The Old Red Barn

It was December in West Memphis, Arkansas, and the temperature was sitting around 49 degrees, at least the way I remember it. Not exactly the kind of weather that makes you want to throw open the truck door and go play outside. But I’d been looking forward to getting on the Trek, so I pulled it out at the Crete Carrier terminal and went riding anyway. I didn’t have a major destination in mind or some great adventure planned. I simply wanted a day on the bicycle. And, as it turned out, the thing I remember most about those thirty-three miles wasn’t the distance or the cold. It was an old barn.

A Cold Day Worth Getting Out For

There’s a difference between riding when the weather is inviting and riding because you just want to be out there. On this particular day, I remember the chill well enough. It was the kind of December air that could get your teeth chattering if you stopped moving for too long. But once I got rolling, I was glad I’d made the effort. I was out of the truck, pedaling through the Arkansas countryside, with the road in front of me and no reason to hurry through the scenery.

Looking back at the Strava record, I covered 33.12 miles, with 3 hours, 20 minutes of moving time and an average speed of about 9.9 miles an hour. The whole route had only about 116 feet of recorded climbing. That’s the sort of flat country you find around West Memphis in the Mississippi River Delta. There weren’t any great mountains to conquer, but thirty-three miles in chilly December weather still made for a proper ride. My goal wasn’t to break a record. I just wanted the miles and the freedom that came with them.

One of the little things I remember noticing was the moon hanging up in the sky. There’s something about seeing it during an otherwise ordinary day that always catches my attention. I didn’t set out to photograph the moon, but it shows up in the background of the barn photographs. But I remember looking up and appreciating the sight. It was one of those details that probably wouldn’t have stuck with me if I’d been watching the world go by from the driver’s seat.

The Barn That Stopped Me

Somewhere along the route I came across an old barn, and there was no way I was riding past that thing without stopping. It was weathered, partially falling apart, and absolutely beautiful to my eye. That might sound like a strange description of a building that’s obviously seen better days, but just look at the photographs. The paint had worn away from much of the wood, leaving gray, exposed boards alongside sections that were still red. Parts of the roof were missing or broken. The open side of the building and the uneven old framework told a story before I even knew anything about who had built it or what it had once been used for.

I got off the Trek and spent some time taking pictures from different angles. In one frame, the old gray end wall rises up beneath a roof that’s clearly losing the battle with time, while the remaining red panels catch the sunlight on the other side. In another, the long shadows from the fence posts stretch across the grass in front of it. There’s something wonderful about the texture of those boards, the missing pieces, and the way the whole structure seems to be holding on through sheer stubbornness. I don’t know how old the barn really is or who once worked there, and I won’t invent a history for somebody else’s property. But I can appreciate what was standing in front of me.

The contrast was part of the appeal, too. Above that battered old building was a beautiful blue sky. The trees beyond it had lost most of their leaves, and the winter light made the weathered wood stand out even more. The old red paint looked as if it had been slowly worn away over years of sun, wind, and rain. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of thing everybody would stop to admire, but then again, not everybody is riding around with a camera and a soft spot for buildings that are falling apart.

Why I Keep Looking for Old Barns

There’s a personal reason old barns catch my eye, and it goes back to Nancy. She has always loved old barns like this. Over time, that rubbed off on me, and I started noticing them more and more when I traveled. Now I can drive through the country and spot a barn that’s half collapsed, with faded paint and boards hanging at odd angles, and think, Man, I’d love to get a picture of that. I don’t need it to be restored or cleaned up. A lot of what interests me is what time has done to it.

I suppose that same curiosity extends to other things, too. Old buildings, abandoned machinery, weather-beaten cars—anything that looks like it has a story behind it tends to make me look twice. Maybe it’s the photographer in me. Maybe I just enjoy imagining the people who used these things when they were new. But a beautifully deteriorating old barn can stop me in my tracks as surely as a mountain overlook. The difference is that you don’t usually have to climb a mountain to find one. You just have to notice what’s beside the road.

Looking into the history of this part of Arkansas afterward added another layer to what I was seeing. Farming shaped the Delta long before the highways and truck terminals arrived. Cotton dominated much of the region’s agricultural history, and after World War II, tractors, improved drainage, and new crops such as soybeans and rice transformed the way people worked the land. Old agricultural buildings are reminders of a changing rural landscape, even though this particular barn’s exact age and original use remain unknown. I like knowing that broader history. It doesn’t tell me everything about the barn in my photograph, but it makes me wonder all the more about the lives that passed through places like it.

Three Photographs and a Whole Ride

For all the mileage I covered that day, I didn’t take a whole lot of pictures. Strava has three photographs associated with the ride, and all three are of the old barn. That says something, doesn’t it? I spent more than three hours moving through the countryside, but the place that made me stop, reach for the camera, and bring home something to remember was one battered red-and-gray farm building.

I kept riding after my little photography session, enjoying the route despite the cold. The barn wasn’t a destination I’d mapped out ahead of time. It was simply something I came across on a ride I had taken for the pleasure of being out there. Some of my favorite discoveries happen that way. I don’t need to know exactly what I’m going to see before I start pedaling. Half the fun is finding out.

And the more I think about it, the more this ride reminds me that a good story doesn’t always require a mechanical problem, a brutal hill, or a big dramatic moment. Sometimes thirty-three cold miles, a moon in the sky, and three photographs of an old barn are enough. The details are small, but they’re the details I carried away from that day.

The Kind of Miles I Want to Remember

When I first started putting these rides together for Cycling Around America, I was thinking about the distances, the routes, and all the different places I’d visited. Those things are important, and I like having a record of them. But looking back at December 12, 2024, reminds me that the miles themselves aren’t always what make a ride memorable. Sometimes the story is the thing you found somewhere between the start and the finish.

I rode out of the Crete terminal on a cold Arkansas day because I wanted a little freedom from the truck. I came back with more than thirty-three miles on the Trek and three photographs of a worn-out barn that made the whole trip worth remembering. I’ll take a day like that anytime. Give me an open road, something interesting to look at, and a bicycle that keeps rolling, and I’m a happy man.