A (Mostly) Musical Journey Across the Deep South - Part 2
I took a solo trip to see more of the United States and learn about its history and music. Here's more of what happened.
Thank you for spending part of your day with Michael’s Record Collection. Today’s issue again deviates a bit from the normal format and chronicles more of my recent five-day solo trip across the southern United States, where I dove into the musical past of a part of the country that impacted the recording industry around the world. Many of my activities were planned in advance. Some were spontaneous. This is the second of three parts, and is the least music-related of the three, but I hope you’ll check it out.
I hope you enjoy reading about these travels, but if you opt to bypass this issue, please stick around for more album reviews and artist interviews coming soon. There’s an upcoming interview scheduled that has me excited and that’ll be on the way in October.
The day is perfect. The sun is shining and the strains of Arlo Guthrie’s version of Steve Goodman’s “The City of New Orleans” is blaring from the speakers of my Kia Soul as its wheels devour the pavement of a southbound section of Interstate 55 in southern Mississippi known as the Bo Diddley Memorial Highway.
Wait! No…sorry. We’ve discussed Day 1 and Day 2 of my trip already, but we’re still not quite there yet. Let’s go back to Day 3, which didn’t include any musical attractions but was more about history and experiences.
Day 3
I had such a great time reconnecting with my friend Bruce in Tupelo on Friday night and once we hopped in our respective vehicles and headed our separate ways, I felt a little post-party depression for much of my drive that morning. Bruce always cracks me up (and vice versa) and I was literally crying with laughter several times the night before. I enjoy solitude, but it was too short a time with a good friend, and so it was with a bit of melancholy that I returned to the highway on the third day of my “great southern excursion.”
I headed southwest out of Tupelo on a stretch of the Natchez Trace Parkway, a picturesque, tree-lined stretch of two-lane highway on which commercial vehicles are not allowed. This is a road I was told about at Singin’ River Brewing in Florence, Alabama, but had opted not to take Friday due to there being a faster route. It was an enjoyable 40-something miles, although I’d been warned to stick to the posted speed limit. That made it seem a bit tedious, because I wasn’t used to traveling at 50 mph, but I didn’t push that by more than 5 mph. It was a nice ride, and I wanted to stop at all the historic markers along the way, but I had some miles to cover.
As I drove west, I found an unexpected site at which I’d have liked to have stopped, but didn’t think I had time for it. When I passed through the small town of Indianola, Mississippi, I saw a sign for the BB King Museum. It would have been a cool detour to check that out, but I knew that delays in my travel time would put some of my planned activities for the afternoon in jeopardy. Even a small, basic museum likely would have cost me a minimum of half an hour, and I honestly wasn’t sure how far off the highway it was. As it turned out, my time-related misgivings were well founded, as I had to alter my schedule later in the day. And that’s as close as I got to a music-related activity on Day 3. I didn’t even make a special playlist for Saturday, opting to simply hit shuffle on my phone’s music library.
My eventual destination for the day was Vicksburg, but because I was going to be passing close to the Arkansas border, I had to make the detour, stopping to check another state off my to-visit list, because who knows when I’ll get back to that state? I had scoured the internet, looking for some kind of activity or experience to have in the southeast part of the state. Nothing near my route stood out, although there were tons of available outdoor-type activities if I’d had the time — boating, fishing, four-wheeling, etc.
The towns in that part of Arkansas are quite small (often unincorporated) and lack the attractions of the central and northwest parts of the state. So, seeingthat I’d arrive in the area around midday, I looked for a good spot for lunch. Even that was a bit difficult. There were a few places that looked closed (or condemned) and some chain restaurants, but I wanted an experience I wasn’t going to get somewhere else.
I found a Mexican restaurant that had three locations in the state, with one in a town with the pleasant name of Lake Village, not too far out of my way. I got to La Terraza around lunch time and was seated near a large family. The matriarch of this clan did not stop talking for the entire time I was there. I’m not sure how she ate her meal with her nonstop monologue. While waiting for my arroz con pollo to arrive, I snacked on excellent chips and salsa while watching the Arkansas-Oklahoma State college football game on a TV in the dining area. The food was outstanding and gave me a pleasant experience in “The Natural State.”
