor center in Piedmont (at 13.6 on the trail), ride to 20.5 (just under 7 miles), turn around and ride to 10.5 (10 miles), then turn around and ride back to the visitor center (just over 3 miles) for a total of 20 miles.
This let us start out going west, putting the rising sun to our backs (rather than in our eyes). Again, today much of the trail was shaded so the riding was easy and pleasant. We rolled along at an easy pace chatting all the way.
We passed two informational signs before we got out of Piedmont and promised that we would investigate them on our return. The ride to 20.5 was uneventful with nothing much to report beyond a few rabbits, several runners, and a handful of other cyclists. It took us about an hour to get to 20.5.
We had turned around and made it a couple of miles back, at around mile marker 18, when a large body suddenly burst from the trees on the left side of the trail. Both Karen and I were startled. My first thought was that a large dog had ambushed us. In the next moment, we saw a smaller body flying after the first and realized that we were looking at a mama deer and her baby. A second later, another fawn galloped out of the underbrush, running after Mama and Sis like his pants were on fire. The three of them galloped down the trail away from us, moving much faster than we could. We just gaped in amazement. Perhaps a hundred yards away, Mama broke to the right and the two younglings disappeared into the trees to the left. We rode past the point they had disappeared, trusting that they would be able to find each other again after the nasty intruders were gone and the woods had become peaceful again.
Shortly after the deer episode, we realized we had gone about 10 miles, completing half of our planned ride for the day, so we stopped in a patch of shade for some water and a snack.
Around mile marker 15 on our way back, I noticed an informational sign beside the trail that I had not seen on the way out. I stopped and examined it. It marked the boundary line that divided Creek and Cherokee lands before 1832. It was in 1832 that Chief Ladiga and other Creek leaders signed the Treaty of Cusseta (the Wikipedia entry contains a map of Alabama showing the Creek and Cherokee areas) relinquishing all collective claim to Creek lands east of the Mississippi river.
The sign also mentioned the Treaty of New Echota, the equivalent treaty for the Cherokee, which was signed in 1835. In 1838, the U.S. government forced the Cherokee to relocate to Oklahoma.
The informational sign in Piedmont described how the CSX railroad announced in 1987 that they were abandoning the rail line running through Piedmont. Under the rules of such rail right of way abandonments, the federal government will help local communities acquire the land and develop walking and biking trails. Some smart folks in Piedmont knew or found out about this and in 1990 the city of Piedmont received such a grant and built the first 8.9 miles of trail. Other cities (Jacksonville, Weaver, etc.) joined in and within about ten years, the Chief Ladiga Trail had been completed. It took another seven years for the Silver Comet to be finished and for the two trails to join up.
After a quick break at the visitor center in Piedmont, we pressed on. The next section of the trail proved to be more exposed. For long stretches, there was little shade. We became intensely aware of how "unseasonably hot" it really was. The weatherman Karen heard in the hotel lobby this morning wasn't kidding! But rolling along at seven to ten miles per hour creates a nice breeze, which made the day much more pleasant than simply roasting in the hot sun would have been.
I noticed again how rough some of the bridges were. After one particularly rough one, I noticed that the asphalt seemed rougher than usual as well. Suddenly suspicious, I stopped and looked down at my back tire. Sure enough, it was flat! :(
We realized we were less than a mile from our designated turn-around point (actually about half a mile) and I spotted some shade about a quarter mile further on, so while Karen rode on to the 10.5 mile marker and came back, I pushed my wounded steed to the shady spot. By the time I got out of the sun, Karen was almost back. I could see the marker yet another quarter of a mile further along. Since it was so close, we walked down to the marker and back while we discussed what to do about my flat. Karen was very calm and matter of fact. There have been times in the past when a situation like this would have turned both of us hysterical. This time, we discussed the situation, assessed what action made the most sense, and did what was needed.
