I’d gone to sleep worrying about the cold and rain and heading north. I woke up to blue skies and crisp air.

I rode northeast through Mississippi today, starting off on back roads through small towns and then on the Natchez Trace parkway. Everyone around here I’ve met, both now and previously, warns me that the Natchez is 50mph, and they’ll get ya. I’ve yet to see any enforcement.

Multiple people — from the cafe owner in Canton, whose shop sits next to the square where rat pack and champagne music both bubble out of mounted speakers, and the woman at the Natchez museum — told me that I couldn’t be from up north generally and Boston specifically because I answered them with “yes, ma’am” or “yes, sir.” I’ve got an early twinge of pre-nostalgia for leaving New England after this year, and the fall weather along the Natchez’ mostly manicured forest has me looking forward to a last round of seasons. Still, I’d been actively trying to get back in the habit, especially with strangers while I’m traveling, and I’m pretty glad it made a difference.

I’ve mostly stayed behind or to the side of the storm’s path. It’s made for beautiful, golden riding in an autumn that, according to the Holly Ford gas station owner, had only today replaced humidity you couldn’t breathe in without sweating. He complained about his attorney’s billing practices when I told him I was headed back to law school.

The riding was uneventful, but peaceful and pleasant down two-lane forest roads. By the end when I approached the clouds, a few spotted fauns were blending in with dappling grass. I all but caught up to the storm, so the ground is a little muddy and the stars are mostly hidden, but the fireflies are slowly coming out among the trees.