It was a very cloudy morning at 7 a.m. - It just did not look like a good day to be out there riding a bicycle. So I waited at the McDonald's in Centreville, a short walk from the motel. Should I stay or should I go? I thought about it over an egg and cheese McGriddle with bacon, and read through the Birmingham News and Tuscaloosa News to spend the time. It was not actually raining, despite the extremely dreary clouds, and I accepted this is the way the southeastern part of the country is. I had nothing against this small Alabama town, but there was no way I would stay here another day. My "whatever it takes" mentality kicked in with urgency: If it rains out there, I will just have to prudently deal with it. Just ... finish ... this ... trip!
	I walked back to my motel room to get ready, and I saw this old building in Brent. I think it may have been a small grocery store, Hathcock's Grocery Store? The old structure caught my eye.
	The Talladega National Forest. There were lots of "rolling hills" out there (adjacent bottom photo) - not bad at all from a workout standpoint, but I will get to how they were problematic lower in the page. The sky remained gray and the day had a dark and depressing mood. I can't handle too many days like these ... that is why I live in the dry and arid West!
	After about 30 miles of riding, I arrived in Maplesville, Alabama. I spent some time at a convenience store with a Subway inside it. I sat there snacking when this young woman named Amanda (adjacent photo) shared her amazement that I had made it this far already. She lives back in Centreville/Brent and drove past me awhile back on Highway 82. This was just like the time with the truck driver in Mississippi! She was so friendly and I told her all about my trip and I just knew I had to get a picture with her!
	I stopped here to briefly rest. I guess it was a little too early in the season for Buddy Jones' fruit stand to be open. :(

Adventures With Trailer Trucks Above: An uphill grade with little shoulder on Highway 82 in Autauga County, Alabama. 15-20 miles into the ride, I noticed just how little shoulder there was and it would be like this nearly all the way to Prattville, a town west of Montgomery. I did my best to keep right, be visible and stay positive, and almost all drivers were courteous in passing me. This was a low traffic two-lane highway in rural country, central Alabama. I had nothing to worry about. There was one little mistake in my thinking: As the morning rolled into business hours (it was a Tuesday), more trailer trucks came onto the road. Now the lack of shoulder was a larger problem! Incidents With Trailer Trucks On The Road The trailer trucks. Most along this route were courteous, but there were a few tension-filled moments. It seemed when I was climbing up an incline like the one in the photo above, some truckers seemed to become upset, probably because it was less safe to lean toward the middle due to limited visibility of oncoming traffic. Slowing down, I would think, might really hamper them as they try to accelerate again on such a hill. I will admit I am speculating here, but the inconvenience and hassle of slowing down perhaps was viewed as a nuisance. Maybe truckers were just as irritated as I was to be on this highway, because for them, riding through numerous towns with traffic lights and reduced speed limit areas could be frustrating. Anyway, somewhere in Chilton County, past Maplesville, I had an incident with a trailer truck. I was climbing up a long upgrade with just two lanes for traffic and no shoulder. I rode right on the white line. "Hooooooooooooooooooooonk!" The trucker behind me slammed his horn very obnoxiously. There are different variations of "beep, beep" depending on the length of each beep, but this one was unmistakably aggressive. As he approached, I pulled over onto the grass and put my feet down. That was not enough. He kept that horn going and it was loud enough to make my insides vibrate. "Hooooooooonk! I'm going to keep this horn going ... Hooooooooooooooooonk! .... to punish you, scare you ..." It was obnoxious alright. Quite cowardly too. There were at least two more encounters with trailer trucks on this day. Neither were as bad, but I could feel the tension in the air, and maybe it was all in my head after being rattled from the first trucker. This one incident really bothered me. The end result was a emotional mix of anger (of the road rage variation) and self-pity. I rested in front of a general store in Billingsley, AL, feeling glum and watching a high volume of trailer trucks ride by the highway. I texted "V" to share my ugly experience and it turned out my friend - this same woman who ragged me about Arkansas not being part of the South - grew up in Chilton County and sent an almost prophetic message: "Chilton County is the worst place that ever happened to me. It's like the Bermuda triangle. Don't get sucked in. Keep pedaling! :)" It sounded like she understood my grief about this area! Early on, after an incident near Geronimo, Arizona (Day 12 - east Arizona)*, I made a decision about how to handle trailer trucks. If a truck hit his horn with a friendly "beep beep" in an area with little shoulder, I would usually pull over quickly and give a friendly wave. Who knows? Maybe the truck just wanted to inform me courteously that he was coming. In rare cases, the truck could be hauling a "wide load" that could be really dangerous for everyone, especially me. It was no big deal to pull over, look back and smile. And remember, this was just in the places where shoulder was minimal. I did not encounter any blatant rudeness from truckers while on an average car-length shoulder. For those few who used their horn in seemingly antagonizing ways, a smile and wave was my strategy to maybe help them feel bad or guilty when they saw my overt kindness. Sometimes, at least in my wild imagination of thinking, it felt like some horn honks meant, "Hey, you need to not be