After lunch, I took a short drive through the quaint town of Lake Village, which is situated on the narrow, crescent-shaped Lake Chicot. It looks more like a river than a lake. There’s a state park on the northeast end of Lake Chicot, but I stopped at the small-but-picturesque Jack R. Rhodes Lake Front Park just off Lakeshore Drive. The views were spectacular, and the weather was overcast and breezy but not too hot, and it made for a pleasant walking experience as I tried to get a few steps in to offset all the driving I’d been doing.
After mentally checking Arkansas off my list of states to visit (my 31st), I jumped back in the car and plotted my course to historic Vicksburg, Mississippi. A series of two-lane highways got me there from Lake Village in the afternoon, and I drove directly to the Vicksburg National Military Park, intending to do the self-guided driving tour. However, my arrival was a bit later than anticipated, and I had to settle for looking around the visitor center, checking out some of the displays there, talking with the attendant on site, and looking around at some of the monuments near the park entrance. There were two museums in town I wanted to see, and they would both be closing within a couple of hours. I sacrificed my drive around the battleground and substituted some quick pictures near the visitor center before proceeding into town.
Vicksburg blew me away. The downtown historic district is amazing, with plaques outside many homes and buildings describing the town’s history. Washington Street is the home of the places I wanted to see and visit. Perched above the Yazoo River, the southern boundary of the Mississippi Delta near the confluence with the Mighty Mississippi, Washington Street is brimming with charm. It is the home of at least three museums that I saw — two that I visited — shops, restaurants, bars, and a park. Looking northwest from Washington Street toward the Yazoo, you see a railroad line and Levee Street, and many people were out walking, enjoying the weather, which offered a break from some of the relentless heat of summer.
I located my three intended destinations for the evening and stopped at the one that closed first, but which I thought would also be the quickest to see — The Biedenharn Coca-Cola Museum. Why was this on my itinerary? I just thought it sounded quirky and fun. Joe Biedenharn of Vicksburg is thought to be the first person to bottle Coke for his confectionary business and soda fountain. According to a letter from Biedenharn to the vice president of the Coca-Cola Company, Joe started bottling Coke in Vicksburg in 1894.
The Biedenharn family and the Vicksburg Foundation for Historic Preservation collaborated to develop the museum, which includes an overwhelming number of Coke-themed products and photos, old bottling equipment, as well as an old-timey soda fountain set up in a building behind the museum. The soda fountain sadly is just a showpiece and isn’t even stocked, but it’s still a cool slice of Americana. You can, however, get fountain drinks and Coke floats in the candy store/office section of the museum. The tour was brief but only cost $3.50 and was as fun and quirky as I imagined it would be.
Practically next door was the Vicksburg Civil War Museum, established by Charles Pendleton, the first African American to own a Civil War museum. The Vicksburg native was out in front of his museum when I got there and was friendly and helpful in telling me where to start in an otherwise overwhelming store front packed with of a huge number of artifacts and exhibits. There must be thousands of bullets and musket balls in the place, along with weapons, tools, medical equipment, uniforms, and other exhibits from the Civil War era. There are several interactive displays, replica slaves’ quarters, excerpts from letters from the era, and much more. The letters of secession from the Confederate states were eye-opening. I’d never read them before, and while many people still declare the Civil War to be about state’s rights, there’s one particular state’s right that comes up more often than any other in those letters of secession.
It was a sobering visit, and probably made a bigger impact on me than driving around a bunch of green fields lined with plaques and historic markers at the national military park.
By then, it was starting to get toward dinner time. I still hadn’t checked into my hotel, so I made a note of where I could park for dinner at the place I wanted to try and headed to the Red Roof Inn & Suites on Orme Drive. It turned out to be by far the cleanest and most comfortable of the three economy hotels I stayed at during the trip, but there were…other problems.
