Today Bessie and Me rode the route from Montgomery to Selma, a National Historic byway, and stopped at the bridge in Selma. Rural Mississippi is lush and fecund, with small towns seemingly trapped in the 1950's. Especially Selma; many buildings abandoned, Windows bordered up. The storefronts seem to struggle. A Rexall Drug, Tulips-a shop selling church clothes ( literally), and the old St James Hotel trying to attract tourists, like me, who come to gaze at a piece of history. The area near the bridge has been fashioned into a boardwalk of sorts, with benches that over look the river and bridge. Unfortunately all the surrounding buildings are boarded up, their decaying facade almost painful to see. I sit quietly on one of the benches, recalling the news that evening long ago in 1965. I can hear the shouts, the screams, the stomping of horses hooves in the bricks as State Troopers charge the peaceful protestors, preventing them from crossing the bridge.
I'm disheartened to realize that in 2016, the violence is still present, some of the faces have changed; to the black faces we have added brown, Muslim, gay, and female as the recipients of that violence. I say a short prayer, climb back astride Bessie and hopped on I-20W, taking me around Meridian and Jackson Mississippi. As far as interstates go, 20 wasn't so bad. Very little traffic, nice clean rest areas, and large portions of the interstate are lined with magnolia trees in full bloom! Twenty miles either side of Jackson however, there is much needed roadwork in several places. I rode over 300 miles across Mississippi today and did not see ONE state or county cop, until I got to Greenville and there was a funeral procession! Amazing.
I connected with 49N, part of the Delta Blues Trail. 49 runs through rural towns like, Floral, Pocahontas, and Yazoo City. Tiny shotgun houses are scattered along the fields where decrepit front porches still support the fine art of 'porch sitting.' The heat and humidity hang heavy over the fields. About 20 miles south of my destination - Indianola - I see my camera back pack fly off my luggage rack and tumble on the asphalt behind me. The shoulder is pure gravel, nowhere to pull off the asphalt, fortunately there was no car behind me. I pull into a crossover point, park Bessie, and go jogging back a 1/8 of a mile at least, to where my poor backpack lies bereft on the pavement. It's a 100 degrees and I'm jogging in full road gear, helmet and all. I strap the pack back on the luggage rack and head toward Indianola.
The B.B. King Museum is a funky, rusted out industrial complex just off 49. The second I switched off Bessie, I could hear BB. His music is blasted all day long at the museum, inside and out. I spent a leisurely hour or so, an air conditioned respite from the heat, engrossed in the history of the Delta Blues and Riley B. Kings rise to stardom. He is buried there, next to his museum, in a beautiful Memorial Courtyard, his tour bus waits in the parking lot, now a museum piece instead of a working musicians mode of transportation. All of the Grammys are on display and several versions of 'Lucille.' This area of Mississippi is rich in blues history; one of my first trips on two wheels was a ride north on 61, Blues Alley and Clarksdale, Ground Zero for the Blues.
In search of a hotel before it gets any later, I take 80W to Greenville....I spy a Holiday Inn ( no Hampton) so I'm roughing it tonight. I'm drenched w sweat and looking forward to a shower. The hotel is swarming with women tennis players, I guess there is a tournament in little ole Greenville Mississippi. My leg is fried - literally - from the heat pumping out of my catalytic converter, ouch. I'm ready to head north and cooler weather.
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