Little did I know the everlasting impact this day would have upon me.  My story today begins in Africatown, Alabama.  It is located about five miles out of Mobile. To better understand the impact, let me first share the saddening and courageous history of Africatown.

In 1807, a federal act prohibited persons for slavery to be imported to the United States.  Fifty-two years later, a group of wealthy white businessmen wagered a bet.  They wanted to see if they could evade the authorities importing new Africans to enslave.  The ship avoided the normal docks in the middle of the night to be undetected.  Downstream, the Africans were transferred over to a steam ship.  The crew then burned the original vessel so there would be no proof of their illegal actions.  One year later, the Federal courts found the wagering businessmen and crew not guilty of a crime as there was not sufficient evidence to convict.  

Thirty-two of the slaves from that vessel gained freedom and began the community of Africatown. The oldest survivor, Cudjoe Lewis, became a leader for the community and the community thrived for many years. One of his primary goals was to maintain the traditions of their tribe in the United States. A monument honoring his efforts was placed in 1959 in front of the local Baptist church. There are still about 100 known descendants living there today.

As I drove through the well weathered and unmaintained streets, I was exposed to a lot of poverty.  I found myself stopping many times trying to take it all in - the brutal history, the once thriving community and the present living conditions.  

As I was about to leave Africatown, I saw a freshly painted garage in front of me.  As I stopped, I noticed four young black men intently watching me.  Feeling intimidated I was about to abruptly leave.  Instead, I exited my car and introduced myself.  We engaged in a conversation for over thirty minutes.  These young men want to bring opportunities back to their community - especially the youth.  The once abandoned garage is being transformed into a welding training center.  The center is in honor of Leslie Bernard Stone Jr. who lost his life in the community at the of seventeen.  The garage was passed down to Leslie's father by his grandfather.  In the photo above stands Leslie Sr wearing the black jacket.  Throughout our conversation I listened to his personal words of pain, hope and faith.  We walked around the area as we continued our conversation.

The other side of the garage proudly displays Leslie aside his grandfather.  This group of men hope to offer a tuition free program in the future. Upon my departure, I shook each of their hands sharing my words of gratitude.  The handshakes transformed into hugs. Today I will not forget.  Encounters such as today are my most favorite parts of this epic journey.  It is the people I encounter which I draw most out of these experiences.  

This morning is very quiet and peaceful as I seem to be the only one moving around this early in the day.  Even if I never watched the film or read the book, I am familiar with the story.  Over 40,000,000 books have been sold in over 40 different languages.  The birth of a baby girl in this small town will forever change the course of literacy.  Her first writing was turned away from being published.  Her second writing earned her the Pulitzer Prize and Presidential Medal of Honor.  Her name is Nelle Harper Lee (Ellen spelled backwards honoring her grandmother).  Her writing is, "To Kill a Mockingbird". 

Nelle’s hometown celebrates her in multiple ways. As I explore the grounds of the courthouse, I discover several bronze statues celebrating reading. There are also small stages on the backside where once a year the locals participate in a play acting out Nelle's writing. Inside the courthouse, one can visit a small museum and gift shop honoring Nelle. A local comes to me asking me if this is my first time in Monroeville. She then asks if I ever watched the 1960's film which won three Academy Awards. I reply, "I haven't even read the book." She gives me a verbal recommendation to do both.

I travel to a local cemetery located across the street from a church. Her gravesite is easy to spot with so many people honoring her six years after she passed.  I add a penny to the multiple pennies laid by others.  As I walk away, I smile knowing I will read the book and I will watch the film.  

 My next and final destination today was a bit difficult to find as there are no identifiable signs.  I follow the road until I am abruptly stopped by a gate.  I look around to see a security camera is watching me.  The weathered sign tells me to place $3 in a provided envelope and telephone to receive the gate code.   I feel the sense of exhilaration again as I approach a fictious town.  This town is a full movie prop for Tim Burton's film, "Big Fish" (released 2004).  I enter the town of Spectre, through a set of Styrofoam trees offering a circular entrance.  Above me are hundreds of pairs of sneakers hanging on the dead power lines. 

The dirt road is lined up with empty shelled homes.  As I follow the road to the church, I notice the buildings are quite scarred.  Later I learn this was intentionally done for the film.  There is not a lot to see as there are only six home facades and a church.  It is worth the road trip though as it is quite a unique experience to walk an abandoned movie set in the middle of nowhere.