I approached the front desk to check in and found myself competing with some TV show on the clerk’s phone for her attention. I honestly felt like I was intruding rather than simply trying to get my key. After checking in, I headed to my assigned room on the second floor, only to find the bathroom light was on and the bed was unmade. Not knowing if someone might be in there, I quickly backed out and returned to the front desk. The news that the room was either occupied or not ready seemed to surprise the attendant, but she gave me a new room and off I went. This one was unoccupied and the bed was made. However, more problems were coming.
I drove back to the historic district for dinner at Rusty’s Riverfront Grill, a place I’d found by looking at reviews and menus online. It was crowded, but I was solo, so I went to the bar. I was quite tired from the late night and beer the night before, not to mention the endless two-lane highway driving for much of the day, so I didn’t feel up to trying the local brews on tap, although the selection looked interesting and inviting. I just felt like it would put me to sleep. I ordered a shrimp po’boy with fries and watched college football while I waited. It was a considerable wait for food, but it was a busy Saturday night at the height of the dinner rush, so I tried to be patient. The food was worth the wait and the bartender was nice, despite my sticking to water as my beverage of choice for the night.
After dinner, I had to hustle back to the hotel. Despite being on vacation, I needed to write a blog post for Land-Grant Holy Land about the Ohio State football game that night, and I had built time for that into my schedule. Upon returning to my room, I ransacked the place but found no remote for the television. I went to the front desk to ask for one and instead was handed a key card by the same attendant (who was still watching some show on her phone). I was told to go to the room next to mine and grab the remote from that room. I wondered if I was on Candid Camera. Did I suddenly work for the Red Roof Inn in Vicksburg? It seemed odd that an employee of the hotel would send a guest to go fetch a remote control from another room. I went anyway, as I was too tired to fight about it and in kind of a hurry, as game time approached.
When I got to my neighboring room, I found that it too was without a remote. I looked behind nightstands, in the drawers, on top of the TV, and even in the bathroom. I took the key card back to the front desk and reported the lack of a remote in that room as well. She said she’d bring one to my room. Hey, customer service at last! True to her word, the attendant brought a remote five minutes later.
Because I wasn’t confident the remote would arrive before kickoff, I had fired up my laptop and opened YouTube TV to watch the game. It was at that moment that I realized I had forgotten I was in the Central Time Zone. I was already late for the game! No matter, because YouTube TV allows me the option of watching from the beginning. Because I was behind the game in real time, I had to avoid looking at social media in case there were spoilers. By the time the game was over, I’d caught up by fast forwarding through commercials and halftime.
I banged out my column and submitted it, strolled down the hallway to stretch my legs, and made a note of where my complimentary breakfast would be waiting in the morning before turning in for the night.
When I got up on Sunday, I wandered toward the reception area on my way out for my morning walk. Passing the dining area that had signs the night before with hours when breakfast was served, I noticed that these signs had been replaced with new ones.
SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE ,NO BREAKFAST!!!!!!
Wait, what? No explanation? There were about half a dozen of these signs hanging side by side on the double doors, so someone had gone through a lot of trouble to put them up. They used six exclamation points and everything! They also misplaced their comma, but whatever.
I walked to the front desk and asked the morning attendant, “No breakfast?” I thought she might offer up some kind of an explanation, like a food delivery didn’t arrive or the hotel was short staffed. The reply was, “Nope.” It seemed weird to me. I could understand if maybe they were out of something, but you can still put out the other food items. Looking at the room behind the doors, I wondered if they simply changed the signs out every morning and never actually served breakfast. It didn’t seem like it had been used (or maybe just cleaned) in a minute.
I asked if there would be a discount on my stay, since the complimentary breakfast was a factor in my booking that hotel. The mumbled response I received was a bit unintelligible, but included the lines “I can’t do nothin’ about that,” and “I’m only here for another hour.” There was no mention of a number I could call or an email address that might help me. There was also no indication if she was only working for another hour that shift or if it was her last hour ever at the Vicksburg Red Roof Inn. I shook my head, went out for my walk, grabbed a snack and water for the road at the Kroger next door, returned to my room, showered, and checked out.
I was soon back on the road and on my way to my fourth new state and fourth day of the trip for activities both planned and spontaneous, and these were almost entirely music related.
But that’s a tale for the next issue. It’ll be the final installment of this travelogue series.