The Smell of My Gulf (USA Day 156)

“Have you smelt the salt in the air?” asked Freda, sniffing towards the moody shore. “I can smell it from Vancleave, twenty miles off the Gulf. It’s different. I’m healthier here, by the sea.” This is all very romantic until you remember that some Americans drop the soft 'l' in words like 'wolf', so 'Gulf' sounds like 'Guff'. The familiar smell of my own Gulf.

We stood on the pier in the light of what would have been a sunset if it weren’t for the end-to-end clouds, watching fish jump clear of the Gulf of Mexico’s poison water, looking at lights across the bay. “That’s Pascagoula, over there. Those are oil rigs. An’ that’s Biloxi. Did you go to the casinos?”

We hadn’t been to the casinos.

“If you sign up for a player’s card, you get a free buffet. Don’t even need to gamble.”

We should have gone to the casinos.

But with torrential rain-showers to avoid and miles of national forest to cycle, by the time we got to Biloxi, looking for a massive free lunch wasn’t really on the itinerary. The Mississippi back roads had been pretty enough, verging even on ‘nice’ at parts, but we chose to skip fifteen miles by taking a highway, and felt the traffic fatigue set in just ten miles later.

So if you can’t taste the salt for yourself, I’ll let you know that we’ve reached the Gulf. Its pearl-white beaches are stunning, its water (at least here in Mississippi) riddled with Vibrio Vulnificus, a flesh-eating virus that sounds about as much fun as a tropical storm. But for the next few days we’ll ride along its tempting shores, hoping for as little of that Easterly wind as possible, watching for glimpses of sun amongst the clouds.

We crossed a two-mile bridge that could have been five, with how long it took us. The headwind was fierce, the gunmetal sea roiling and raw. On the other side, the traffic calmed down again as we took a quieter road just south of Highway 90, beside enormous high schools with their football teams on preened green fields running drills despite the rain. At one point we saw, up ahead, a black labrador sniffing about on the road. The dogs have been pretty bad in the past few days, but our usual tactic of braking and waiting has worked great. Most of the time, once the dogs stop barking, they’re pretty keen on a stroke and an affirmation of their goodness.

By the time we reached the dog, it was standing over something rotten by the side of the road, eating it. Well, that was what it was doing the first time I looked. The second time, it was sprinting beside us, keeping pace, growling not barking. Dogs are much scarier when they aren’t barking because there’s an implication that they’re ready to do something else with those teeth. We braked, as we tend to, but the dog took this as an opportunity and cut onto the road, just as a car moved to overtake us…

CRUNCH.

We both shrieked as we saw the fragile black shape roll under the car. They both travelled twenty feet down the road before the dog popped out from underneath, still running, but now in the other direction, yelping, no limp visible but panic in its eyes. It disappeared behind a house. We abandoned our bikes. My legs were shaking uncontrollably. The driver climbed out of her car.

I tiptoed up to the front door and knocked. A small girl answered, a dozen puppies wiggling by her feet.

“Is your dad in?” I asked.

She half-turned and opened the door a little more, revealing a stout bloke with a red face, sitting in his easy chair.

“Are you the owner of a black Labrador?”

He nodded, barely.

I explained what had happened.

There was a long silence. “Thank you for telling me.” The door slammed.

By the time I’d returned to the road, things had calmed down. The driver saw no damage to her bumper. There was no blood on the road. The dog had disappeared, but nobody could identify an injury.

It’s the noise that gets me. The meaty thunk as the car hit the dog. We get so used to objects on the road not touching that there’s something very visceral about the contact. I can’t shake the noise, though.

We met Freda and her lovely terriers, Ike and Tina, who didn’t even think to chase us. After a shower, we drove down to the quay to smell the salt air. I really don’t want to have killed that dog. I wish that owner would care a little more. Put up a fence. Give the dog some training. You should’ve heard the noise.

Today: 51 Miles

Total: 6,737 Miles