Where would we be without peanut butter? Who doesn't love a handful of peanuts on occasion?  Did you know that 50% of American peanuts we enjoy so much are harvested within a 100-mile radius of the City of Dothan?  Dothan claims to be the 'Peanut Capital of the World'.  ​

Entering Dothan, it is little obvious they are super confident in their claim holding an annual National Peanut Festival - a little nutty?  Well, it does attract over 200,000!  As you drive through the streets, huge child-size peanuts are waving to you.  ​

There are over 40 of these fun shell people to find.  Go to the visitor center to get a map so you can get the full 'spread' of their locations.  Each one has its own unique personality.  The entire morning, I am driving up and down streets, through alleys, and into parking lots as I just can't get enough of these 'shelled' characters.  ​

The story goes like this - In 1889, the city tried to impose a tax on commercial carts.  The locals went to the streets and a huge riot broke out on Main Street (exact spot of this mural).  Marshall Toby was one of the instigators.  Many folks today say the ghost of Marshall Tucker still patrols the streets, late evenings, trying to keep them safe. ​

I grab a red plastic tray and get in line at the school-like cafeteria style buffet.  My meat - easy - fried chicken, of course.  My 3 sides, well that gets a bit more complicated with so many southern options.  I am told by multiple staff members to get the cabbage and mac n' cheese.  I stop at the desserts and smile spotting banana bread pudding.  ​

A little further down the same road, if you look carefully, you will find four monstrous dinosaurs lurking in the woods. ​

My curiosity puts me back on Fish Trap Road wondering what else will I find.  As the road ends at the marina, I spot more oddities.  A huge 20-foot metal spider, sculptured seahorses and abandoned knights within the unattended gardens.  A huge, dry water fountain of mystical gods, surrounded by untamed creatures, sits in the middle of a roundabout.  This adventure is turning out to be a ton of fun finding the unexpected in unexpected areas.  ​

 I had no idea - Alabama's number one fruit production is 5,700 tons (yes, tons) of the delicious peaches annually.  Chilton County grows 65% of those peaches.  As I travel south on the interstate 65, towards Montgomery, I cannot help to notice a huge peach in the skies.  The popularity of the county began in 1947.  That year they had a bumper crop.  So, to bring optimism to the local folk the first Annual Peach Festival began.  ​

A day for so many to remember and a day I hope to remember.  This morning I am traveling about 50 miles east to Selma, Alabama for an annual event.  I find myself reflecting on a conversation from yesterday. I met a woman, in front of the Alabama State Capital, who shared with me the significance of this event - Bloody Sunday. She is the one who brings me on this journey today.

As I approach the bridge, there are state troopers and secret service people everywhere.  The street in front of the bridge is lined up with hundreds of spectators of all ages.  There are a few large charter buses with students from various black colleges who are wearing the same-colored tee-shirts.  I pull out my E-bike believing I will have more mobility than being on foot.  As I join the others along this road, I meet several people eagerly wanting to share their reason for being here.  During my wait I learn more about this event in our history.  A 25-year-old black activist, John Lewis, led 600 individuals across the Edmond Pettus Bridge on their way to the state capital (54 miles).  This march was to bring attention to the state denying blacks the right to vote.   On the other side, lines of white state troopers were waiting.  The individuals refused to turn back around.  They were brutally attacked placing many in the hospital.  The footage hit the national news and caused national outcry.  Today marks the 57th year anniversary which is remembered as, "Bloody Sunday".  ​

As the thousands begin crossing the bridge, I make the decision to no longer be a spectator but a participant.  I climb on my bike and join them.  My adrenaline peaks and a huge smile light up my face.  I think to myself, "Today is going to be a day I will always remember."  ​

As I pay my $5 admission fee, I comment, "It is so awesome you make this museum affordable for everyone." The attendee smiles, "That is the whole point. Anyone and everyone can learn about this part of our history barely taught in our country." I walk on the small trolley bus, which travels several blocks before arriving at the entrance of the National Memorial for Peace and Justice. There are several groups of elementary age school children in the front actively participating in conversations with their tour guide. Walking past them, I enter, only to stop immediately at what is in front of me.

I slowly circle around this display of slavery, intently looking at the anguished expressions on each face and the actions of each individual. On the other side of the walkway are narratives detailing the origins, history and brutal attempts of trying to end slavery in our country. Many emotions ignite within me as I try to take all of this in this morning. I walk up the winding path and enter the outdoor arena. I stand in the midst of over 800 6-foot hanging from the ceilings. Endless rows surround me from all angles. I look closer at each, seeing many names and some listed “Unknown” with a date underneath.

