Brent and I went to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. I got biscuits and eggs. Since then I have had biscuits as often as possible. They have become a staple for this ride. Biscuits and grits. I have eaten more grits since I left New Orleans than I have in the past 10 years.

I had a leisurely morning. Too leisurely. By the time I said goodbye to Brent and Bridget it was hot and very humid and getting more so by the minute.

On the way to Baton Rouge I stopped on the shoulder after seeing drill bits scattered all about. Two people stopped to see if I needed assistance. I was surprised by their helpfulness and said no thanks, I’m fine. I did not say, but thought about later how it might sound if I had said, “no thanks, I’m just stopped picking up drill bits that are scattered on the shoulder” I have a habit of stopping and collecting trinkets along the road. Usually tools, drill bits, sockets, the occasional wrench. It’s the bike tourists version of a treasure hunt.

At the south end of Baton Rouge I turned left at the LSU stadium and got onto a great bike trail right alongside the Mississippi. I stayed on the trail until downtown Baton Rouge.

North end of town the smell of Exxon refineries made me feel a little ill.

Some distance south of St. Francisville I ran out of water no town or store nearby. I did see a group of prisoners with fat stripes on their pants, picking up trash along the shoulder. I badly needed water. On the far side of the road a guard sat in a van. There were two large igloo coolers in a trailer behind the van. I rode over and asked if I could fill up my water bottles. He looked at me with suspicion. Was I part of an escape plan? I was grateful when he said I could fill my water bottles.

Further up the road my rear tire went flat for the second time of the day. I pulled over at a house in search of a tire pump. No pump. I do carry a pump with me, a tiny one. It’s more of an emergency pump. With it I can get enough air in the tire to get to a real pump or air compressor. I got to work getting the tire off and patching it. I was dripping with sweat. It was the time of day where a more sensible rider would have been taking a break from the road. The woman who answered the door and said that I could work on my tire in the shade of the yard came out and asked if I wanted a cold bottle of water. It was the kindest thing. The water was amazing. I had forgotten that water could taste so good.

10 more miles and I was in St. Francisville. Massive live oaks, spanish moss draped from their branches standing guard around old plantation homes.