As it turns out, I was not a very good Boy Scout -- I had left my pump in the truck and the inner tube that might have fitted this tire at home! So fixing the flat on the spot wasn't really an option. We concluded that the best thing to do was for one of us to ride Karen's trike back to the truck and bring it to where the injured bike was. The only question was which of us should go. We were a bit uncertain exactly how to get back to the spot on car roads and neither of us wanted to spend a long time waiting. In the end, Karen graciously allowed me to ride her trike back to the truck. She suggested (strongly) that I notice the name of the first cross street I came to on the trip back to the truck because that might help me find my way back. I could see the sense in her suggestion, so I was careful to note the street name ("Hebble Highway") as I rolled past on my way back to Piedmont. It was also Karen who had the presence of mind to make sure I transfered my car keys from my bike bag to hers before leaving. They would not have done much good sitting in the shady spot with Karen while I was trying to get into the truck in Piedmont.
I managed to make the ride quick, getting back to the truck in about 15 minutes. I loaded Karen's trike in the truck and then had the idea to use Elza to find my way back to Hebble. It worked out well, eventually. When I asked Elza about Hebble Highway near Piedmont, Alabama, she was all over it. Did I want to go to 1300 Hebble Highway or 2 Hebble Highway, she wanted to know. I hemmed and harrumped and picked 2. She laid in a course and we were off!
Following Elza's directions, I didn't have any trouble at all finding Hebble Highway. The only problem was, it didn't look right. Yes, there was the bike path. And, yes, there was Hebble Highway. But at this point, Hebble Highway was a tributary of something called "The Wagon Road" and it was The Wagon Road that the bike trail actually crossed. The street sign at the crossing said "The Wagon Road". I remembered distinctly that when I rode by, that sign had said "Hebble Highway." Had some prankster changed it on me?
I looked down the path as far as I could and thought I could see the shady patch where I'd left Karen. I started walking that way and, within twenty steps, realized that that couldn't possibly be the shady patch where I had left her. First off, the shade wasn't dense enough. Secondly, there was no Karen there. Thirdly, there was no Wounded Bicycle there.
Returning to the truck, I looked carefully at the GPS device. What if... Hebble Highway pulled one of those tricks where it makes like a horseshoe and intersects the main road at both ends? Hmm... I decided to drive a long Hebble Highway and see where the other end came out. When I had driven about half a mile and Hebble had wandered away from the main highway, I was
assailed by doubts. I could still see the main road over there across the valley, but Hebble was headed resolutely off to the south. I reflected that it would have been wiser to drive along the main highway which I *knew* passed just beside where Karen was waiting, patiently.
However, another examination of the map display on the GPS laid my fears to rest. Up ahead, Hebble curved back toward the main road. Yes, as the display continued to scroll forward, I could see where Hebble came back to the main road. Sure enough, there was the church I had pushed the Wounded Bicycle past. And there was the intersection where the street sign said "Hebble Highway" (the prankster hadn't gotten it after all). And there was the shady spot with a Karen and a Wound Bicycle, waiting, patiently.
I pulled up on the side of the road, as close as I could get, and Karen let me know she was glad I was back. I was happy to see her, too. I got the bike and trike stowed in the back of the truck and everyone was finally where they belonged and we could move on to the next phase of our mission. We hadn't quite completed the planned ride, but we had both covered the entire Chief Ladiga Trail in at least one direction.
We asked Elza to help us find our way to Rockmart, Georgia, where Frankie's, the trail restaurant is. Officially, it's an Italian restaurant, with pasta dishes and pizza. However, they welcome bikers (both kinds) and have pictures of patrons who have visited on bulletin boards over every table in the place. They've devoted a couple of walls to whatever graffiti their visitors care to leave comemorating their exploits on the trail and visit to Frankies. We had lunch, wrote on the wall, and visited with the manager for a few minutes over the process of paying our bill.
Finally, we got on the road for home. The adventurous weekend drew to a close.