As I return to the Legacy Museum on the same trolley bus, I am trying to process it all.  The next two hours I am moving from room to room full of 100's of beautiful pieces of art, news clippings and actual photos sharing the history of blacks in our country.  Many rooms offer cutting edge technology where one can engage in holographic conversations with actual descendants of slaves.  The room which affected me the most houses over 800 jars of soil gathered at lynching locations throughout our country.  I end my day short as I am emotionally exhausted with this experience today.  This is a day I will always remember.

(By the way, there are no photos of the Legacy Museum as no cameras were allowed.)

Right across the street from the State Capital. is a most beautiful old church built in 1877.  In 1954, a young 26-year-old black man, named Martin Luther King Jr, became the Baptist Minister.  One year later, his life begins to change dramatically.  

Rosa Parks was recently arrested for refusing to move from a bus seat so a white man would no longer need to stand in the aisle.  Martin Luther King, Jr offers a group of organizers for a bus boycott to meet in the basement of his church. Soon after, he becomes the driving force of the bus boycott pushing him into national attention.

Ten years later, 25,000 individuals stand at the State Capital's stairs located across the street from the church.  In front of the mass stands Martin Luther King, Jr, with a petition in his hand trying to secure the right for blacks to be able to vote.  The petition was intended for the current governor at the time, George Wallace.

As I travel throughout the city, there are murals, monuments and streets named remembering and honoring the impact this young man made during the Civil Rights era in our history.  

I return back to the State Capital late afternoon as I want to have some time for reflection.  As I am standing in front of the Baptist church, an older black woman approaches me with a smile and simple words, "Where are you from?"  Her warm smile and simple question lead us into an almost one-hour conversation about her 60+ years of living in this city. As we close, she informs me of an annual march which will be occurring in front of these State Capital stairs this weekend.  This march is the anniversary of the same march Martin Luther King, Jr led here 57 years ago.  In that instant, I make the decision to extend my stay in Montgomery so I may be part of this historical event.  As I walk back to my car, I realize today will is a historical day for me.  A day I will always remember from this epic journey I started almost 2 years ago.

My heart begins racing as I approach each state capital during this epic journey, as always. It provides me a strong feeling of accomplishment knowing I am in the midst of adventuring another state. As I approach Alabama's capital, that anticipated heart rate increase does not fail me. Oh, I love the rush!

I park in front of a beautiful white mansion, located across the street from the Capital building, having no idea of the significance. Within seconds inside, an elderly host informs me I am standing in the foyer of the first Confederate President Jefferson Davis' home. I enthusiastically reply, "I took an elevator to the top of the Jefferson Davis monument stretching 351 feet in the air located in Kentucky. I have also visited the beautiful Presidential Library in Mississippi.” My host smiles ear to ear, "Well, there you go!" We both continue conversing enthusiastically for the next twenty minutes or so. I take all which he shared with me and briskly walk across the street. I stand at the bottom steps of the State Capital.

Step by step I climb the marble stairs to the top entering through the massive wooden doors. I make a quick inquiry to security asking for directions to a specific plaque I recently learned about.

I find myself standing right at the spot where it all happened. I slowly read the plaque in front of me - "In this hall the ordinance of secession which withdrew Alabama from the sovereign states was passed on January 11, 1861". On this date and in this exact location, Alabama pulled away from the Union, joining five other states in defiance to the recent election of President Lincoln. The beginning of so much more, for many, many years to come began right here.

I quickly exit, moving back down the stairs.  I begin searching for a certain something stepping down one step at a time, scanning from corner to corner.  Oh, the adrenaline rush hits again as I pinpoint it.  A six-pointed brass star is embedded in the marble.  This is the exact spot Jefferson Davis publicly accepted the position of the first and only President of the Confederate States on February 18, 1861.  I look out to the street directly in front of this historic spot where our history changed dramatically. I sit on the marble step for a moment as I ponder on how the attendees were feeling in that moment - excited, worried, optimistic?  I believe not one of them had any real idea of the impact of this historic day on our nation for the years to come.

One hundred four years later Martin Luther King Jr and 25,000 people marched to the front of these exact steps protesting the denial of voting rights to blacks. Story to follow soon.