I ride 115 miles today before 4:00 and into Georgia. I’m now 381 miles from home.
The countryside has leveled out. The air is hot and muggy, it sticks to me as I try to pass through it. Swarming flies make me button my shirt and turn up my collar.
Magnificent old oaks canopy the road with moss covered branches.
Around me is the subtle beauty of swamp.
Log and chip trucks roar past me all day. Their spindly logs hang out 20 feet behind the trailers like bristly tails. I see where they are going.
Chocolate soup rivers rest awaiting caffeine.