Piedmont is about a tenth of mile on the high side of marker 13.5. If you've been following along, you know that we left off Friday night at mile marker 10.5 and Saturday we finished up at mile marker 20.5. So the plan for today was to start at the visitor center in Piedmont (at 13.6 on the trail), ride to 20.5 (just under 7 miles), turn around and ride to 10.5 (10 miles), then turn around and ride back to the visitor center (just over 3 miles) for a total of 20 miles.
This let us start out going west, putting the rising sun to our backs (rather than in our eyes). Again, today much of the trail was shaded so the riding was easy and pleasant. We rolled along at an easy pace chatting all the way.
We passed two informational signs before we got out of Piedmont and promised that we would investigate them on our return. The ride to 20.5 was uneventful with nothing much to report beyond a few rabbits, several runners, and a handful of other cyclists. It took us about an hour to get to 20.5.
We had turned around and made it a couple of miles back, at around mile marker 18, when a large body suddenly burst from the trees on the left side of the trail. Both Karen and I were startled. My first thought was that a large dog had ambushed us. In the next moment, we saw a smaller body flying after the first and realized that we were looking at a mama deer and her baby. A second later, another fawn galloped out of the underbrush, running after Mama and Sis like his pants were on fire. The three of them galloped down the trail away from us, moving much faster than we could. We just gaped in amazement. Perhaps a hundred yards away, Mama broke to the right and the two younglings disappeared into the trees to the left. We rode past the point they had disappeared, trusting that they would be able to find each other again after the nasty intruders were gone and the woods had become peaceful again.
Shortly after the deer episode, we realized we had gone about 10 miles, completing half of our planned ride for the day, so we stopped in a patch of shade for some water and a snack.
Around mile marker 15 on our way back, I noticed an informational sign beside the trail that I had not seen on the way out. I stopped and examined it. It marked the boundary line that divided Creek and Cherokee lands before 1832. It was in 1832 that Chief Ladiga and other Creek leaders signed the Treaty of Cusseta (the Wikipedia entry contains a map of Alabama showing the Creek and Cherokee areas) relinquishing all collective claim to Creek lands east of the Mississippi river.
The sign also mentioned the Treaty of New Echota, the equivalent treaty for the Cherokee, which was signed in 1835. In 1838, the U.S. government forced the Cherokee to relocate to Oklahoma.
The informational sign in Piedmont described how the CSX railroad announced in 1987 that they were abandoning the rail line running through Piedmont. Under the rules of such rail right of way abandonments, the federal government will help local communities acquire the land and develop walking and biking trails. Some smart folks in Piedmont knew or found out about this and in 1990 the city of Piedmont received such a grant and built the first 8.9 miles of trail. Other cities (Jacksonville, Weaver, etc.) joined in and within about ten years, the Chief Ladiga Trail had been completed. It took another seven years for the Silver Comet to be finished and for the two trails to join up.
After a quick break at the visitor center in Piedmont, we pressed on. The next section of the trail proved to be more exposed. For long stretches, there was little shade. We became intensely aware of how "unseasonably hot" it really was. The weatherman Karen heard in the hotel lobby this morning wasn't kidding! But rolling along at seven to ten miles per hour creates a nice breeze, which made the day much more pleasant than simply roasting in the hot sun would have been.
I noticed again how rough some of the bridges were. After one particularly rough one, I noticed that the asphalt seemed rougher than usual as well. Suddenly suspicious, I stopped and looked down at my back tire. Sure enough, it was flat! :(
We realized we were less than a mile from our designated turn-around point (actually about half a mile) and I spotted some shade about a quarter mile further on, so while Karen rode on to the 10.5 mile marker and came back, I pushed my wounded steed to the shady spot. By the time I got out of the sun, Karen was almost back. I could see the marker yet another quarter of a mile further along. Since it was so close, we walked down to the marker and back while we discussed what to do about my flat. Karen was very calm and matter of fact. There have been times in the past when a situation like this would have turned both of us hysterical. This time, we discussed the situation, assessed what action made the most sense, and did what was needed.
