Wednesday, October 23, 1996
Time out: 10:00 AM (after breakfast and stopping to purchase 4 copies of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution which featured an article about me with 2 photos).
It rained in the night, but by the time I departed, the rain had stopped.
Initially, I headed south on Georgia 42, through the City of Forsyth, looking for US-41. The courthouse (built in 1896) and the adjoining buildings are designated as a National Historical District.
I got lost. First, I turned onto a street paralleling I-75, but realized I was on the wrong road when it vanished at I-75. In going that way, I wasted about 3 miles. I turned around and went back downtown where I headed straight south following these signs.
From the signs it appeared to me that GA 42 and US 41 were straight ahead and GA routes 83 and 18 were to the right. I rode a mile or so south from here and once-again got the feeling that I was lost. I reviewed my Universal map and knew I shouldn't be going west, so I went back to the downtown intersection to try to get my bearings again.
The signs look a lot different from this side. US-41 is clearly left or right.
If you look carefully at the top photo, you'll realize that there is a left/right arrow below the 41 and 18 signs and that the straight ahead arrow applies only to 42. I never saw that double arrow until I looked again when I got back downtown. It was my fault that I got lost. I just didn't see the double-arrow at the bottom. I wasted at least 5 miles riding around Forsyth lost.
While I was waiting at this traffic light in Forsyth, a man pulled along side me and yelled that he was in Alaska the previous week working on "the slope" (the North Slope oilfields at Prudhoe Bay, Alaska).
Between Forsyth and Macon, I was reminded of a book I read this summer: A Civil Action. I saw a man pouring some sort of liquid on the ground behind a factory building and the furtiveness of his actions led me to believe it wasn't water. For those of you who haven't read that excellent book, it describes a lawsuit over industrial pollution. Not knowing what I was seeing or having a feel for the local people, I elected not to do anything about what I saw. If I saw the same thing at home, I'd call the Department of Environmental Quality or the police.
I stopped at the US Post Office in Smarr, Georgia to mail home a copy of the Journal-Constitution article. The postmistress read the article, wished me well and gave me some pecans. She showed me how to crack them without a nutcracker--by crushing one against another in my hand. I'd been wondering how southern folks pronounced pecan and asked her how to pronounce "pecan." Surprisingly, there is no right way; she said it was pronounced either way: "pee-can" or "pee-con".
There were a lot of logging trucks on this part of US-41. I finally reached their destination--a pulp mill where the logs are turned into sawdust.
Near Bass Road outside of Macon, I stopped a couple of cyclists
--Trish & Tom-- 
to get their opinion on riding
into Macon. They were riding during their lunch hour. I was getting hungry
and it was apparent that the Bass Road bypass I'd plotted on my Universal
maps wouldn't get me to lunch soon enough, so, with their blessing, I decided
to ride into Macon.
I stopped for lunch a couple of miles later at Arby's. A fellow there was reading the newspaper and occasionally looking at me. Realizing why, I said "yes, it is my picture." He said he'd thought so. We talked for a few minutes about lodging options and he said he covered the southern half of Georgia (in his sales business) and always had to carefully terminate at a place with a motel; that there weren't necessarily any in places other than along the interstates.
On my way into Macon, I passed Wesleyan College, established in 1836.
Just short of the Macon Historical District (which I had wanted to see), US-41 veered off to the south. I was wearying of intense traffic and decided to skip downtown Macon and make tracks as directly as possible toward Robins Air Force Base at Warner Robins. The traffic intensified as I went through a commercial district (about equivalent to Okemos, Michigan) for miles. Most of the drivers gave me room, but some didn't and a couple of drivers yelled at me. It was not fun riding from Macon to Warner Robins.
At one point on Georgia 129, I came upon one of the worst shoulder hazards yet: a pile of roofing nails (about 5-10 lbs) spread across the shoulder. I braked abruptly to a halt and wended my way through the nails successfully. I can't imagine a worse road hazard. [As I review this page, I kick myself for not getting a picture of the nails. When I am riding under stressful conditions, I tend not to stop for pictures. In fact, I speed up, trying to get away from the intensity.]
At a Warner Robins convenience store, I stopped to call an Air Force officer who read of my adventure on the Web and invited me to visit him at the base. As I was leaving the telephone booth, a pickup truck pulled up to me. The driver said he'd read about me in the Atlanta paper and wanted to wish me luck.
Robins AFB was in the midst of a security exercise, so after I passed through the armed guards at the gate, I had to wait at the Visitor Center for a few minutes for my host to escort me on base.
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My host, "Czar," a Lt. Colonel, met me on his bicycle and we biked together across the base to his residence where we got into his Porsche and toured the huge base including his offices (below).
I had a very nice dinner with Czar and his wife Barb (and their kids) and spent the night at their home on base.
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Total mileage today: 47
 Georgia |
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997