Day 1

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States: Florida, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi
Miles driven: 600
Miles hiked: 0
Slept: My tent in Tom Bigbee State Park, Tupelo, MS.
10 words or less: Accidentally went mudding in “Deliverance” territory.

Tupelo, honey

After months of planning my ass off, I was sure of a few things that I could expect to go wrong. I was sure that day one would start hours later than scheduled. I am never one to be punctual. I was sure I’d forget important stuff like a tooth brush, my tent or my wallet. Let’s face it, I am by far the most forgetful person you know. And I was sure I would be hopelessly lost every minute of every day. I catch a lot of grief for getting lost in my own town if I ever try to cross the ditch. So all of this – this 30 day road trip driving from Florida all through the West and back – all of this is a fabulous idea I am perfectly suited for.

Unbelievably, I left my house 5 minutes after I’d planned. I had a strange feeling, like “it can’t be this easy” and I waited for the other shoe to drop. I had a very tearful goodbye with my two cats, Manuela and Super Cat, I got my iPod crankin’ on the stereo, my non-driving toe tappin’ on the floorboard and my thumbs drumming on the steering wheel. I tore out of the driveway of my home in Neptune Beach, Florida heading for Tupelo, Mississippi, birthplace of one of my musical heroes, Elvis Presley.

Driving for hours and hours (with a great deal of nothing to report) I found myself in Tupelo. Did you know their rest areas have wifi? Of course being out of facebook contact for 10 hours, I sent word out that I’d arrived, on schedule, and was off to find my campground at Tom Bigbee State Park.

What they don’t tell you in any of the online information on Tom Bigbee State Park is that you will have to drive through some of the most seriously backward, inbred land to get there. Nearly every home had a sofa in the front yard, three to six dogs lying in the ditch, and a rusty tin roof. And there’s no street signs – anywhere. None!

Ahead, a fork in the road toyed with me. I had a 50/50 shot at picking the right way. It was the first “fuck it” moment of the trip. Do I go left or right? “Fuck it, I’m a lefty liberal.” Left I went. Quickly the road turned from tar to soft dirt and narrowed up, trapping me in a channel flanked with big stones, thick trees and fallen branches. There was no turning around. With sunset quickly approaching, I began to worry that this was going to be the farthest I’d get on this journey. Out loud to no one, I said with a touch of fear caught in my throat “and she was never seen again.”

Me and the Bunny Mobile chugged along up a small hill. Very small, but very steep. The kind you can’t see the other side of until you’re face down in it on the other side. To my horror, I found out the hard way the hill hid a mud bog. Surely it was a good 3 or 4 feet deep (or maybe that’s inches). If you have any idea of how thick Tupelo clay mud is, you are smarter than I. With only a second to react, I said “fuck it” and punched down the gas pedal. The SUV plowed through like a champ, only fish-tailing a touch on the exit. I swear, I didn’t know my truck had it in her! Elated and pumped with adrenaline, it took me about 5 seconds to realize I somehow had to turn around and go through it again, this time there’d be a steep hill immediately after. I found a small clearing and did a simple 12 point turn. I held my breath on the approach, floored it. We cleared the mud again and even caught the tiniest bit of air at the top of the hill. Woohoo! The Bunny Mobile pulled through. Even now, 7 weeks later, there’s still Tupelo mud stains on my tires.

It should be noted, besides not forgetting anything even remotely important, this was the one and only time I got lost of the entire trip.