there. I'm going to pass as best I can but you shouldn't be there." If one actually thought such a thing, they would be wrong. Bicycles have the right to the road just as much as vehicles do, unless there is a sign prohibiting them such as some interstate highways. Most state laws require that bikes stay as far right as possible. * - I was riding on the while line of the two lane highway that was going through a small Arizona town. Other cars were in the vicinity. A trailer truck was quite a distance behind me. "Honk, honk!" I heard. I looked back and it was just an ordinary trailer truck. I moved just right of the white line and he had enough room to lean toward the left edge of his driver side to pass me safely. "Honk, honk." I heard again. Sir, you have enough room to pass me safely. "Honk, honk!" I heard a third time. This was going to be a stand-off. This guy has the room to pass me safely even if he does not lean somewhat to the middle ... I am not budging. "Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk!" There was one last loud and scary "honk" as he was right behind and adjacent to me. It was a long honk. What a jerk! And he did not lean to the middle at all. I was partly enraged, but the sane part of my mind grabbed hold and resolved that it is not worth fighting massive hunks of metal while on this comparatively teeny-tiny bicycle. I made a decision and largely stuck to it: If there is not much shoulder and the situation warrants it, pull over if a trailer truck honks. Just turn the bike to the right, put your feet down, look at him and wave with a smile. Most Truckers Were Indeed Courteous Let me be clear: Most truckers on the roads were very courteous and professional. In about 2,400 miles of riding, I had just a handful of unpleasant experiences with trailer trucks, and there had to have been thousands of trucks that passed me over these days. Many trucks have the company's logo and a large number on the back for purposes of reporting inappropriate driving manners. The local logging trucks in the South, with no company name on them, seemed to be the worst mannered drivers, and that was indeed the type of truck during the ugly incident in Chilton County. Out there in America, at least by bicycle, I obtained a greater understanding of the prevalence of trailer trucks and just how busy the trucking industry is in America. All those Hammer Gels, bottles of Gatorade and assorted snacks I would eat daily ... they would not be in stores without the hard work of truck drivers! So yeah, maybe Glenn was right. In retrospect, I would rather toss hot sauce in my eyes or lock myself in a room that constantly played Brittany Spears songs before I rode this stretch of highway again. To all road bicyclists out there, you are wise to avoid Highway 82 from Centreville to Prattville. Even without trailer truck traffic on weekends, it would be a marginal route at best. Don't do it. Get your bicycling jollies somewhere else in Alabama. Stay away!

	Highway 82 goes through some very wooded Alabama countryside with a lot of trailer homes. I know this sounds crazy, but I would love to live in a trailer home for a year and devote that time to writing a book about all my experiences. Wouldn't that be a really gripping and engaging book if I wrote it well? :)
Montgomery, Alabama	Jesus loves me? Ha. Well, I had a hard time remembering that while both angry and frightened when ... ... I got lost in Montgomery! All I wanted to do was travel on Highway 82, which serves as beltway for the west and south sides of the city, and find a motel somewhere on the south end - South Boulevard is the name of the road. Easy right? Not for me. Somehow I missed a turn and was near the Maxwell Air Force base. I thought I was still on Highway 82 when, without much warning from signs, the road led to Interstate 65 with no turnoffs besides northbound or southbound on the highway. What?! I was forced to turn back and ride against traffic on the shoulder. I was partly ticked off and partly worried. Can you sense the exasperated and annoyed tone of my voice?! This was the first time I was ever truly lost on my trip. That sense of lacking control from being lost really bothered me. In many areas of Colorado including my town of Buena Vista, the large towering mountains act as a landmark - you really must be geographically challenged to get atrociously lost this way. Well, the city of Montgomery on this dreary day was humbling me. The sky was totally gray, so I did not even have the sun to estimate what was north, south, west or east. I looked harder and harder on my map, but because I could not determine where I was on the map, it was useless. The neighborhood looked pretty bad in many respects, and so tying up the bike or asking the people in park who looked like they were either on drugs or selling drugs (or both) was out of the question. My past experience in Phoenix told me in no uncertain terms to lock up the bike in public to ask someone inside for directions. I boldly rode right up to the Maxwell Air Force Base entrance and I received directions from a guard. It turned out I was about 3-4 miles away from South Boulevard; I was not extremely far, but good heavens did I get off track! I graciously thanked him, and then another man observing our conversation walked up. "This is a dangerous neighborhood! You do not want to be out here at night!" he said. The man, wearing his full military gear, was authoritative yet caring in his tone. Yes sir! I should have given him a salute. :)
	I finally arrived on South Boulevard in Montgomery and stayed at a higher end lodge, a Ramada Inn, although the rate was reasonable. The area did not look as ghettoish from where I was lost, but it still looked kind of bad. Even "V" was concerned for my safety when I informed her I was in Montgomery. At night, I went to the gas station next door to buy some snacks and drinks, and the counter was totally shielded with a bullet proof window. That said it all!