urban bicycle journeys

It was a beautiful day, sunny with highs in the low sixties. The next day was predicted to be a hard rain. Why not get out of town? I set out to bicycle the area around Mount Olive NC.

I drove ninety miles down I-40 from my home in Chapel Hill NC, in the direction of the coast, towards Wilmington NC. At a spot sixty miles east of Raleigh NC I got off at exit 355, the Faison exit. Only a mile or two from the freeway “East Coast Migrant Head Start” on a Saturday seemed like a safe place to leave my car while I took a bike ride. Throughout this day I was to discover just by looking around that there are a lot of Hispanics in this agricultural area. One assumes many local Hispanics are migrant workers or the descendants of them. The Head Start building sat by itself in the farmland.

I had to park in the back, which made me feel even more intrusive. There was no one around. I pulled my Bike Friday out of the back.

My plan for the day was to cycle a circuitous route to the town of Mount Olive NC, then cycle back in another loop. I began by bicycling towards the town of Faison, only three miles away.

Faison NC (population 784) had both small and large houses, and an empty downtown strip.

A block away from the empty downtown strip were two busy looking gas station/convenience stores.

Railroad tracks run right through town. On the other side was a dead Dollar General grocery store.

By the most direct route it is only eight miles from Faison to Mount Olive but I cycled a longer way on back roads through the flat landscape. I have never seen the Mississippi Delta, but I imagine it is a lot like here, the flat Down East of North Carolina. The Delta inspired bluesman Robert Johnson to write the song “Crossroads.”  Outside Faison NC I came to a crossroads. I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees. According to Wikipedia, many think a crossroads is where Johnson sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his musical talent, although the words of the song make no reference to that. I passed this and several other rural crossroads this day. Why was a crossroads any kind of big deal? I have heard the Cream version of the song thousands of times but until this moment Down East, looking at this stop sign, did I realize the significance of a crossroads. Duh. It was where you could hitchhike more easily because cars had to stop. I went down to the crossroads, tried flag a ride.

Crossroads the song has special meaning to me. The summer of 1978 was the only time in my life where I have experienced the thrill of playing actual rock and roll, where one becomes part of that overwhelming loud ferocity, drums, bass, and screaming electric guitar. Sure, I have continued to sing and play acoustic guitar but I never again had the opportunity to rock out with volume. In the band that summer in my parent’s Virginia Beach garage I played the drums and sang, which was also the only time in my life I ever played drums! Our version of the Cream version of Crossroads was one of our best songs, my brother Alex on bass and his friend Kevin playing explosive Eric Claptonesque guitar. Our band only lasted three or fourth months because I had to drive to Arizona for graduate school. Kevin rode out there with me, where he only lasted one year at U of A in Tucson. Kevin was an artist in the true sense. Alex and Kevin were best friends and stayed in touch; I only saw Kevin two or three more times in the next forty years. Kevin took his own life just two years ago, having struggled with mental health issues all his life. Those that are most artistically talented frequently have trouble adapting to this less-than-sympathetic world. Seeing these crossroads in rural North Carolina brought back memories.

Back to reality, I cycled onward towards Mount Olive (population 4,600)

It seems disingenuous to talk about Mount Olive, since I saw no evidence of any kind of hill in or near the town. The town is out by itself, seventy to eighty miles from either Raleigh or Wilmington, not part of any other metro area. It does have the benefit of two major employers, University of Mount Olive and Mount Olive Pickle Company. I bicycled into downtown.

Most of the downtown retail looked empty but are one or two actual restaurants downtown, and there are several Spanish language labeled second hand stores. The movie theater looks like it had been repurposed once, now just sitting there.

What I did not know was the Mount Olive is actually a commercially thriving town, it is just its retail has all moved one mile northwest, out by the four lane highway interchange.

Mount Olive Pickle Company, founded by a Lebanese immigrant in the 1920’s, says it is the largest independent pickle producer in America and has a seventy percent pickle market share in the Southeast. For all these pickles it certainly must require a lot of cucumbers that are likely grown around here. I passed by one if its big facilities.

The town of Mount Olive also had a well maintained looking older residential neighborhood.

Just the other side of the pickle factory was a different type of crossroads, a crossroads of two four to six lane highways, NC-55 and the new freeway grade US-117. There are huge strip shopping centers at all four corners of this cross. Restaurants, for example. Refer to this Google Map: the steak house is the only restaurant shown within the grid of the older town, everything else is out on the highway interchange.

I cycled into one of the strip malls, looking for somewhere to eat lunch or have a coffee. A McDonalds and a Burger King sit on opposite corners. All of a sudden there was too much traffic. I felt unsafe making a left turn on a bicycle in the big intersection.

I now realize there was a Walmart out here, although I did not see it. Maybe that is why one other strip mall had a big empty store.

There were restaurants! Several ethnicities! Lots of pavement.

At the end of ANOTHER strip mall was Southern Ground. An independent coffee house!

I had hoped they would have sandwiches in addition to coffee but their food options were just cakes and bagels. I ordered a large oat milk latte, two packs sugar and sat out in front in a rocking chair, looking out over the parking lot, reading The Washington Post on my cell phone.

There was action in the parking lot. Three or four young men stood handcuffed next to several police cars. For almost an hour they all just stood there.

This of course caused discussion among the two young women working at the coffee house.  The situation showed how rumors get started. I heard the women speculate why the guys had been arrested. Maybe it was for shoplifting at a nearby store, they mused. I then heard one of the women call and tell someone definitively there were guys getting arrested for shoplifting!

I cycled over to the Maya Bistro for lunch. Independent Mexican restaurants help overcome the huge portions here in America by letting you order a la carte. For only $ 6.00 I enjoyed ONE cheese enchilada with rice and refried beans.

After lunch I pedaled to University of Mount Olive, formerly Mount Olive College, before that Mount Olive Junior College. I passed a former chain motel that is now a university dormitory. The college’s local history starts only in 1956.  Wikipedia says it is associated with the Original Free Will Baptist Convention and has 2,200 students, although some of these are online and at satellite campuses. What appears to an administration building from the 1960’s I find attractive.

I cycled back out into the flat farmlands.

I cycled a ten to fifteen mile loop before arriving at the next town. Online resources fail to answer my most pressing question, where did Calypso NC (population 327, down from 538 in 1930) get its name? The name sounds festive. Home of the Rebels.

A nearby Hispanic store got into the Rebel action.

I cycled into Calypso.

The people of Calypso NC were prepping for a Christmas parade! It was only two or three in the afternoon, and from the town’s website the event did not start until five, but people were milling on the street, some sitting on the curb, waiting for something to happen.

I then cycled the few miles onwards towards my car parked at the Head Start. For a short section I had to cycle on US-117. It looked scary but had almost no traffic.

I safely found my car at the Head Start, and was home in Chapel Hill NC in time to make dinner.