#150c Clarkson Covered Bridge

Fleeter Log #150c
Dry Alabama / Wet Mississippi

Day 4 - Sunday

October 4, 2009

295 miles

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Cullman, Alabama to Greenville, Mississippi

It's not a matter of IF we will get wet today, but WHEN we will meet the wall of rain making its way east as me make our way west.  There will be no way to miss it. All of Mississippi is covered by a dark rain cloud. We are routed right through the middle of Mississippi. Make sure the extra waterproof gloves are packed on top and easily accessible.

But before we go into wet mode, we see an opportunity to get a little flower sniffin' in.  A sign for a covered bridge is one of the leading reasons I am found eagerly leaving my route looking for the odd, the old, or anything worthy of of photo-op. Here on CR1043 in Cullman County, Alabama we find the 270 foot long Clarkson Covered Bridge.

Clarkson Covered Bridge in Cullman County Alabama

Down below the bridge is a shady park setting complete with picnic tables.

 Connecting the Dogtrot Log Cabin and the Grist Mill is a wooden walk along Crooked Creek with a close-up view of the spillway.

We managed to make it through Fayette before meeting the wall of rain making its way slowly across Mississippi.

All of our time in Mississippi was spent riding through heavy rain. No more flower sniffin'.  Now the goal is to just arrive safely on the other side of the state where we have a reservation waiting on the banks of the Mississippi River.
When we hit the heavy rain, we made an extra effort to pull zippers all the way up, snap up tight, and keep the chin down low. Less moving around in the gear lessens the chances for the water to find a way in past the gear. But no matter the effort ... water eventually started making it's way past the waterproof gear. First my hands were wet, then I felt the water running up my arm to my elbow. Then one too many blindspot checks and the twisting of my neck allowed a trickle of water to enter. My gear was no longer a barrier to the rain.

While the bikes sat dripping water under the portico of the Comfort Inn, I sloshed my way into the lobby feeling bad for leaving a huge puddle of water with each step I took as I made my way to the clerk's counter.  

 I had tried to drip as much excess wetness as I could while outside with the bikes, but I had absorbed too much water as I made my way across the state. My gear was like a sponge...saturated and heavy. Signing the registration slip without leaving a water puddle on the counter was a wasted effort. There was no avoiding it, I was like Neptune coming up from the deep and entering the dry comfort of the terra firma dwellers.

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