A Fool's Progress: Dancing with Dust Devils, rolling with ghosts

I got up with the sun in Tupelo and did the mandatory stop at the house where Elvis was born. Fro, there I wandered through red roads and cotton fields. I was following the family tree that birthed Elvis. I rolled into clarksdale. This is a hallowed place. To anyone with even the smallest bit of music in his soul, Clarksdale is right up there with Mecca, Jerusalem or Tibet. Here is where Highway 49 connects with Highway 61. Highway 61 was the main highway and railroad up and down the mississippi since indians followed it as a deer track. This is the road that the great bluesmen followed to reach Chicago to make fortunes in music. This is the birth canal of the blues. Where 49 meets 61 is the place where it is said that Robert Johnson made a deal with the devil; his soul in exchange for music. Making it even more special is that the exact spot can no loger be found. Clarksdale grew up around the cotton field roads that made up the highways and obscured the intersection. Then the
intersection was moved further out from Clarksdale so that there are actually two crossroads now. The main interesection is in a rather typically imporverished section of a mississippi town. Lots of vacant buildings and peeling paint. Every former gas station is now an informal "detail shop" and carwash where men wash and shine cars for a few bucks. This raised a lot of thoughts for another time.

The other crossroads looks a bit more like one would expect...a paved intersection.

I stood a while and let the hot, wet wind blow across me and whisper names.

From Clarkesdale I headed south along 61, blues playing in my headphones; Son House, Muddy Waters, BB King, Gatemouth Brown. I could feel the bones of blues beneath my tires.
As I rode along the freshlyt harvested cotton fields spun up dust devils by the dozens. I was torn between wanting to chase them down and ride or run far far away...I could almost hear Scratch's laughter on the wind.

As I hit Vicksburg I turned east to hit the interstate and make time to a fellers house in Louisiana. I didnt stop in Vberg. But it did hit me how far I was from Gettysburg. I had travelled the distance in a few days...but some 140 years ago..with no such conveyances....men dies in both spots in the same war. It gave me a feeling for the size of the war.

As I neared the point where the GPS told me I was to leave the interstate and make my way to John's house, I called him and updated my progress. 5 minutes later I was chasing a blood red moon through the swamps of Louisiana, worried about alligators, voodod, deer and pigs. As I stared at the scarlet moon, it occurred to me that it was foolish of me to got to the house of someone I only knew from the net.

All was well though...after being misdirected a couple times by the GPS, I found Johns house where he greeted me with a hearty laugh and an ice cold beer.

Maybe this traveling stuff doesnt suck after all.