I spent the day here in Dixie pedaling southward through the Missippi Delta's flat, windy terrain. This is where the blues originated and every historical blues guitarist in American jazz history seems to have had some connection to this area. The communities I passed through were few and far between and all were old, small,and economically impoverished.
I passed no motels and exactly one restaurant over the course of the 79 miles I rode today(actually it was more of a convenience store, but they served great BBQ sandwiches and fried turkey or bologna sandwiches made to order -- it seemed to me like an oasis). It was a great stop and I enjoyed the company of all the people I met there.
My plan had been to stay in the campground at the Great River Road State Park, and I had been assured by several people that it was open (and that it had showers!). When I arrived it was all locked up. The park is inside the levee and I later learned it suffered flood damage earlier this year. The two signs I saw on the gates read "Keep Out" and "No Trespassing" (nothing like, "Sorry for the inconvenience..." or "Due to flooding..."). Anyway, I heeded the warning and headed into the Mississippi night with my lights on.
The park was just outside the town of Rosedale, MS, so I rode around town looking for a yard in which to pitch my tent. The town had been full of people when I rode through on my way to the park, but once it got dark I had trouble finding a house with any lights on. I knocked on a couple of doors without getting an answer and was denied permission at a third house. It was a gorgeous night so I decided to go on to the next town about 10 miles south of Rosedale in the hope of finding a place to stay there.
When I arrived in Beulah it was about 8:00 p.m. I'm sure I looked like an unusual sort of guy coming into the town well after dark in biking attire with my lights flashing on a fully loaded bicycle. I knocked on a few doors and everyone I met had an idea about some place I could stay other than their yard. Everyone was well intentioned and trying to help; but as one woman explained, these are tough times and people were distrustful of me. (Interestingly, the kids found me a lot more approachable than did their parents.) Anyway, a nice lady who had originally said no, changed her mind and sent her daughter to invite me to camp in her yard. I gladly accepted.
Notwithstanding the difficulty I had finding a place to stay last night, the people I am meeting in this area are really nice and very interested in learning about my ride. There are no bars or restaurants, but people tend to congregate at each other's houses. The weather has been perfect so a lot of people were outside on Sunday afternoon. I had the impression that you don't need an invitation to visit your neighbor here and parties happen spontaneously.
The MRT routed me along highway 1, which is fairly lightly traveled and follows the river closely. From what I have heard, highway 61, just to the east, is the more traveled north-south route these days.
A gentleman who introduced himself by his nickname, Bo Weevil, stopped me on the road this afternoon. He was from a town south of Greenville, MS, and was towing his boat home from the Blues Festival this weekend. He wants me to give him a call when I get to his neck of the woods, which I plan to do.
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