Road Trip Issue 2024: Natchez Trace by Bike | Cover Stories

At Mile 117.1 of my Alabama-to-Tennessee road trip, I steadied myself on my handlebars and pulled out my phone. As I plodded past lush greenery under a perfectly blue sky, I made a voice memo documenting a realization I’d made two miles earlier.

“I’ve decided,” I said between labored breaths, pedaling away on a bicycle loaded with 30 pounds of clothes, food, water and camping equipment, “I do hate you, Natchez Trace.” A dramatic pause for an audience of no one. “And that’s why I’m going to finish you.”

My cycling odyssey was nearly at an end, and I was going to do whatever it took to get to the finish line.

OK, that’s being dramatic. Many before me have taken overnight bicycle trips along the Natchez Trace, a 444-mile scenic byway that winds between Natchez, Miss., and Franklin, Tenn. But I didn’t see anyone else stupid enough to do it in July, when the temperature climbs to near triple digits. So why did I?

Well, our Road Trip Issue is in the summer, and that’s the only time I could get paid to do this. But also, my bike has been my main form of transportation around Nashville for nearly two years, and I’ve always loved going on backpacking trips. This was my excuse to combine these two interests. How hard could it be?

Things didn’t start well. I’m used to dealing with the logistical headaches that come with traveling car-free in a region dominated by highways and cars, but the planning process for this trip proved frustrating since I was biking just one way and going it alone. After I ruled out bus travel (too many transfers!), renting a car (nowhere to return it!) or flying on an airline I’d never heard of (a bit sketchy!), my partner offered to drive me to my starting point and then pick me up a few days later when I finished. (She is the best!) We enjoyed our afternoon road trip even if I caught myself saying, “This is going to suck on a bike!” as we traveled over particularly large hills.

We said goodbye at the Colbert Ferry Park campground just over the Tennessee-Alabama border. I found this spot on the website natcheztracetravel.com, which provides very detailed information about points of interest, lodging options, dining and more. It’s an indispensable resource for any Trace tourist, and I ultimately based my route off one of their sample itineraries.

My plan was to camp at Colbert Ferry on Day 0, ride 60 miles to a bed-and-breakfast in Hohenwald on Day 1, then ride 60 miles to the Trace’s Northern Terminus near The Loveless Cafe on Day 2. This might have been a good plan another time of year, but I cannot overstate how miserably hot and humid it was. It was so bad the night I camped out — that is, the night before my longest day of riding ever — that I managed only a single hour of sleep. Be smarter than me. Wait until fall.

My ride started dramatically as I crossed the Tennessee River on the John Coffee Memorial Bridge, a nearly one-mile span that’s especially beautiful around sunrise. In just a few minutes I settled into the type of scenery that dominates the Trace: tall green foliage that prevents you from seeing anything interesting. This extremely repetitive scenery combined with my lack of sleep meant that the ride started to blend together almost immediately.

I remember grasping my handlebars with one hand and shoving Jelly Belly Sport Beans into my mouth with the other. I remember being passed, first by cars and then by a large group of Lycra-clad cyclists. I remember belting out songs from Les Misérables, which I played to help stay awake. I remember resolving to finish the day’s ride, sleep or no sleep, and to ignore thoughts of the next day’s similarly punishing ride.

About the time Jean Valjean was confessing his true identity to Inspector Javert on my phone speakers, I was crossing the Tennessee state line. I stopped here for a break and some trail mix and soldiered on until I hit the town of Collinwood, roughly the day’s midpoint. The town is home to just 982 people, but it’s also home to Q Barbecue, which gave me enough pulled pork, water and classic rock to continue my journey to Hohenwald, just off the Trace. As I rolled over steep inclines and poorly paved roads, I noticed several signs for candidates in the upcoming Lewis County Highway Commissioner race. Whoever can fix these roads would have had my vote.

I arrived in Hohenwald at 3:14 p.m., somehow feeling more pride than exhaustion. I was exhausted, though. Fortunately, Meriwether’s Retreat Bed & Breakfast could not have been a more perfect place to recover. Host Melissa Wickline told me all about the town, once called Little Switzerland, as I snacked on home-baked treats from staff baker Deb Whitehead in a handsomely furnished dining room. We had a wonderful time swapping travel stories before I ate dinner at Junkyard Dog Steakhouse and paid a visit to the Meriwether Lewis Monument downtown.

I’d doubted my ability to finish my journey during my misérable first day but forgot these doubts after a good night’s rest and a tasty breakfast of quiche, yogurt and granola. Melissa, who’s a pro at helping out both cycle tourists and solo travelers, sent me off with a packed lunch and a desire to return on a less strenuous trip.

This second day was far hillier than the first. I battled through the heat, taking breaks by trailside information stands, under a shady overpass (Mile 103.0) and near a War of 1812 Memorial I barely looked at (Mile 113.2). I struggled up climbs and silently cursed an old guy who passed me on a superlight road bike. I asked myself why anyone would bike down this “scenic” road that was really just a bunch of trees and hills. I wasn’t quite ready to give up, but I wasn’t sure why I was still going.

And then I had my delirious realization. The Trace was my enemy. It wanted me to give up. I couldn’t let it win.

I began insulting it out loud, soon forgetting how tired I was. As I monologued like some anime villain — “You think you can stop me? These are the words of a fool!” etc. — I defiantly pedaled faster. I even skipped a planned break because I didn’t want the Trace to “get the satisfaction” of seeing me stop.

My fury broke the Trace’s spirit. Perhaps to concede defeat, it gave me one final downhill segment that I rode down at an irresponsibly fast 38 mph. The Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge served as the de facto finish line for my trip, as the Trace’s Northern Terminus a few miles later is barely acknowledged by an unremarkable highway sign. As I waited nearby for my partner, I realized I still had enough energy to keep riding. But I didn’t keep riding. My life’s hardest physical challenge was finished. My enemy lay defeated.

And even I hadn’t gone crazy enough to ride more in the July sun.