"... covered in mud. And chicken."

When you’re four miles beyond Casar you’re eight miles into, um... the beautiful, scenic countryside.
We’re doing a story on the unusual street names of Cleveland County. So last week I got an email rattling off Sugar Bear Lane, Zelda Drive, Bythe Way, Real Street….
So I thought I’d ride to some of them on my bike.
What drew me to the suburbs of Casar? Dirty Ankle Road. And if you have the strength and courage to ride along it a ways, you come to the two places it intersects Ankle Road itself.
It’s the ankle-est place in Cleveland County. Have an ankle? Have a dirty ankle? Either way we’ve got the road for you. You can get the complete story and explanation of the unusual names in Joy’s article this Saturday, but I’ll give you a hint – it involves dirt. And ankles.
Anyway, Alan, one of our reporters, had driven me upcounty and dropped me off for the 27-mile ride. I could have ridden up on my own, but I wanted to start in Casar and work my way back to Shelby to take advantage of the North to South downhill slope.
It’s obvious – just look at any map hanging on a wall. That’s why the North won the Civil War/War of Northern Aggression/War of “Yous Guys Eat a Pig’s WHAT!?!” – downhill advantage.
After a while I realized I was riding by the site of a chicken truck accident several months ago. There had been dead chickens everywhere. And live ones. Screaming. I found it rather traumatic (“Tell me, Clarice, have the [chickens] stopped screaming”). I imagine the chickens did too.
And these things always seem to happen on soggy days. In retrospect, it’s a good thing it was raining. It helped keep the dirt washed off my ankles. Aside from the natural shower I might have come back covered in mud. And chicken.
I became a much better (quasi)-vegetarian that day.
Anyway, I rode on, passing a field of cows. There was a great deal of mooing. And the cows looked at me as if to say – “why are you mooing, you silly biped”.
At one point I stopped to get my camera out. I’ve got special pedals and shoes that clip together for a more efficient transfer of power from my legs to the bike. But you have to unclip before you can use your feet to do something like keep from falling over when you stop.
I’ve got to remember to unclip.
Embarrassed, I quickly looked around to make sure no motorists had seen my graceless, knee-skinning experience. The cows were watching, but that’s it. Then I wrote a column about it. I dunno.
I rode on back to Shelby and the next morning continued my search. By the way, I’ve now been by Bythe Way five times. I’ve found what I believe to be the road, but there is no street sign.
However, I did find Thisa Way.