As it turns out, I was not a very good Boy Scout -- I had left my pump in the truck and the inner tube that might have fitted this tire at home! So fixing the flat on the spot wasn't really an option. We concluded that the best thing to do was for one of us to ride Karen's trike back to the truck and bring it to where the injured bike was. The only question was which of us should go. We were a bit uncertain exactly how to get back to the spot on car roads and neither of us wanted to spend a long time waiting. In the end, Karen graciously allowed me to ride her trike back to the truck. She suggested (strongly) that I notice the name of the first cross street I came to on the trip back to the truck because that might help me find my way back. I could see the sense in her suggestion, so I was careful to note the street name ("Hebble Highway") as I rolled past on my way back to Piedmont. It was also Karen who had the presence of mind to make sure I transfered my car keys from my bike bag to hers before leaving. They would not have done much good sitting in the shady spot with Karen while I was trying to get into the truck in Piedmont.
I managed to make the ride quick, getting back to the truck in about 15 minutes. I loaded Karen's trike in the truck and then had the idea to use Elza to find my way back to Hebble. It worked out well, eventually. When I asked Elza about Hebble Highway near Piedmont, Alabama, she was all over it. Did I want to go to 1300 Hebble Highway or 2 Hebble Highway, she wanted to know. I hemmed and harrumped and picked 2. She laid in a course and we were off!
Following Elza's directions, I didn't have any trouble at all finding Hebble Highway. The only problem was, it didn't look right. Yes, there was the bike path. And, yes, there was Hebble Highway. But at this point, Hebble Highway was a tributary of something called "The Wagon Road" and it was The Wagon Road that the bike trail actually crossed. The street sign at the crossing said "The Wagon Road". I remembered distinctly that when I rode by, that sign had said "Hebble Highway." Had some prankster changed it on me?
I looked down the path as far as I could and thought I could see the shady patch where I'd left Karen. I started walking that way and, within twenty steps, realized that that couldn't possibly be the shady patch where I had left her. First off, the shade wasn't dense enough. Secondly, there was no Karen there. Thirdly, there was no Wounded Bicycle there.
Returning to the truck, I looked carefully at the GPS device. What if... Hebble Highway pulled one of those tricks where it makes like a horseshoe and intersects the main road at both ends? Hmm... I decided to drive a long Hebble Highway and see where the other end came out. When I had driven about half a mile and Hebble had wandered away from the main highway, I was
assailed by doubts. I could still see the main road over there across the valley, but Hebble was headed resolutely off to the south. I reflected that it would have been wiser to drive along the main highway which I *knew* passed just beside where Karen was waiting, patiently.
However, another examination of the map display on the GPS laid my fears to rest. Up ahead, Hebble curved back toward the main road. Yes, as the display continued to scroll forward, I could see where Hebble came back to the main road. Sure enough, there was the church I had pushed the Wounded Bicycle past. And there was the intersection where the street sign said "Hebble Highway" (the prankster hadn't gotten it after all). And there was the shady spot with a Karen and a Wound Bicycle, waiting, patiently.
I pulled up on the side of the road, as close as I could get, and Karen let me know she was glad I was back. I was happy to see her, too. I got the bike and trike stowed in the back of the truck and everyone was finally where they belonged and we could move on to the next phase of our mission. We hadn't quite completed the planned ride, but we had both covered the entire Chief Ladiga Trail in at least one direction.
We asked Elza to help us find our way to Rockmart, Georgia, where Frankie's, the trail restaurant is. Officially, it's an Italian restaurant, with pasta dishes and pizza. However, they welcome bikers (both kinds) and have pictures of patrons who have visited on bulletin boards over every table in the place. They've devoted a couple of walls to whatever graffiti their visitors care to leave comemorating their exploits on the trail and visit to Frankies. We had lunch, wrote on the wall, and visited with the manager for a few minutes over the process of paying our bill.
Finally, we got on the road for home. The adventurous weekend drew to a close.
Labels: 2009, ChiefLadiga
posted by GreenSkink at 5:17 PM
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